STS Ch-50

“Action!”

At Mr. Gardner’s cue, I took off across the campus, my breath steady as a steadicam operator fell into stride beside me. Renting the rig and hiring someone skilled enough to handle it had been expensive, but it was an expense I couldn’t cut. I had a very specific vision for this scene, and without a steadicam, it simply wouldn’t work. Some things were non-negotiable, even on a micro-budget.

Every other outdoor scene had already been shot. This was the last one, held back only because I hadn’t been able to arrange a steadicam earlier. New York during winter break was the only window where everything lined up. Then I had to wait for the snow to melt for the continuity of the film. That’s why this scene had been postponed to the last day of filming.

As I ran, the campus blurred around me, familiar faces flashing past.

Ron, my roommate, stood near one of the walkways, awkwardly talking to the girl he’d liked for months. He waved when he saw me, his smile wide and confident in a way it hadn’t been before. I waved back without slowing down.

A little farther along, I passed the overweight guy I used to run into every morning. He was finally jogging on the track, red-faced but grinning like he’d won a medal. He shouted a loud thank-you from across the field. I gave him a quick nod, not breaking pace. I didn’t have time to stop.

Within minutes, I crossed paths with several others, people who recognized me because I’d helped them in one way or another. Faces blurred into one another as the camera followed me in a single, fluid motion. I didn’t stop for any of them.

Not until I reached where I’d been headed all along.

The girls’ dormitory.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Julie, or rather her character, Andie, was seated at her desk, a thick book open in front of her. She didn’t look up right away.

“Do you know there’s a five-letter word in the Oxford dictionary?” she said calmly, rubbing her chin as if deep in thought. “K-N-O-C-K. Pronounced knock. It means rapping your knuckles on someone’s door and asking permission to enter, instead of barging in like a hooligan.”

I stared at her flatly. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Have I said this before in one of your earlier time loops?”

I stepped closer to her desk. “This is the first time I’ve barged in here, so no.”

She stood, positioning herself directly in front of me, eyes locked onto mine. A cocky grin tugged at her lips.

“What is it, Bill?” she asked after a beat. “You seem to know me a little too well for someone I met yesterday. You can’t expect us to become best friends just because of your…condition, which I still find hard to believe, to be completely honest.”

“True,” I said quickly. “Just hear me out, okay? If you don’t want to see me again after that, I’ll leave. At least for this version of you.”

She bit her lower lip, torn, studying my face for a long moment before finally nodding.

“Go on,” she said.

“You bite your lip whenever you’re nervous about something but still trying to act tough,” I said quietly. She released her lip immediately.

“This whole tough persona you like to put on is just that, a persona. You’re actually very kind, even to strangers.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor.

“You’re a great listener, and you never judge people, even when they dump all their emotional baggage on you.”

I took a small step closer and propped a finger under her chin, making her meet my gaze.

“Your eyes are the most expressive part of your face. Whenever you’re excited, there’s this shine in them that you don’t even try to hide.”

She stayed silent, breathing shallowly.

“And most importantly, you never really smile in public. It’s always that infuriating smirk I’ve grown to love. The real smile only comes out when you think no one’s watching, when you’re alone with your thoughts.”

For a brief second, she let a genuine smile slip through. Then it vanished, replaced by the guarded look she wore so well.

“Bill—”

“I love you,” I said, cutting her off.

She froze, like the words had physically rooted her to the spot.

“I…” she started.

“You don’t have to do or say anything,” I rushed on. “I just needed to say it once. Just in case I never get the courage to say it again. You’ll forget about it in a few hours anyway.”

I turned toward the door, ready to leave her room and the moment behind.

Her hand closed around my arm.

I turned back, surprised.

“Where are you going?” she asked softly.

I shrugged. “Anywhere. Just waiting for the day to end so I can do it all over again.”

She didn’t let go. Instead, she stepped closer and pulled me toward her.

“Stay.”

I blinked. “But I thought you didn’t want to do this again.”

“I’m not asking for sex,” she said quickly. “Just stay the night. If you somehow wake up to a new day, I’ll…”

“You’ll?” I asked.

She shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Stay and find out.”

