Two: casting yourself in the film is as good as accepting defeat.

Three: having a celebrity make some kind of ridiculous guest appearance always wins points with the judges.

While our short films always have great transitions, and Rosie and I live strictly behind the camera, we’ve never had a celebrity make an appearance, ridiculous or not, in one of our films.

“Every single time,” Rosie says, running her hands through her auburn hair, nearly wrenching out the curls. The rest of the seniors aren’t much better, alternating between various stages of distress.

I frown, leaning an elbow against the desk. It’s our first film club meeting after winter break. More importantly, it’s our first film club meeting where we’re actively working on our short film after the literal hell of submitting college applications.

The projector is broadcasting last year’s winner on the classroom’s whiteboard, one of the many short films we’re watching for research purposes.

The freshmen sitting on the floor look bemused at our coinciding irritation. One of them, Brighton, looks imploringly at Rosie and hesitantly speaks up. “Every single time...what?”

Rosie is too busy pulling her fingers down her face in frustration to answer, so I point at the whiteboard. All of the freshmen follow the movement with wide eyes.

On the screen, some random popstar is smiling at the camera, as if mocking us for our inadequacy.

“Almost every year without fail, the winner of the competition snags a celebrity endorsement,” I say. “And as all of you know, we have yet to manage such a feat.”

Brighton blinks before turning her head toward the back of the room, where Grant is sitting. “What about Grant?”

I snort, and Grant sticks out his tongue at me. “Grant doesn’t count. Being the son of someone famous isn’t the same as being famous.”

“Still more famous than you,” he points out, but there’s no heat behind his words.

Rosie leans against my leg, seated down below with the freshmen. I pat my best friend’s head in a weak attempt at reassurance.

“Our film concept is strong,” I say quietly, in part for myself. “There’s still a chance we could win.”

We have to is what I don’t say.

She groans, burying her face in the rough material of my jeans. “This is our fourth year trying to win.”

“Yeah, but this is our first time in charge,” I say, flicking her hoop earring.

Astoria Academy of the Arts and Sciences has been applying to the student film competition at the Golden Ivy Film Festival for many years now, long before either of us enrolled.

When Rosie and I joined AAAS’s film club as freshmen, we sat here just like this, watching the previous winners’ films. Since we’re co-presidents this year, I’m responsible for writing the screenplay while she’s responsible for directing.