Chapter 1:The Reluctant Researcher

Zoe's fingers tightened around the mechanical pencil, her dirty handwriting scrawling math equations across the page. The graph paper before her remained stubbornly blank, mocking her attempts to plot the elusive figure. A sigh of frustration escaped her lips, echoing in the quiet kitchen.The soft clink of glass on wood drew her attention. Zoe's eyes darted up, peering through a curtain of messy chocolate locks. A small tumbler of orange juice sat beside her notebook, condensation already beading on its surface."You'll get it, love. I believe in you," her mother's voice was warm honey, soothing Zoe's frayed nerves.A smile tugged at Zoe's lips, small but genuine. She reached for the glass, savoring the tart sweetness as she took a sip. The cool liquid slid down her throat, momentarily washing away her frustrations. Setting the glass down with a soft thud, she turned back to her work, pencil poised with renewed determination.Her mother's footsteps retreated, replaced by the creak of the front door opening. "George, I think the burner's out again," her mother called, exasperation coloring her tone."Again?" Her father's deep voice rumbled through the house. "I just took a look at it a few days ago. It should've been good."Zoe's pencil paused mid-equation as she listened to the familiar exchange, a comforting rhythm of domestic life."It's time to replace it, dear," her mother insisted. "It's been on the fritz for too long.""Worked for me mom and pop," her father countered, his stubbornness a trait Zoe knew all too well. "I'll take a look at it again, love."The soft sound of a kiss reached Zoe's ears, followed by heavy footsteps approaching. Suddenly, strong arms enveloped her, half-lifting her from the chair in a crushing bear hug. A startled squeak escaped her lips, followed by a groan of protest as her father squeezed tighter."No hello for me?" he teased, his beard tickling her cheek."Hello, Dad," Zoe managed, her voice muffled against his chest."Not good enough," he declared, shaking her playfully. The kitchen blurred around her, a whirl of familiar sights and scents."DAD!" she cried out, equal parts exasperation and laughter.He set her down gently, ruffling her already messy hair. "What's the situation here?" he asked, peering at her homework."Graphing," Zoe sighed. "Can't crack it."Her father pulled up a chair, the wooden legs scraping against the linoleum. He fished a pair of glasses from his dark green coat pocket, perching them on his nose as he studied the page. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that never failed to make Zoe feel safe."Your old man used to be a wizard with these things," he said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "We'll get through it together, okay, love?"Zoe nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "Thanks, Dad.""Anytime, Spinner," he replied, using the childhood nickname that always made her smile. /-/Zoe's hands tingled with pins and needles as she lifted her head from its makeshift pillow. The cool morning air caressed her face, carrying the faint scent of coffee and car exhaust from the streets below. She blinked slowly, taking in the familiar view from her fourth-floor balcony perch. The city sprawled before her, a patchwork of concrete and glass slowly coming to life in the early morning light.A quick glance at her watch revealed the time: 9:37. Zoe winced as she straightened, her neck protesting with a series of pops. As she shifted, a metallic rolling sound caught her attention. Her steel grey mechanical pencil teetered on the edge of the table, inching towards oblivion.In a flash of movement, Zoe's slim fingers darted out, wrapping around the pencil mere inches before it could slip through the gap in the wooden safety railing. She exhaled softly, relief flooding through her.Her eyes drifted back to the cityscape, taking in the play of light on glass and steel. A familiar rumble drew her attention downward, where she spotted a mop of brown hair adorned with pink clips. Her coworker Mina, perpetually bubbly and out of step with the office's subdued atmosphere, bounced down the steps. Pink headphones, no doubt connected to an outdated Sony Walkman, completed the look.As Zoe watched, a motorcycle pulled up, its rider removing his helmet with gloved hands. The scene unfolded like a silent film, movements exaggerated and expressions heightened. The rider produced a small bag and a bottle of water, handing them to the girl with a practiced ease that spoke of routine.Zoe's eyebrow arched as she observed their interaction. The girl reached out, playfully ruffling the young man's overgrown flax colored hair. He swatted her hand away, his scowl softened by the hint of a smile. A joke was shared, its content lost to the distance but its effect visible in their body language.Suddenly, the rider's