The Real Z

The Real Me

Z spends the next week and a half polishing her documentary before the CloudSong deadline, and this cut feels different, more personal, more truly hers, than anything she has made before. On the day the entry is due, Lauren and Mari come over for an after-school snack while everyone waits for Mom to get home so the whole group can look at the #TheRealMe responses together before Z hits Send.

Scrolling through the hashtag, they find more than 450 comments, including confessions from kids they know. One commenter admits the real her likes video games more than dolls, and another confesses she’d rather take a still-life art class than play any sport.

They watch a video reply from their classmate Maddie, who explains that she goes quiet around big groups, not because she’s bored or rude, but because crowds make her nervous, and she’d rather talk one-on-one. Andrew steps into her shot to back her up, then admits his own secret. He’s quietly taken hip-hop dance classes for five years and has never told anyone, worried about what people would think. Maddie begs for a demo on the spot. Andrew laughingly refuses, joking he’ll show off once Z is there to film him under the right lighting.

Mari drafts and sends a reply of her own, to a commenter asking about fashion, about wearing what makes you feel like yourself and being proud of it.

Z’s dog, Popcorn, leaps up and paws the keyboard, accidentally replaying the original #TheRealMe video. Everyone watches it again anyway, Z’s on-camera invitation for the “Z Crew” to open up, cut together with Lauren’s and Mari’s own stories and clips Z spliced in from Gigi’s travel photos and Becka’s wheelchair basketball.

Mom comes home mid-viewing with the groceries, proud that colleagues at her own job have been sharing the post, calling Z a true filmmaker and pointing out that real art gets people talking and connecting. Z thinks a follow-up video encouraging more posts is a good idea, but Dad reminds her she still has an entry to submit.

Everyone leans around the kitchen island as Z closes her eyes and, with her friends chanting “Power to the Z Crew” and her parents cheering her on, presses Send on her CloudSong submission. Lauren and Mari beg to watch the finished movie right away, but Z wants the Z Crew together only once it makes the festival lineup. They debate a celebratory dinner, baked ziti, bossam, or a burger and fries, before a soft ping interrupts them: a reply email. Z’s stomach sinks, half hoping it had already been picked as too brilliant to wait on. It isn’t a verdict, just confirmation that CloudSong will pick a winner by May 15, and an invitation for Z to help judge other young filmmakers’ entries in the meantime.

Curious, Z and her family watch a few of the other submissions. One, made by a boy about her age, tours Seattle’s underground passageways, streets that ran at ground level until the city raised them in the mid-1800s. He climbs ladders through the tunnels to show hidden doorways and long-buried rooms still holding up after decades of heavy rain. Another, from a girl who loves anything “creepy cool,” visits a shop that supposedly sells haunted artifacts, a cemetery stop tied to martial-arts stars Bruce and Brandon Lee, and a giant shoe museum. Mom points out that both films reflect what their makers love about their hometown, just as Z’s reflects her. Z feels a nervous flutter of competitiveness, but she also notices that every entry, like every #TheRealMe post, is really just someone’s honest version of their own story. She closes the laptop knowing she told hers as truthfully as she could, and that, no matter how the contest turns out, is enough.