The odds were bleak, but I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

Minutes later, we lay together on the bed, the room quiet except for our breathing. I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, fitting naturally behind her.

“See you yesterday,” I murmured as we closed our eyes.

The final scene, where Andie and Bill wake up on a new day and share a final passionate kiss to mark the start of our relationship, had already been shot earlier.

“Cut!” Mr. Gardner called out, unable to hide his excitement. “And that’s the last scene of See You Yesterday.”

Cheers erupted across the room. Our small, young, exhausted crew broke into applause, laughing and hugging one another as the weight of months of work finally lifted.

Julie and I climbed off the bed and joined them. It felt like we’d been shooting forever. Now it was February 1980, and the principal photography was finally complete, with a title to match.

My classmates had thrown around dozens of suggestions, but I wanted something simple and memorable. Something that stuck.

See You Yesterday was perfect.

There would be a movie with a similar name released far in the future, but no one would ever know I borrowed it. After all, I was already borrowing plenty of ideas from films that didn’t exist yet.

“Thank you, everyone,” I said, realizing I was about to give an impromptu speech. “I couldn’t have made this film without all of you agreeing to take this crazy leap with me. And thank you, Mr. Gardner, for letting us take on such a massive project and for giving up so much of your time to make sure I didn’t completely mess this up.”

“You didn’t,” he said calmly. “You didn’t need me.”

“I did,” I insisted.

“Let’s agree to disagree,” he replied.

We both laughed, and the tension in the room eased. I turned back to the rest of the crew, most of whom were my classmates from VES, their faces flushed with excitement and exhaustion.

“As it turns out, I’ve still got some of the budget left,” I continued. “So tonight, the drinks are on me. Let’s go wild and party like there’s no tomorrow. No pun intended.”

The cheers that followed were louder than anything I’d heard from them all year.

I couldn’t help thinking that we were probably one of the last generations who’d be able to drink legally at university before the government raised the age limit to 21.

(Break)

April 1980, Harvard University

I sat beside Oliver in the editing room of VES, the faint hum of the equipment filling the silence as he scrubbed through the footage frame by frame. The glow from the monitor lit his face as he leaned in, focused.

“What if I cut this part out?” he asked, pointing at the section where I was swimming. “It doesn’t really add anything to the story.”

I shook my head immediately. “No. We have to keep the swimming scene. No exceptions.”

He frowned slightly. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Call it superstition. Since I’m a swimmer, I want every film I make to have at least one swimming or underwater scene, if possible.”

I leaned back, thinking it through as I spoke. The Blue Lagoon had been shot extensively underwater. Friday the 13th had that lake scene where I swam. Even my next film, Risky Business, would have a moment where the car went underwater with me. There was no way See You Yesterday wasn’t getting one as well.

It was my quiet way of paying homage to my divine parent, Poseidon. I was still more than a little annoyed at him for taking away parts of my memory, but I’d learned to accept it. I’d found a new purpose in this life, something that excited me almost as much as software had in my first one. And if he really was watching my every move, I figured I could show a little gratitude.

Oliver studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. We’ll keep the swimming scene. Now let’s stitch this together with the rest of the film.”

He made a few final cuts, adjusted the timing, and leaned back.

For nearly a full minute, neither of us spoke. We just stared at the screen, watching the finished film play out in silence.

“We did it?” I asked, almost afraid to believe it.

“I think we did,” Oliver said, nodding slowly. “Holy shit.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Holy shit indeed.”

The only things left now were sound mixing and some ADR to dub over the parts that hadn’t come out clean. For that, I had already hired a professional team in Boston. I would hand the film over to them and let them take it the rest of the way.

Some of the actors, including me, would need to spend a day or two at the sound studio for ADR, but beyond that, my involvement in the making of this film was almost over.

It felt surreal.

I had been working day and night, tirelessly balancing my studies, sports, extracurriculars, and filming. Now that the final piece was done, it felt like a burden had been lifted off my shoulders.

I should have felt relieved.

Instead, I felt… empty.

A part of me wanted to dive straight into another movie, to fill that sudden void, but I knew it wasn’t healthy. Or practical.