gaze lifted, seeming to lock onto Zoe's hiding spot. She instinctively stepped back, her heart quickening. For a moment, time seemed to stretch, elastic and uncertain. Then the spell broke. The rider shook his head, exchanged a few more words with the girl, and donned his helmet once more.As the motorcycle roared away, Zoe found herself frozen.Zoe slipped back into the office, her heart still racing from the unexpected encounter. The glass door closed behind her with a soft click, locking her on the floor of the writers room a maze of cubicles and fluorescent lights. She navigated through rows of plain white cubicles, passing colleagues in various states of exhaustion. Some leaned back in creaking office chairs, eyes covered with makeshift masks, grabbing moments of sleep between shifts.A grumbling older man fumbled with coins at a vending machine. Zoe gave him a quick nod as she passed, the sound of a falling stapler and muffled curses fading behind her. She rounded a corner and sank into her barely-comfortable office chair, her spine popping in protest.The rhythmic clacking of a keyboard faltered, then stopped. Brown eyes peered over the cubicle wall, topped by a ridiculous coco-brown leather cowboy hat. Zoe couldn't help but groan."Weren't you supposed to head home before the meeting Wyatt?" she asked, eyeing her coworker with a mix of concern and exasperation.Wyatt stood, adjusting his black tie. His reply came with a hint of a southern drawl that Zoe always suspected was fake. "Couldn't do it. stayed over night and barely finished the script at 7 meetings in 30 and it's a 45 minute commute both ways. Not worth it."Zoe reached for a cup of cold coffee left on her desk. "So it's done?""Just about. Working on the dialogue it's a pain to write kids stuff."She leaned back, sipping the bitter liquid. "Run me through it. I'm going to have to present it anyway."As Wyatt read off the dialogue, Zoe alternated between spinning in her chair and playing with a pen. The story unfolded - a tale of Little Bear, apple pies, and Mr. Tortoise's reluctance to share."So essentially Little bear is hungry for apple pie and Momma bear says she'll make a pie for everyone but Mr Tortoise won't give him any apples because Mr tortoise spent his free time picking them and Little bear has nothing to offer him." Zoe summarized, flicking the end of her pencil against her lips. "And?"Wyatt sighed, his frustration evident. "Its mind numbing. I get we're entertaining kids here and we're supposed to teach them stuff. but maybe it would be good to teach kids to call pricks out when they see em."Zoe shrugged, considering the scenario. "I don't think Mr tortoise is a prick. Little bear has nothing to give.""Momma bear offers Mr tortoise a piece of apple pie."Zoe leaned back, nearly falling. Her response was immediate and pragmatic. "id negotiate for at least 2 pieces. No apples no pie. I'm taking more pie.""Sounds like you're a prick." Mina's voice chimed in, leaning over the cubicle. Her pink headphones were still in place, a bag suspended from her arm.Zoe shot Wyatt a wry smile as Mina added, "See the kids are learning something already Wyatt."The conversation shifted, curiosity piqued by Mina's mysterious delivery. Wyatt's question hung in the air. "What's in the bag Mina?"Mina's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "I forgot to pack lunch and I missed breakfast so I had some food dropped off."Zoe's mind flashed back to the scene on the balcony. "The walking hairball was nice to play delivery boy."Mina's grin widened as she took a bite of her breakfast sandwich, the aroma making Zoe's stomach rumble with envy. Wyatt, still catching up, asked, "Boyfriend?""Nope. My little brother. He's a good cook." Mina's reply was muffled by her mouthful of food.Zoe found herself comparing the motorcycle rider's features to Mina's, searching for a resemblance she knew she wouldn't find. "Didn't see much of a resemblance."Mina's head tilted cockily, her tone playful. "Spying on my brother? You hag?""I'm 25." Zoe's protest was weak, even to her own ears."Christmas cake." Mina's retort hung in the air, sharp and teasing.Wyatt's confusion was evident. "What does that mean?"Zoe turned back towards him, fire gleaming in her eyes. "Finish the damn script."Zoe's attention snapped back to the present as Mina whistled, thrusting a handful of sketches into her lap. She squinted, trying to focus on the drawings of characters with odd proportions and movements. A frown tugged at her lips as she examined the 3D designs."What's this?" she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and apprehension.Mina puffed out her chest, pride evident in her voice. "Claymation! Or plasticine."Zoe's head tilted to the side, eyes narrowing as the implications sank in. "Stop motion? Do you know how long that takes?"Mina waved off her concern with a casual