FADE IN:

INT. SMALL APARTMENT - NIGHT

A desk lamp lights a cluttered table. A phone leans against a stack of library books, its camera pointed at MAYA REYES (28), who wears a blazer over pajama pants.

She clears her throat. Smiles. Stops smiling.

MAYA
(to the phone)
Hi, everyone. Welcome back to... Welcome to... the channel.

Behind her, the door creaks open. GRANDPA LEO (70s) shuffles in with two mugs of tea.

GRANDPA LEO
Is it recording?

MAYA
It's been recording for forty minutes. I have said "hi, everyone" eleven times.

GRANDPA LEO
(setting down a mug)
Then the twelfth will be perfect.

He squints at the sticky notes covering the wall behind the phone.

GRANDPA LEO (CONT'D)
Why are your lines on the wall?

MAYA
So I can read them and still look at the lens. Like a news anchor.

GRANDPA LEO
Your eyes go left, right, left, right. Like a tennis match.

Maya drops her forehead onto the desk.

CUT TO:

INT. SMALL APARTMENT - LATER

The sticky notes are gone. The phone now scrolls Maya's script in large white text just under the lens.

Grandpa Leo sits off camera, holding his mug with both hands.

MAYA
(steady, warm)
Hi, everyone. Tonight I want to tell you about the best advice my grandfather ever gave me.

Grandpa Leo sits up straighter.

MAYA (CONT'D)
He said the twelfth take is always the good one.

GRANDPA LEO
(whispering)
I said the twelfth "hi."

MAYA
(still to camera)
Close enough.

She keeps reading. Her eyes stay on the lens. Grandpa Leo smiles into his tea.

FADE OUT.