The Final Cut

Auteur
Denis Markell has written three other novels for kids--the puzzle-packed mystery Click Here to Start, the Dungeons & Dragons-inspired adventure The Game Masters of Garden Place, and the kid-friendly horror story The Ghost in Apartment 2R. He lives in Brooklyn with his wife, illustrator Melissa Iwai, and his son, Jamie. You can find Denis on Twitter at @DenisMarkell, and yes, he'd be happy to do a Skype author visit for your kid's class.

Résumé
An hilarious coming-of-age story about home, friendship, and learning that sometimes the most exciting adventures happen behind-the-scenes.

Alex Davis is convinced that seventh grade is going to be his year. After spending all summer at skate camp, he knows he’ll finally be seen as one of the “cool kids” . . . until he’s mistakenly put in the wrong elective. Now, instead of taking a popular video games class with his friends, he’s stuck in Filmmaking with hipster teacher Pablo and a group of eccentric classmates.

But when it’s announced that their films will be entered in the school’s annual Golden Reel competition, Alex becomes determined to claim first prize and salvage his seventh-grade year.

With the help of his longtime crush, his best friend, and a peculiar new student, Alex sets out to make a masterpiece. Soon he discovers that someone is trying to sabotage his film and finds himself embroiled in a mystery—one that leads him and his crew to conniving classmates, traitorous teachers, and even corrupt city politicians!

Échantillon de lecture

Chapter 1 

The Hero’s Journey Begins with a Thud

“Call me Xan.”

I smile my coolest smile at the mirror.

Okay, if my voice hadn’t cracked, it probably would have sounded cooler.

And the expression on my face looked less like “I’m the most chill kid in seventh grade” and more “I have digestive issues that need to be taken care of immediately.”

But other than that, I’m pretty satisfied.

Let’s face it, seventh grade is a big deal.

The truth is, I had hoped that sixth grade would be a big deal.

A few years ago, my older cousin Leo, who goes to public school on Long Island, told me about how they had a whole graduation after fifth grade, and sixth grade meant moving to a whole different school, like it was the start of something new and fresh.

But I go to this weird private school where there’s no fuss made about changing grades. There’s no new start, just the same kids who’ve known you since the first grade when someone caught you eating your booger or something.

(For the record, that totally did not happen to me. It was another kid. I was just using it as an example.)

But this is the beginning of the school year. A fresh start, right?

No more boring Alex Davis.

Time to introduce my friends and fellow students to Xan Davis, the awesome kid who went to skate camp, becoming a legend in the process.

So they don’t need to know that I became a legend by spraining my ankle the first day of camp and spending the rest of the time there taking videos of the other skaters.

I might not have learned how to do a kickflip or a grind or an ollie (I did master the Biebelheimer, which is just a sweet-looking way to put down your board), but I ended up getting really good at editing videos of the other kids.

Ranger, who was definitely the coolest kid there, decided that “Alex” was nerdy, so he dubbed me “Xan” and it stuck.

And now here I am, back home in Brooklyn Heights, embarking on the adventure of seventh grade.

I inspect my outfit. On the one hand, you want to look good on your first day, but on the other, you don’t want to look like you tried too hard. I have on my sk8 kamp T-shirt and cargo shorts.

Alex Davis wouldn’t have the nerve to wear this to school. But Xan definitely does. I pull on my Vans (the same style that Ranger wore) and look in the mirror next to the front door one last time.

I muss my hair. For that casual, “I don’t care” look.

My mom comes up and hugs me.

“You look so grown up!” she exclaims, and promptly licks her palm and applies said wet disgusting hand to my hair, dorkifying it with one stroke.

“Mom! Stop!”

Mom sighs. “Alex, you--”

“Xan!”

“Sorry, Xan,” my mom says, reaching for my hair, “but you don’t want to start seventh grade with bedhead, do you?”

I grab my backpack and push open the front door. “I don’t want to start seventh grade by being late either. Bye.”

From the kitchen a yell. “Mooooom!”

My little sister, Violet, who is also starting school today.

But it’s only third grade, so really, who cares?

Mom grabs me and kisses me. “Have a great day! I hope you get all your electives!”

I head out onto the street and give her a quick wave goodbye.

Truthfully, I am a little anxious about the electives. At my school, you don’t get your schedule until the first day.

From what I understand, this is supposed to stop what my mom and dad call “a certain type of parent” from phoning the head of school and screaming because their precious little gift to the world didn’t get their preferred teacher or elective.

Which might have been true in theory, but seriously, do you think this actually stops any of them? All it means is that we don’t find out which classes we have until the very last minute.

I should explain that this is one of the big deals about seventh grade at Saint Anselm’s. It’s the first year you can pick certain classes for yourself--electives.

There’s all sorts of cool stuff being offered, from studying mushrooms in nearby Prospect Park to fashion design to folk dancing (okay, not my thing, but there are kids in my class who live for that kind of stuff).

What is stressing me out is that the one elective I really, really want--Game Theory: Video Game History and Design--is also the most popular (I know, go figure, right?). There are always more kids who sign up for it than there are spots in the class, so it’s kind of a lottery. I won’t know until I see my schedule if I’m one of the lucky ones who got it.

I’m thinking about how awesome it would be to actually design and make my own video game (and during school too!) when I hear a familiar voice.

“Alex! Hello? I’ve been waiting like five minutes here.”

Lexie Mizell has lived across the street from me ever since we were in kindergarten. We used to walk to school with our moms, but since last year, we’ve been walking together.

“Call me Xan,” I say.

Lexie takes a moment to let that sink in. Then she bursts out laughing. “Call you what?”

“Ummm . . . Xan . . .” I can feel the coolness leaking out of me like air escaping a balloon.

Minus the farting noise.

At least for now.

“Wait,” Lexie says, trying to catch her breath. “Is it spelled with an X or a Z?”

I start down the street, not answering.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Lexie calls after me. “Hey! Wait up!”

I’m pretty sure my face is redder than Mario’s hat (yes, I have video games on the brain right now). “Look, I thought you wanted to get to school.”

Lexie catches up with me at the light. “Alex, hold up. You cannot be serious about having everybody call you Xan all of a sudden. It’s just so . . . not you.”

“You don’t know me,” I say. “A lot has changed over the summer. And of course it’s spelled wi…