Page 13 of Under the Mistletoe

While Dean takes care of starting the DVD in the game system, Niles engages me in light conversation. “I’ve been a fan of Stallone since I was a kid. Did you know that he writes all of the scripts himself?”

I shake my head, unable to speak around the fresh bite of chicken and rice.

“He does,” he says animatedly. “It’s just so impressive, how he comes up with all of those storylines and makes you care so much about the characters. They feel like real people. And then when you hear about how he came into the whole production process and all of that… Never mind.” He waves himself away. “I don’t want to bore you with the details.”

“No,” I argue, genuinely interested. Anything that gets a person as hyped as he is by this topic is something I find interesting. And Niles is someone I want to know more about.

“Niles likes to write in his spare time,” Dean tells me.

“You do?” I look to Niles to confirm, and shyly, he does with a minimal nod.

“He’s never let any of us see his work,” Dean continues, “so it’s probably straight porn—”

“Which would explain those weird animal noises coming from his room at night,” Dean inserts.

“But he’s always analyzing movies and breaking them down into writing stages and taking notes.”

Niles’ face is beet red and he can’t tear his eyes away from his food, which he’s pushing around with disinterest.

I reach over and clasp his wrist, giving it a squeeze and a brief pat. “I think that’s amazing. I’ve never met a writer before.”

“It’s just a hobby,” he minimalizes, but I won’t hear of it.

“Maybe it’ll be more one day.”

“Maybe.”

“If you ever need help bouncing ideas around, I’d love to give it a shot. And maybe later you can tell me more about Stallone’s background. It sounds interesting.”

His eyes brighten, and he nods his agreement. We share a smile and then return to eating as the movie begins.

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