There are certain moments that change the entire course of your life: a serendipitous meeting, a decision made on a whim, or, in my case, a call that caught me completely off-guard one ordinary weekday afternoon. Isn’t it funny how the most unassuming moments can suddenly split your timeline into “before” and “after”? I wasn’t expecting it—much like spotting your ex on a dating app two weeks before their wedding announcement—but that’s also what made it unforgettable.
So, let me set the scene.
The Call That Changed Everything
It was a Wednesday, somewhere in the nebulous stretch between my early-morning lack of caffeine and the late-afternoon existential dread of realizing I hadn’t yet achieved my life’s purpose. At the time, I was working as a script reader—a glorified, unpaid psychic who predicts which screenplays have a chance at becoming the next blockbuster and which wouldn’t even make it as a Hallmark Channel Christmas special. (Spoiler: Most didn’t.)
That day, my phone buzzed with a call from a “No Caller ID” number. Out of sheer curiosity—because this was pre-scam-likely-fatigue—I answered, fully expecting either my grandma wanting help with her iPad or some casting director looking for a dog with improv skills.
Instead, it was my old high school crush. Let’s call him “Adam,” partly because that’s not his name, but also because nothing throws you off balance like hearing from your first big heartbreak out of the blue. You never really forget your first heartbreak, do you? It’s the emotional equivalent of catching the chickenpox—you recover eventually, but a part of you never stops itching when the memory crops up.
Adam’s Curveball Proposition
After mildly awkward pleasantries—“Hey, wow, it’s been forever!” and “I thought you didn’t even remember I existed anymore” (smooth, Becca)—Adam dropped a bomb: he’d just optioned a screenplay I’d written in film school. Back in the screenplay’s early days, I had naively pitched him my story during a marathon senior-year study session, assuming he wasn’t listening. Reader, apparently, he had been.
“Becca, this story’s exactly what I’ve been looking for,” Adam said. “Your dialogue has that biting, Ephron-like charm. How do you feel about co-writing the rewrite with me?”
My brain short-circuited. Adam was a director now—at least, in the scrappy indie sense—and he’d always been James-Dean-cool about filmmaking. But me? I was over here wondering if I could live off Trader Joe’s frozen dinners for the foreseeable future.
And yet, here he was, throwing me some double-sided gift-wrapped proposition: a chance at a breakthrough, paired with the massive emotional baggage of working intimately with my former crush. You know, the guy who once told me he “wasn’t sure he believed in labels” when trying to justify dating me and three other people simultaneously. Yikes.
What I Learned from “The Call”
In that moment—and in the months that followed—I learned more about myself than I ever could have from sitting in script meetings or clicking on “ten ways to detox your soul” articles (although, yes, I have two tabs on those open as we speak). Here’s what that journey taught me:
1. You Need to Face the Past to Move Forward
Working with Adam meant sitting at a coffee shop across from him at least twice a week, hashing out scenes and character arcs while pretending I wasn’t vividly recalling the time he ghosted me right before prom. You can’t completely avoid your past, and sometimes you shouldn’t. Facing old memories—even the cringe-inducing ones—forces you to grow. It’s the emotional equivalent of popping a zit. Painful, but cleansing.
2. Collaboration Isn’t Just About the Work
Here’s the thing: writing a script alongside someone means navigating a minefield of differing opinions, creative visions, and, well, personalities. To our credit, Adam and I managed to coexist professionally pretty well. (Was it because I had already spent my high school years trying too hard to get him to like me? Maybe.)
And in the end, we weren’t just crafting characters on paper; we were relearning how to be real with each other in person. Collaborating taught us how to communicate better—a reminder that whether you’re teaming up with an ex, your partner, or roommates who don’t believe in replacing toilet paper, you have to find middle ground. Compromise can be empowering when you let it.
3. Sometimes, Your Big Break Shows Up in Weird Wrapping Paper
You know how every rom-com has the third-act twist where the protagonist realizes their perfect match isn’t who they’d expected? Well, life works in a similar, frustratingly unpredictable way. When I dreamt of my screenwriting debut, I pictured some sparkly opportunity pulled directly from an Oscars montage: a big studio head calling me after stumbling across my work, or Mindy Kaling slipping into my DMs.
Instead, my ticket came in the form of a man I once ugly cried over at 17. But hey, who’s complaining? Success doesn’t arrive with a monogrammed invitation. Sometimes, it just taps you unexpectedly, disguised as a questionable ex-crush.
4. Forgiveness Is Good for Your Soul—and Your Career
Old feelings bubbled up more than I thought they would during the project: resentment, disappointment, and this leftover teenage insecurity I didn’t even recognize I’d packed into emotional storage. But as pen hit page (and coffee hit bloodstream), I realized that holding onto those grudges didn’t make sense anymore.
Was Adam the human equivalent of a questionable sushi roll back then? Yes. Did I need to keep punishing him (and some version of myself) for it a decade later? No. Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting—it just means cutting the tether and letting yourself move forward. Forgiveness, after all, is less of a gift to someone else and more of a relief for yourself.
Where It All Led
That screenplay? It turned into the basis of a streaming original that found some small, lovely recognition at Sundance. Plot twist: Adam and I didn’t ride off into the sunset hand-in-hand—as collaborators or in any other way. But we both grew through the process. He became a director who’s not half-bad at taking notes, and I, for one, stopped replaying our teenage drama reel in my head.
More than professional wins, though, that call gave me something greater: clarity about myself and what I value in relationships, as well as a sense of humor about letting life mess with my plans a little. Because really, isn’t every bizarre, serendipitous event just another note in your personal soundtrack? Sometimes it’s a romantic track, and sometimes it’s a chaos-fueled jazz solo—but it’s all improv, and that’s what makes it go live.
Your Takeaway
We don’t all get redemption arcs involving indie films or high school crushes, but the lesson here is universal: when life calls—even when the line feels a little shaky—pick up the phone. Worst-case scenario? You say “no,” block the number, and spend the evening re-bingeing Gilmore Girls. Best-case scenario? You open a new door with a story you’ll laugh about later.
Life is unpredictable. But if my years in Los Angeles have taught me anything, it’s this: the most unforgettable moments are the unplanned ones—whether they come with a movie script or not.
