Free I Don't Know How the Story Ends by J.B. Cheaney Page A

down. Savvy?”
    For an answer, I put a hand on Sylvie’s neck and marched her up the path toward the aforementioned stump. Behind me Sam muttered, “You’re going to have to make up your mind because—”
    â€œI know!” Ranger muttered back snappishly. “But who’s paying for the film?”
    That must be why he was always cash poor, I thought. We kept marching, and when Ranger called, “Now disappear!” I pulled Sylvie off the path with me.
    â€œHow much longer?” she whined.
    â€œJust until Mr. Art decides his muse is done for the day.”
    â€œWho’s Mr. Art?”
    â€œDon’t touch the makeup! We’ll just have to slap it back on. Don’t forget, you’re the one who wanted to be in a picture.”
    â€œI already was in a picture, and we didn’t even get to see it.”
    â€œThat’s because we’re just decoration.”
    â€œWhat’s that over there?” Sylvie asked, pointing through the trees, at the very moment Ranger yelled, “ Now !”
    I got a firm grip on her hand, whispering, “Ask me later. Let’s get this right, or we’ll have to do it again and again and again.”
    â€œLook scared!” Ranger called, as we emerged from behind the trees. I didn’t see him, but of course Sam was at the end of the path, turning the camera crank at a steady pace, counting under his breath for every full turn: one one hundred, two one hundred…
    A high-pitched scream from the bushes made me almost jump out of my skin. Sylvie clutched me in a suffocating grip. “What was that?”
    â€œ Good , Sylvie!” came Ranger’s voice from the brush on our right. “Look in the other direction now. Isobel, you’re jumpy. You’ve been hearing noises— Arrrrrgh ! ” He made a gurgling noise in his throat. “It might be a mountain lion or a bear!”
    â€œBut I saw it,” Sylvie said to him. “It looked like—”
    â€œStop looking this way! I’m not here! Squeeze close to Isobel!”
    â€œTalk to me if you have to talk,” I murmured.
    She answered, just as murmury, “Back in the trees. It looked like—”
    â€œPut your arm around her, Iz!” Ranger commanded, keeping pace with us. “You’re trying to be brave, but these noises are getting to you. Like this one: Arrooooo ! ” I pulled Sylvie closer, barely keeping a straight face. “ Bully! As you come closer, let the camera see your eyes get wider—no, not too fast! A little at a time. And your mouth like an O. Closer…closer…ready… Cut!”
    By then, my eyes were as wide as they could go without falling out. Sam emerged from behind the camera, almost smiling. “Looked good, except the kid kept talking to you.”
    â€œYep, I thought that might have blown it. Let’s do it again.”
    My hands flew up in exasperation, which freed Sylvie to dash back up the path. While the boys engaged in camera talk, I sulked, staring at Sam’s cap, which he always turned backward while shooting so the bill did not bump up against the viewfinder. Very practical, but I thought it looked silly. Like so much else in the moving-picture business. They were coming to some sort of agreement (I could tell by the voices, not the words), when Sylvie screamed from the woods: “ Come look! Come look ! ”
    When she lets loose like that, it can mean she’s just excited or she’s being mauled by a very large animal, so I took off at a gallop with the boys close behind. What we found, after crashing through the brush and wire, was Sylvie doing a clog dance on the floor of an abandoned shack. It was about the size of an auto garage, with one door and two windows, a wall missing and the roof partly caved.
    â€œSee?” Sylvie crowed. “I’m in a show!”
    I sagged, gulping for breath. “Is that all? I thought you were being