gesture. "The company has the money to hire a team of stop motion people. It shouldn't take more than a year to make the first season."Zoe rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache beginning to form. "I thought he had agreed on hand drawn animation.""Zoe its 2000! Get with the times new millennium new art stuff stop motion has been proven to be a favorite among the kids." Mina's enthusiasm was palpable, but Zoe couldn't share it.She shook her head, frustration creeping into her voice. "Its ancient! They used stop motion when the movies were black and white its old and cruddy and expensive."Mina's response was immediate and passionate. "That's blasphemy in my house!""Well this isn't your house," Zoe countered, her practical side taking over. "Listen when it comes down to it its about advertising and costs. Stop motion might be good for kids movies but a bunch of other companies are going to have stop motion shows. We'd be just another apple in a barrel of apples."Wyatt's voice chimed in, unexpectedly siding with Mina. "We're making a kids show with talking animals that teach kids about sharing and friendship. We're an apple either way."Zoe shot him a glare, but Wyatt didn't back down. Instead, he looked to Mina, a silent agreement forming between them. "Grace's a bit older maybe she has a soft spot for this older stuff."Feeling suddenly outnumbered, Zoe's eyes darted between her two colleagues. The weight of their united front settled on her shoulders, exhaustion seeping into her bones."Et tu Wyatt?" she asked, her head slowly falling into her hands. /-/Zoe shivered as she pulled her tan trench coat tighter, the December wind biting through the fabric. Her eyes followed Mina's retreating figure, the younger girl's L-shaped hand gesture still lingering in her mind like a taunt."Talk all the smack you want," Zoe muttered, her voice barely audible over the whistling wind. "You won because Wyatt honey potted the boss."Mina's laughter carried back to her, light and carefree. "Isn't that the sweetest part, though?"Something tightened in Zoe's chest – frustration, perhaps, or a twinge of envy. With a quick flick, she sent Mina's headphones tumbling back, a small satisfaction as the girl scrambled to catch them.The parking lot lights flickered on, casting long shadows across the asphalt. Zoe's watch read 4:43, the numbers a stark reminder of the task ahead. "Need a ride?" she offered, more out of habit than genuine concern.Mina's triumphant grin was answer enough as she pulled out a set of keys. "Nope! They replaced my alternator. I've got my own ride now!" The keys glinted as they arced through the air, Mina's catch as smooth as,"Thanks. Catch you later. Good luck with the research!" Mina's parting words hung in the air as she skipped away, leaving Zoe alone with her thoughts.As Mina's early '90s sedan pulled away, Zoe allowed herself a moment of reflection. The parking lot suddenly felt vast and empty, mirroring the hollow feeling in her chest.Zoe slid into her car, the familiar scent of old leather a small comfort. "Head home," she murmured to herself, her breath fogging the windshield. "Find a place to rent out these movies. Then compile some reasons why this is going to be more trouble than it's worth."Zoe's fingers tapped against the steering wheel, keeping time with a new tune on the radio. The clock blinked 5:00 PM, and the sun was already flirting with the horizon, painting the sky in muted oranges and purples. As she pulled into the parking lot of a movie rental place, the fading light cast long shadows across the asphalt.The bell above the door chimed softly as Zoe entered, the sound barely registering with the bored-looking cashier. She nodded a brief greeting and made her way to the DVD section, the smell of plastic cases and popcorn filling her nostrils.Her eyes scanned the newer releases, landing on a cover featuring Brad Pitt holding a bar of soap. With a shrug, she tossed it into her basket, the plastic clattering against the wire mesh. As she moved towards the "Classics" section, the sight of VHS tapes brought an uneasy feeling."Conan, Beastmaster," she murmured, her fingers trailing along the worn spines. Her eyebrow arched as she came across "The Lost World.""Isn't that a Jurassic Park thing?" she wondered aloud, studying the flabbergasted expressions of safari tourists gaping at an unseen monster.A soft rustling nearby drew her attention. An elderly woman with round, gold-rimmed spectacles was carefully examining a copy of "Casablanca," her eyes bright with recognition."Looking into the classics, eh?" the woman chirped, her voice warm and inviting.Zoe felt a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "It's for work," she replied politely.The woman's gaze drifted to Zoe's basket. "Find what you're looking for?"Zoe shook her head, a hint of frustration creeping into her voice. "Not really. I'm trying to find movies that are in stop-motion. You know, the ones with clay?"The older woman's face scrunched in thought, her fingers tapping against the movie rack. