Z on Location

The Wrong Kind of Mic Drop

Z’s phone dings early with a new #summeradventure post from Winter: helmet strapped on, launching off a platform for her first-ever canopy tour, whooping through the treetops hundreds of feet up. Winter’s caption promises the decision for her next special vlog feature is already getting hard, since so many amazing posts have come in from followers. Z watches it, half-thrilled and half-convinced her own posts can’t compete. She decides today is the day to find something impressive to film.

That something turns out to be Cortex, a tech company with a lobby so tall Z gapes at the ceiling, where screens flicker with footage of fast-moving city skylines. She sneaks a few seconds of it on her phone before Mom introduces her to Calista Danvers, the CEO and founder of Cortex, who looks sharp in a pale blue suit with an impressively firm handshake. Calista leads them back to an office so massive that her desk alone looks about the size of Z’s bedroom.

Z has read Mom’s briefing binder on Cortex: the company builds smart-home security systems, sensors that let parents check on their kids from anywhere, and devices meant to be built right into a house’s foundation, or fitted into an existing one, that can flag anything from a dirty air filter to the house shifting in an earthquake. It reminds Z of a futuristic-house story from language arts class, and she starts turning it into a possible line for her post while she wrestles the tripod out of the bag.

That’s the problem. Between the tripod, the lavalier mics, and a text from Mari about wallaroos at Woodland Park and Winter’s newest video, Z falls behind fast. Mom, rushing through the short time window Calista has given them, has already snapped the A camera into place herself. She tells Z, low and fast, that she needs to move much faster. She’d hoped Z could fit a lav mic on Calista for the practice, but there wasn’t time to wait, so she’s already done it herself.

Mom snaps the B camera into a tripod and says this camera is their backup for today. Sometimes they’ll use it to get B-roll footage, but today they need to move fast. Mom hands Z a shotgun mic and tells her to set it up. Z fires off a quick reply to Mari and shoves her phone away, sensing this shoot feels nothing like the relaxed hour they’d spent with Kacey and Roxie.

Once the cameras roll, Calista explains that sensors aren’t the ones making decisions, just collecting data, and that Cortex’s real job is turning that data into something families can use. Mid-answer, Z’s phone buzzes again in her pocket. She should have shut it off. Distracted, she lets the microphone dip down into the shot. Mom and Calista both turn to stare, Z’s face goes hot, and Mom calls, “Cut!”

Mortified, Z yanks the mic back into place without a word and grips it for the rest of the interview like a Titanic survivor clutching driftwood. Calista is gracious about the delay, picking her answer back up and finishing her point about earthquake sensors before Mom wraps the shoot and they pack the equipment up in the lobby.

Outside, Z already knows there will be no ice cream today. Mom apologizes first, saying it wasn’t fair to expect Z to handle everything an assistant does.

Still, she needs another set of hands for the rest of the trip. Nora, one of her film students, is meeting them in San Francisco. Z protests that she can do it herself, but Mom insists Z is still an important part of the crew and that Nora is only there to take some pressure off.

Z’s stomach drops. Does this mean she won’t get to interview Winter after all? Mom won’t promise anything beyond taking the next few shoots one at a time.

Z climbs back into the RV feeling worse than ever, and that’s when her phone lights up with Becka and Gigi gushing over her “glamorous” summer and begging to sit in on the Winter interview, plus a video from Mari of a tiny kangaroo hopping to one of her own songs. Z can’t bring herself to admit how badly the shoot went, or that she might not even get to interview Winter now. She just promises to try, typing it out and hoping that faking it might make it come true.