you have received [1] email with a VIDEO SUBMISSION from CECILYA ARSLAN !
𝙸𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙳𝚄𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽
turning on the camera in her bedroom and standing in front of her four poster princess canopy bed, cecilya looked at the camera checking the blinking light was on. she wasn’t exactly technologically gifted but when her and mia had found this new programme and sent it out to all their friends, she had put extra effort into trying to make the worlds most fabulous audition tape. she did have a flair for the dramatics. “good morning sir and madam, person(s)! my name is cecilya arslan and i’m twenty four years young, in the prime of my life. as you can see i have a particular flair for style and i would love the opportunity to restart my fashion degree after my old university got unfortunately shut down,” she paused with a bright smile, “wait there one second ... i’ll be right back ! “ she hit pause on the tape as if they would actually know how long she was gone for.
𝙼𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈
having run back and hit record again on the device, she stood with a large red suitcase flipped open and began to gleefully pull numerous items out to present them to the camera. first she presented a long red dress which she held up to her body, “i’d like to showcase my special talent which is being able to locate one fashion item for every single person i’ve ever seen once,” she explained intently as if that were a special skills comparable to being a psychic medium. to her it was better. “this was from my valentines 2021 collection, it was totally a bust because my boyfriend dumped me at lunch time to spend the day with the boys but i was feeling this cute little 1960s type of style and i know that this would look so good on the programme coordinator, jackie renaldi,” she held the dress for a few seconds more before placing it down on her large cream ottoman and grabbing something else, some kind of satin shirt with a pocket piece sewn on. “now, i know this is kind of out there for a refined guy like you, dean simons but i just know that this is going to be your colour. when i was sewing this little pocket piece with the bee,” she pointed to the little design, “i was thinking about how busy you must be looking through these tapes. so now you can put all your handkerchiefs ... in case things get emotional, or snacks in here while you select your candidates!” she placed it on top before taking out her final item which was a large dark leather coated handbag that she had somewhat dedazzled, a classic line of faux pearls over the top and the handle, “and for mrs brown, she seemed like a lady who needed a good solid bag. don’t we all? i thought that she’d love this for carrying like, books and stuff,” she exclaimed, holding it in the air before drawing off, “so that’s my application and i really hope that you’ll consider accepting me because i would love another chance to become a professional woman and see the world all by myself but also ... with you guys . thank you ! “
our second ever task is to rewind to the very beginning of your characters journey, the first moment they decided to apply for the program. as part of the process they had to submit a video tape about why they should be accepted into the interchange ; we want to see this. your task is to recreate this video in any way that you want to... an interview, quote, self para.
With a frown, December squinted at the screen. It had been a long time since he’d used a laptop. The man he was currently crashing with was nice enough to let him use his, or currently too far gone to care. It was dusty and ancient, and slow, the only reason it hadn’t been pawned for drug money by now. No one wanted it.
“Guess so, the light’s on,” he mumbled to himself, words slightly slurred. “So, aye, I’m December, December Ath-- wait, no, no. Sorry. December Adamos.”
He’d legally changed his name a few months ago. Half a year now? There were a few reasons for it. His past not coming up with a quick Google search was one reason. Running from everything he’d done. Dropping anything his adoptive father had left him was the main goal. He tended to forget, though, he was someone else now.
“I’m supposed to be telling you why I should be accepted into this program.”
A long paused followed that. He could think of nothing, not one reason, one redeeming quality that would make him a good student. He’d been alright in the beginning, he’d been excited to learn, but by the time high school came around he’d given up on himself. He spent more time skipping classes or sleeping in them than actually paying attention. More time stoned, drunk or high than sober. It was a miracle he graduated, the amount of times he’d thought about dropping out, he couldn’t count. The amount of times he’d been told to try harder. The amount of times he’d been told he’d never make it anywhere in life like this.
“The truth is, I don’t know,” he found himself admitting after what felt like a solid two minutes, gaze dropping to his lap. Honesty was probably not the best policy here, but if he didn’t make it in, he didn’t make it in. He lost nothing. “I think I’m just tired. I’m tired of running, I’m tired of everyone looking down on me, I’m tired of looking down on myself.” Maybe he did want to change. Maybe he just didn’t know how. “Maybe I actually believe this school will help me. It sounds kind of fun, you know? Travelling the world, not worrying about having a place to sleep every night.”
Forcing eye contact with the camera again, a small smile tugged at the man’s lips.
“I don’t know why I should be accepted into the Interchange. I don’t even remember where I heard about it, or why I thought this was a good idea. You probably get thousands of applications a week. You’re going to glance over mine so fast, look at me,” with a laugh, he gestured to his unkempt hair, the shirt he was wearing with holes in it, “but if you don’t, you know...”
The idea that someone was going to see this video, was going to hear him admit that he didn’t want to be this way, this person --- that was comfort enough. He couldn’t care less about this school, or college in general. He couldn’t even figure out what he would want to major in. But it had been so long since anyone had heard him, listened to him.