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. "You know, there's a theater on the other side of town. 'Little Hollywood.' They play old movies now and then. Maybe when you have the chance, you should take a look to see if they have what you're looking for."Zoe hesitated, weighing practicality against curiosity. The woman's eyes seemed to glint with a hint of mischief, and Zoe found herself acquiescing. "Do you know the address?"As the woman recited the location, Zoe committed it to memory, a spark of curiosity kindling in her chest. She thanked the woman warmly before heading to the counter to check out her selections.Zoe's fingers drummed against the steering wheel as she drove, the same haunting melody from the radio station filling the car. As her apartment building came into view, a grey monolith against the darkening sky, she felt a familiar heaviness settle in her chest.She shuffled through the door, keys clinking as they landed in the small bowl. Her shoes joined the pile by the entrance, a haphazard testament to solitary life. The living room, with its oversized couch and coffee table, seemed to swallow her diminutive frame as she sank into the cushions.The DVD player whirred to life, a gift from her boss that felt more like a bribe for continued stressful days. As "Fight Club" flickered across the screen, Zoe's mind wandered, her thoughts as restless as the late 90s rock pulsing through the speakers.Her fingers traced the cool plastic of her flip phone. She hesitated, then dialed."Hello?" A young man's voice, surprisingly alert for the late hour."Is this Little Hollywood Theater?" Zoe asked, her voice barely above a whisper."Yes, it is. How can I help you?"She inquired about the vintage movies discussing her interests and going over times and showings she asked about the classics, the young man recited the lineup - "Clash of the Titans," "Jason and the Argonauts," "The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad" "The Golden Voyage of Sinbad" - Zoe felt a flicker of satisfaction knowing she had a decent chance of finding something."Are any of those... stop-motion related?" she asked, hope coloring her voice.The voice on the other end paused, then confirmed, "They're good films, some of the best when it comes to claymation. The Sinbad films especially."Giving a polite thanks and goodnight, she turned back to the TV, hanging up. On screen, a city crumbled, That's the end of the movie?" she murmured, surprised at how quickly time had passed. /-/Zoe stepped out of her car, the cool night air nipping at her skin. She fed quarters into the parking meter, muttering, "Two hours. Should be enough." Her gaze drifted to the Little Hollywood Theater, its yellowed bulbs flickering like fireflies against the darkening sky.At the box office, a young man with short but scruffy blonde hair sat hunched over a book. As Zoe approached, she couldn't help but think his red and white striped shirt made him look like the back of a popcorn bucket."Hi, I'd like a ticket for 'The Golden Voyage of Sinbad,' please," Zoe said, her voice barely audible above the distant hum of traffic.The young man's eyes flickered with recognition before settling into a carefully neutral expression. "That'll be five dollars, ma'am."As she slipped the bill through the window, Zoe's mind wandered to the posters on the side faded and yellowed due to time. The ticket - a simple post-it note scribbled with the name of the movie was handed to her.Inside, the theater's vintage aesthetic enveloped her. The scent of buttered popcorn mingled with the musty aroma of age, stirring long-dormant memories. Zoe turned, startled to see the box office worker vaulting over the concession counter with surprising agility."Popcorn or snacks?" he asked, donning a marked "concessions" white cap as if nothing unusual had transpired.Zoe's brow furrowed, a nagging sense of strangeness tugging at her. She pulled out her phone, fingers hovering over the familiar number. As it rang, the shrill tone echoed from behind her, and she watched in bemused silence as the worker nor bearing a "communications" cap answered."Little Hollywood, how can I help you?" His polite smile never wavered.Zoe snapped her phone shut, a mixture of irritation and amusement bubbling up inside her. She approached the counter, where the young man now wore his "Concession" cap once more."You wouldn't believe who I was just on the phone with," he said, his grin widening."A popcorn and a Coke, please," Zoe replied, struggling to maintain her composure. As she watched him prepare her order, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd stumbled into some surreal, one-man show.