From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

He raised his jacket and backpack high, then dropped them heavily—

Bang.

A crisp sound.

Anson vented his frustration in this way, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He turned and picked up the public phone, took out two coins and inserted them. He pressed the phone number, trying to calm down a bit.

Waiting, waiting.

"Hey, Luca? Anson."

"Yeah, Dad's drunk again..."

As he spoke, he looked outside, his body leaning involuntarily towards the transparent barrier of the public phone. His brow furrowed slightly as he carefully examined his father sitting in the passenger seat, worried he might do something strange again.

But before he could see clearly, a voice came from behind him.

"So, Mr. Macfarlane."

Anson startled, grimacing slightly, but immediately put on a smile and turned his head towards the voice. "Hello, Mr. Routh."

A bald man stood behind him, staring at Anson with a forced smile.

"Uh, sorry, I'm late. My dad took me to lunch—breakfast, I mean."

He tried to make up an excuse in a hurry, but he wasn't very good at it, and he already gave himself away with just one sentence.

Mr. Routh was expressionless. "My office."

After saying this, Mr. Routh turned and left without paying attention to Anson.

Anson turned his head to look at Mr. Routh. Although he couldn't see his facial expression, he could see his shoulders and jawline sinking slightly, as if he sighed softly.

Then Anson turned back, lowered his head, leaned against the public phone, and muttered in a low, depressed voice.

"Yes, I'm in trouble."

The other end of the phone was talking.

Anson listened obediently.

The whole scene was silent—

This was it, the phone scene that Gus was always concerned about.

In fact, Anson's understanding of the whole situation, condition, and feeling was all correct. A seventeen-year-old boy tried to skip class but was discovered by his father; his father wanted to take him back to school, but he found that his father was suspected of being drunk. Instead, he needed to worry about his father's condition. After he returned to school, he was full of worry, as well as irritability, impatience, and helplessness, and so on.

Helplessly, he could only ask his brother for help, even if he wanted to help, he didn't know how to start.

The bitter and lonely youth not only needed to face his own situation at school but also needed to worry about the situation at home. His head was filled with problems and worries, but there were no answers.

This state was delicate and fragile.

Anson's understanding was not a problem.

However, Gus always felt that Anson's performance felt slightly off.

It wasn't exactly that he was overacting, nor was it so exaggerated that it felt too contrived, but Gus could still see traces of acting.

Such traces could not be concealed in a long take, and therefore it lacked persuasiveness.

But Gus couldn't say exactly how to modify or adjust it.

Gus didn't think this was Anson's fault, it was mainly just a matter of getting used to it.

Until now.

This time, Gus didn't notice any traces of expression on Anson's face. From his eyes to his movements to his reactions, everything seemed natural and smooth, presenting a state, a subtle state of restraint and implicitness.

At this moment, Gus saw that Anson from their first meeting again—

A little bit of fragility, a little bit of helplessness, a little bit of irritability, and also a little bit of loneliness.

He tried to cover up, tried to hide, only revealing a little bit unintentionally when he was in a daze, but then hiding it again when he looked up, but he didn't hide it well.

Youth is like this.

Such an Anson was real and sensitive, firmly grabbing Gus's attention.

More importantly, Gus could perceive Anson's sensitivity and unease.

This was what Gus had been looking for.

Such an Anson completely shed the halo and clamor of Spider-Man, his handsome face also hidden behind that tacky blond hair, cautiously revealing a little bit of reality.

The thin sunlight shone down, but it seemed unable to fall on him.

Anson held the receiver, seemingly listening, yet seemingly a little absent-minded, but his focused expression still revealed a little bit of cleverness and quietness.

Then, he finally straightened his body and looked outside again, his casual gaze confirming once again that his father was still sitting in the passenger seat, feeling slightly relieved.

Only after the words on the other end of the phone finished, did he continue to say.

"Can you pick him up? I'll leave the car keys in the office."

Uh.

A pause.

"As soon as possible, okay? I don't know if he'll run around."

His gaze remained outside, but he couldn't keep staring at his father, so it drifted to the side, yet the corner of his eye couldn't help but lock onto his father.

"Okay. Good."

He hung up the phone.

He glanced at his father again, then turned away irritably, grabbed his jacket and backpack, lowered his head, his shoulders drooping slightly, and opened the faculty office door—

Passing the front desk, he resignedly headed to Mr. Routh's office.

Success!

Finally, this time Gus didn't interrupt the filming. The phone scene that had been NG'd fourteen times finally passed smoothly, and the entire set was completely silent.

But he couldn't be in a daze.

The other students and faculty waiting for their scenes all busied themselves, because the long take was not over. The camera was locked on Anson, while things were still happening in other parts of the school.

Fortunately, for them, it wasn't unfamiliar, because it was their ordinary daily life.

They were originally a little nervous because of the presence of the camera, but the long wait of fourteen NGs had numbed all their tension and anxiety. At this time, they finally entered the camera, and the amateur actors who were filming a movie for the first time relaxed and wholeheartedly entered their own state.

Harris carried the camera, closely following Anson's footsteps.

Was there anything special about Anson in the camera?

No. Not at all.

Natural, relaxed, immersed in his own thoughts, without obvious emotional fluctuations, only his drooping shoulders and dragging footsteps revealed a trace of heaviness.

However.

Harris's camera couldn't leave Anson at all, firmly capturing his every move, silently entering the world of this seventeen-year-old boy, carefully feeling his sensitivity and loss.

Finally.

Anson sat down on the red sofa against the wall in Mr. Routh's office.

He sat down gently, but sank heavily, and before he could react, his whole body was completely submerged in the red sofa, like a small ball swallowed by a red man-eating flower, leaving only a small head in the blink of an eye.