THE LADY WITH THE LAPTOPS turned out to be named Iris. She looked like she was about my mom’s age, but I could tell she spent a lot more money on her hair than my mom did.
“Iris?” I said. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
She sent a quick text or email from her phone, then looked up at me. “Well, my given name was Irene, but I changed it.”
“Why?”
“It just wasn’t getting the job done.”
“What job?”
“The job of life.”
I nodded, even though I had no idea what she was talking about.
She pointed to the chair next to her. “If you’re going to hide out from the law, you may as well be comfortable about it. Take a seat.”
“I’m not hiding out from the law,” I pointed out. “Just someone’s mom.”
“Gotcha,” said Iris.
I sat down.
Iris raised her hand to get the attention of the guy with all the earrings. “Can you please get my friend here a lemonade?”
“You got it,” the guy said.
Iris looked at me so intensely that I felt kind of like an animal in the zoo—a weird, strange-looking animal, like an aardvark or something.
“What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Pete.”
“So, Pete,” Iris said. “Do you make a habit of causing trouble?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you mind if I ask why?”
I thought for a second, trying to figure out why this Iris lady was asking me that. Maybe she was friends with Mrs. Collins! But probably not. Maybe she was one of those people that works in schools, dealing with the troublemakers, helping them get in touch with their feelings and all that.
But then that old tell-the-truth thing happened again, before I could stop it.
“‘Causing trouble’ sounds bad. It’s more like I do things that I think are really funny, but sometimes it turns out that other people don’t think they are nearly as funny as I do.”
“I see,” Iris said, nodding, still studying me.
“It’s my turn to ask a question,” I said.
Iris smiled. “Sure.”
“Why are you asking me so many questions? I mean, I’m basically just a kid like any other kid.”
“Well, that’s just it,” Iris said. “You have this thing that a lot of kids can relate to. ‘Relate-ability’ we call it in my business. The ability to relate.”
“What business is that?”
Iris twirled a giant purple ring that was on her left pinkie.
“The movie business,” she said.
Whoa.
“I love movies,” I said.
“Me, too. That’s why I picked this career.”
“What do you do in the movie business?”
“I’m a producer,” Iris said. “In fact, I’m here in Eastport looking at locations for a new project.”
“Locations?”
“Places to shoot the movie,” Iris explained.
I took a sip of my lemonade and tried to act like I’d met movie producers tons of times. But I hadn’t, of course. Not even once, in fact.
“Cool,” I said.
Iris was smiling. “So, Pete, I have one more question for you, if that would be okay.”
“I got nowhere to be,” I said, which made Iris laugh.
“Well,” she said, “this might sound strange, but I’d like to have you read.”
“Read what?”
She laughed again. “Sorry, I mean audition. For a part in the movie.”
I coughed and a tiny bit of lemonade came out my nose. Then I said something that I think sounded kind of like “Blurghrwigegaa.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “We’re having a tough time finding a kid to play a certain part, and you might be just what we’re looking for.”
I found my voice. “What? Seriously? What kind of kid?”
“Well, as it turns out,” Iris said, “he’s a little bit of a troublemaker.”
“I can do that,” I said.
“I bet you can,” Iris said. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a card, which she handed to me. IRIS GALT/PUDDING PRODUCTIONS, it said. LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA. “Go home and talk to your parents. If they say okay, then call this number, and we’ll go from there.”
Her phone buzzed, and she looked at it. “Whoops,” she said. Then she pushed a button and yelled, “Be right there, Sheldon!” It took her about five seconds to gather up her laptops, her phone, her purse, her bag, and her notebook and stand up. I swear, I’ve never seen anyone move that fast or carry that much stuff.
“Hope to see you again, Pete,” she said, and flew out the door.
I waved, but she was long gone. Then I just sat there for a minute, trying to figure out what had just happened.
“Dude,” said the tattooed, pierced guy. I jumped as if he’d woken me out of a deep sleep. “You want anything else?”
I shook my head. “Nah, I’m good.”
I guess for once, I didn’t tell the whole truth.
I was better than good.