“I guess what I’m asking is for,” he realized aloud, “is for you to take a chance on me. And if you do... you know, take a chance on me... I’ll take a chance on myself.”
summary: zeki records his interview for the program. he hears back in a couple of weeks and shares the news with his favorite person: his dad.
zeki props up his phone on his desk. he faces it backwards so he can’t see himself, else he might begin to feel self conscious. zeki is a confident man, but he knows this is a long shot. he hasn’t even told his dad about this yet. if he were to have to admit to not getting in, well, he’s not sure he can handle disappointing the man he looks up to so much.
it takes him several takes. each one feels fake at first, like he’s selling himself, and while he’s confident he is not egotistical.
first take. “oh shit, no.”
second take. “god, that sounded terrible.”
third take. he sighs and places his head in his hands.
fourth take.
“uh, hello. i’m zeki demir. i live here in seattle with my dad. we currently run a car garage together here. i was born in connecticut, though, where i got started working on cars. truthfully, i think i want to do this because it feels like life pushed me here. i wouldn’t have come across this program if it hadn’t fallen in my lap. it’s not something i would’ve searched for on my own. for a while i thought i’d be a mechanic forever, which i do love, don’t get me wrong. but at some point it started feeling like i should be doing more. i can teach other people my skills. i can pass down what my dad passed on to me. i love our business. it started small, back in connecticut, but it’s grown out here. people trust us to do right by them, fix what they need fixed, keep them safe.” he pauses for what feels like too long, but he decides to keep going. “anyways, i just want to share that with some younger minds. thank you for taking the time to watch this.”
he wipes sweaty palms on his slacks, standing up to turn the phone camera off.
a couple of weeks later
zeki’s mail is in a pile on the counter untouched, the way his father always leaves it. on top is one from a sender he doesn’t recognize. he takes it to his room to open it. the contents are shocking to him. he didn’t think he stood a chance.
the boy descends the stairs into the kitchen area. him and his dad have done good at keeping their lives separate whilst living together. he has the upstairs to himself, all the amenities he could need besides the kitchen. his dad never comes up. truthfully, eren demir probably hasn’t seen the upstairs in years. eren sits at the kitchen counter, bifocals slipped down to his nose as he peruses a newspaper. his fingers look just like zeki’s, callused and stained with black grease.
“dad, hey. i gotta talk to you about something.” he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. he’s nervous. and kind of sad.
“what’s going on, kid?”
he’s not a kid anymore, but it makes zeki feel loved when his dad calls him that. he explains his application to this program, what it entails, how he’ll be traveling while doing his degree. his dad doesn’t stir in his chair the whole time zeki speaks. he loves that about his dad, how attentively he listens. sometimes he wonders how his mother could’ve ever decided this man wasn’t good enough for her. his father is the best person he knows. his dad nods, expressing his acceptance of what zeki has chosen for himself.
when his dad finally stands up, zeki lets out the breath he was holding. the two men embrace for the first time in a long time. his dad is a man of few words, just like him.
“you make me proud, son.”
they stand there like that for some time. until his dad finally stops shaking.
it’s a loaded question, one she isn’t sure she knows how to answer? emerson doesn’t really think there is all that much special about her if she really puts her mind to the question. she sure shes smart, but so are a lot of the kids that are applying she’s sure of that. other than that though? what really makes her stand out from the rest of the crowd.
“i don’t know who i am.”
it’s a quiet response and she looks down from the camera for a second as her fingers fiddle with each other. “i got so many versions of me i think i should be, the ones the teachers want, the one the boys want, what my mom wants from her only daughter...what my dad wants from the third solider he has tried to raise but i have no idea who i am.” emerson knew that she had spent so much of her life with her head stuffed in a book she had forgotten to live a good part of it, a part that she should have been paying attention.
all the other questions felt like she had nailed, scored nothing but a passing grade but this one felt like she was failing and she was failing hard. “i love my dad, i love him more than anything and i want to make him proud of me but i feel like there is a part of me that isn’t ever going to figure shit out until i’m away from him you know? till i am away from his judgement and his rigour, his ever present hand at the small of my back just guiding me through life how he thinks i should live it.”
there is another pause in her speech, because
“i just need a chance to really jump in the deep end you know? i think i deserve at least a chance to breathe.”
"you think i'd plot to dump paint on my damn self? pissed me off, whoever it was. i'm still trying to get the paint out of my fucking white shirt. anyways, my bets are on that everett kid. he was off his rocker. but i didn't actually see anything. can i go back to bed now? i've got a roaring headache and this is making it worse."
"i honestly have no idea what happened. i'd been drinking a lot, so i wasn't really paying attention to whether or not anyone looked like they were up to no good, i'm sorry. it was kind of a mean prank, but also kind of funny. sorry, not funny. i wasn't involved, i swear."