“Congratulations, boys,” Mr. Gardner said jovially. “You two have outdone yourselves. Honestly, Noah, Oliver, great work.”

“Thank you, sir,” Oliver said, nodding.

Mr. Gardner usually didn’t involve himself in post-production, but he’d made an exception after we told him we’d be finishing the edit today.

Then he turned to me, his expression shifting, his voice more serious.

“I think you should drop out of my classes next year, Noah.”

I blinked. “You want me to drop out of VES?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I want you to drop out of the filmmaking classes. You can still make films with VES.”

I stared at him, confused.

“After watching you over the past year,” he continued, “I can confidently say you already know enough to teach a class of your own. You’re not a perfect filmmaker, no one is, but that only comes with practice. No classroom can teach that.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully.

“Honestly, I think you should drop out of college altogether as soon as you find another big opportunity. As the head of VES, it would pain me to see a student like you leave. But I wouldn’t be a good teacher if I held you back from your true potential.”

Mr. Gardner wasn’t the first person to suggest it. More than a few people were surprised I was still at Harvard.

At first, I’d stayed to prove my father wrong. 

But now?

What was my reason?

I wasn’t learning anything substantial anymore. My studies were easy. Too easy. And my filmmaking classes mostly dealt in theory, film history, criticism, ethics, the kind of things that looked good on paper but meant very little once you were actually on set.

The only classes I genuinely valued were acting.

And I didn’t need Harvard for that.

I could take acting classes anywhere for far less money.

Then there was the summer, which was already slated to be the busiest summer of my life.

Not only would my first movie be released during that time, but I’d also be shooting Risky Business.

I could already feel the mental fatigue from working nonstop on a single film. After shooting Risky, I would definitely need a break after that, not rush into making another movie.

But dropping out of Harvard wasn’t something you did on a whim.

People would kill to secure a spot at what was widely considered the best university in the world, topping ranking after ranking.

“I’ll think about it,” I said after a few moments of deliberation.

“You do that,” Mr. Gardner agreed, before casually changing the topic. “So, I went to watch a film yesterday, and before it started, I saw the trailer for The Blue Lagoon.”

I groaned silently.

Oliver, being the friend he’d become after countless hours of working together, patted my back in sympathy.

The last few weeks at Harvard had been… awful.

Everyone and their mother now knew about Julie and my first movie. More than one girl had told me, straight to my face, how much they were looking forward to seeing me naked in the film. Flirting was one thing. This was something else entirely.

And it wasn’t just girls.

A surprising number of guys had approached me, too. Most just wanted to say hi and wanted to see someone almost famous. Others wanted my help breaking into the industry, which was weird on multiple levels. I wasn’t an agent who could land them roles. And even if I somehow had that kind of pull, I wasn’t about to hand out jobs to complete newbies just because we went to the same university.

“That’s the price of stardom,” Mr. Gardner joked. “Maybe think twice before taking on more acting roles?”

I shook my head. “Nah, I’m fine. It’s just… unexpected. I didn’t realize so many people would see the trailer for The Blue Lagoon. Columbia’s been pushing the film hard, it would seem.”

“That’s basically all anyone’s talking about on campus,” Oliver added helpfully. “You, Julie, and your sensual love story. Mark my words, everyone will have seen the film by the time you come back after summer break. Or should I say if you come back?”

I grimaced.

I clearly hadn’t thought it through when I said yes to The Blue Lagoon. And once I’d crossed that line, there was little reason to start refusing similar scenes in my other films, two of which had been written by me.

“After seeing the trailer,” Mr. Gardner said thoughtfully, “I have to admit—it looks like a very beautiful film.”

“It is,” I agreed. “The DP, Nestor, is incredible. He won an Oscar last year for Days of Heaven and was nominated again this year for Kramer vs. Kramer. He taught me at least half of what I know about lighting, camera placement, and color on film.”

“I love Days of Heaven,” Oliver gushed. “Can you tell me how the environment differed on The Blue Lagoon’s set from this one?”

As the conversation went deeper into the making of the film, I found my thoughts wandering elsewhere.

In just a month, The Blue Lagoon would be out in the world.

And nothing about my life would ever be the same again.