Free They're Watching (2010) by Gregg Hurwitz

your house?"
    "Not personally, but he's got plenty of money and underlings and what looks like a vindictive streak. I need to talk to him."
    "I think that's the only thing his lawyers, your lawyers, and our lawyers all agree on. You don't talk to him. Ever." He shoved back from the bar and walked out.

    Chapter 12
    "Is Keith Conner as hot in person?" Front row, blond, sorority sweatshirt. Shanna or Shawna.
    "He is fairly handsome," I said, pacing in front of the class, chewing gum to cover that nerve-settling morning scotch. Some tittering up and down the rows of stadium seating. Introduction to Screenwriting--you couldn't cross city limits without enrolling. "Now, are there any questions about screenwriting?"
    I glanced around. Several of the kids had digital camcorders on their writing tablets and atop their backpacks. Even more students typed notes on laptops equipped with embedded cameras. A guy in the middle used his phone to snap a picture of his buddy next to him. I tore my attention away from the myriad cameras and found a raised hand. "Yes, Diondre."
    His question was something about talent versus hard work.
    I'd been distracted all day, finding myself searching out hidden meaning in student remarks. During the break I'd gone through past assignments to note how many fails I'd handed out. Only seven. None of the students had seemed to take the grade personally. Plus, anyone who was doing poorly was still well within the deadline to drop the class, which had to cut the odds further that my stalker was an aggrieved student.
    I realized I hadn't been paying attention to what Diondre was saying. "You know what, since our hour and a half's up, why don't you stick around and we can get into that?" I made the little half-wave to dismiss class. You'd think it was an air-raid warning the way they dispersed.
    Diondre lingered behind, clearly upset. He was one of my favorite students, a talkative kid from East L.A. who usually wore baggy Clippers shorts, a do-rag that even I knew to be dated, and a crooked smile that inspired immediate trust.
    "You okay?"
    A faint nod. "My mama said I'll never make it, that I ain't no filmmaker. She said I'd just as soon be a Chinese acrobat. You think that's true?"
    "I don't know," I said. "I don't teach Chinese acrobatics."
    "I'm serious. Man, you know where I'm from. I'm the first person in my family to finish high school, let a-lone go to college. All my relatives are up on my shit for studying film. If this is a waste of time, I gotta give it up."
    What could I say? That despite fortune cookies and inspirational posters, dreams aren't sufficient? That you can dig down and do your best but in real life that's still not always good enough?
    "Look," I said, "a lot of this comes down to hard work and luck. You keep at it and keep at it and hope you catch a break."
    "Is that how you made it?"
    "I didn't make it. That's why I'm here."
    "What do you mean? You done writing movies?" He looked shattered.
    "For now. And that's okay. If there's one piece of advice I'd offer, and you shouldn't listen to it anyway, it's to be sure this is what you want. Because if you're pursuing this for the wrong reasons, you might get there and realize it's not what you thought it was."
    His face was pensive, empathetic. Pursing his lips, he nodded slowly, took a few backward steps toward the door.
    "Listen, Diondre . . . I've been receiving some weird threats."
    "Threats?"
    "Or warnings, maybe. Do you know of any students who'd want to mess with me?"
    He feigned indignation. "And you askin' me 'cuz I'm black and from Lincoln Heights?"
    "Of course." I held his stare until we both laughed. "I'm asking you because you're good at reading people."
    "I dunno. Most of the students are fine with you, from what I've heard. You don't grade too hard." He held up both hands. "No offense."
    "None taken."
    "Oh." He snapped his fingers. "I'd watch out for that little Filipino kid. What's his name? Smoke-a-bong?"
    "Paeng Bugayong?"