Free The Mysterious Case of the Allbright Academy by Diane Stanley Page B

and Brooklyn like they were long-lost friends instead of complete strangers. And when Zoë and J. D. came in, he gushed over them, too. He was totally out of control. (My only consolation was that he was in slightly post-Marine-recruit hair mode.)
    There was no sitting down for a casual chat. He absolutely had to show me the documentary he was working on for his film class. He insisted everybody go immediately into the den, where he hooked up the camera to the TV so he could show us what he had so far. He didn’t ask if we actually wanted to watch it. He just assumed we did. I burned with embarrassment.
    â€œBeamer’s in a special magnet school for the arts,” I explained. “That’s why he’s taking filmmaking.”
    â€œCool,” Brooklyn said.
    â€œOur assignment is to do a documentary on ‘what makes us happy,’” Beamer said. “I know that sounds totally sappy, but my teacher says that beginning filmmakers are always doing this dark, depressing stuff because they think it makes them seem profound, when it’s actually a lot harder to make a film that’s positive and upbeat without being sickly sweet. At the moment I’m still gathering the images. I’ll pull it all together and add music at the end, when I do the editing.”
    â€œI can tell you really like your new school,” I said, hoping I had hit the right note, simultaneously signaling to Cal and Brooklyn that I thought he seemed a little over the top while sounding encouraging to Beamer. It was the sort of subtlety that took a lot of practice to do well, and I wasn’t too sure of myself yet. I was afraid maybe I sounded like a total fake.
    â€œYeah, I do,” he said, looking at me curiously, the wind out of his sails a little. “I feel like I belong there.”
    â€œThat’s great,” I said lamely.
    Beamer’s dogs came up on the screen. They were out in the backyard and it was a bright, sunny day, so the shadows from the trees were very dark. The dogs were running in and out of the sunlight, and something about the camera setting made themalmost disappear in the glare of the sun, then reappear when they went into the shadows.
    â€œWow,” said J. D., who was now lying on his back (still under the table), watching the TV upside down. “That’s so neat!”
    Beamer smiled. “Me and my dogs, you know—I couldn’t make a film about things that make me happy without them…”
    I winced to hear him call his video a “film.” It sounded so pretentious.
    â€œâ€¦but with dogs, it’s hard not to get too cute, you know? That’s the challenge. I was trying to find a different way of seeing them.”
    â€œI think it’s wonderful, Beamer,” Zoë said.
    â€œWait, you’ll love this.” The scene switched to his living room. The camera must have been set to film automatically, because Beamer was in the picture, sitting on the couch. Again, he’d been thinking about the light, because the window to the west had Venetian blinds and the sun was streaming in, casting a shadow of stripes across him, changing shape with the contour of his body.
    Now his largest and oldest dog came into the picture, a white English setter with caramel speckles. He walked stiffly over to Beamer, sat down, and laid his head dreamily in Beamer’s lap, closing his eyes contentedly.
    â€œSweet Sandy,” I said.
    â€œFranny’s a big Sandy fan,” Beamer explained with a happy smile. “Of which he has many. Everybody loves a soft dog.”
    The camera panned in for a close-up.
    â€œHow’d you do that?” Brooklyn asked. “Is somebody else holding the camera?”
    â€œHe’s got a remote control in his left hand,” J. D. said.
    â€œVery observant!” Beamer reversed the picture to show us. “See?” Then he pressed PLAY again, and Sandy made a second entrance.
    The scene changed