Sydney to the Max

Here we are, Syd, home sweet home!

Olive, music camp was so amazing.

I had guitar,

and then songwriting, and this great jazz teacher from Ghana,

Dr. Opongi.

She had us play instruments made of fruit.

Later, I'll show you how to tune a cantaloupe.

And all this time, I thought food was just for eating.

I've got so much to learn.

-That is so cool, Syd. So, about camp... -Hey, Dad, please.

Olive and I haven't seen each other in a month.

We haven't seen each other in a month.

Then you know how much I missed Olive.

I'm gonna take your bag upstairs and think of a comeback.

-I can't get over it. -You seem so different. B-T-dubs,

-love the bass case. -Oh, my bunkmate made it.

She's this amazing oboe player from Holland.

Did you know that they put mayonnaise

on French fries over there?

They're so sophisticated.

I know, right?

I met all these cool, creative kids who

really opened up my way of thinking.

You know, my family road trip was equally eye-opening.

-Really? -Yeah!

I learned that if you drive 75 miles

without hearing armpit farts,

it means you left your brother at a gas station.

Did I just hear mon petit frite ?

Grandma, you're back! How was France?

Life-changing.

The art, the fashion, the joie de vivre.

Americans live to work. We work to live.

"We"? You were born in Indiana.

Which is the Paris of the Midwest.

I missed you, mon frappe .

I know it's only been a month, but you look older.

I feel older, Grandma.

It was camp. It changed me.

Come on, Olive. I wanna hear more

about your brother and his armpit farts.

Unfortunately, they weren't all armpit.

You missed a lot while you were gone, Syd.

A lot.

Emmy plucked her eyebrows,

and now she always seems surprised.

But don't say anything. She gets mad.

Or surprised. You really can't tell.

Does something seem different in here?

Looks the same as when you left.

I know, but...

it just doesn't feel like me anymore.

I've grown. There were kids at camp

dipping their French fries in mayonnaise.

This is the room of someone who uses boring old ketchup.

Say what you want about the room, but I can't have you

throwing shade at ketchup.

Don't get me wrong. It's a great room,

but it's old Syd.

And I'm new Syd. New Syd is...

bold, a risk-taker.

I don't wanna start 8th grade living in someone else's room.

So, what are you thinking?

New drapes? Couple of new throw pillows?

Nope.

Everything in here's gotta go.

Hey, Grandma! What you reading?

A book of French poetry.

Really? Is it good?

I don't know. It's in French.

Hey, where's Dad? I wanna ask him if I can redo my room.

Ooh, that's a tough one. You know how sentimental he is.

-Yeah, but I changed over summer. -Maybe he did, too.

Syd, I can't believe you threw out

your empty sunblock from camp!

This baby's going right in the scrapbook.

-Oh boy. -Oh boy.

Well, I'm off to le parcwith my baguette.

You know, it's the only bread that's also a back-scratcher.

Dad, I need to talk to you about something important.

Shoot.

I wanna redo my room.

And I know what you're gonna say.

"But, Syd, that room has so many memories."

Yes, but changing it won't take them away.

"Sounds kinda pricey."

It won't be 'cause I'm selling my old furniture to pay for it.

"But I don't have time for a big project right now."

I promise you won't lift a finger.

Am I done?

You are.

Fine, you can redo your room.

Seriously?

Yeah! You grew up a lot this summer.

It's your room, Syd. Make it yours.

-Thanks, Dad! Well, -I better go start on my redo!

Now? I thought you might finally tell me about camp.

Trees, music, bonfires. Gotta go!

Wow. It's like I was there.

Can you believe it, Leo?

-Our first day as 8th graders. -I was so excited,

I barely slept last night.

But when you look this good, it's hard to tell.

-Now we're the big men on campus. -Yep.

-Walking tall. -Everyone looking up to us.

Am I imagining it,

or did everyone have a growth spurt this summer except me?

So what? Who cares?

Hey, Leo. Hey, Shortstack.

Okay, Pete cares.

Leo, I think I must be the shortest kid in 8th grade.

Dude, don't sweat it.

If you're worried about anything,

it should be your grades.

Hoo-doggy.

Forget about your height, man.

You're right. I will.

Right after I find a way to grow three inches by tomorrow.

Dang. And it looked like you were listening and everything.

Oh my gosh.

I've never seen your room naked before.

Stop staring. You're making her blush.

I can't believe we're doing this!

Oh! But, no worries. I'm all prepared.

I have sketch pads, pencils, and even masks for painting.

These days, I've got plenty.

Cloth, disposable,

Schnauzer.

So what's the plan?

The plan is...

there is no plan.

Ooh! The no-plan plan. What a great plan.

No. The no-plan plan isn't a plan.

Still sounds like a plan to me.

Olive, it's like they taught us at camp.

The key to creating great music

is to follow your instincts.

So, I'm gonna go with my gut.

Now, can you help me put up these last few samples?

So, what's your gut saying?

It says...

I like all of them!

Sorry, Syd's scary gut, but you can't do all of them.

-Who says? Art is all about taking risks.

Like this.

Now your turn!

Me? Oh, no, I couldn't...

Do it.

What a rush!

-Oh no! I got paint on your floor. I'll get a rag. Don't!

I just got an idea.

We'll paint the floors.

Who says paint is only for walls?

Painters?

Olive, I want this room

to look different than anything I've ever seen before.

So throw out the rulebook

and let your creative tiger out of its cage.

More tiger, less kitten.

Now we're talking!

Syd, you just stepped in fresh paint.

No. I just stepped in a fresh idea.

What are you doing?

Writing all my song lyrics on the walls.

"I'm leaving all of my fears...

beh"?

Yeah, I ran out of space.

Olive, I am so sorry!

About what?

Hey, you missed a spot.

Is it ready yet, Syd?

I've run out of excuses to walk by your door.

Even I don't believe me anymore.

Okay, Dad, you've been patient. Come on in.

Oh, goodie. I can't wait to see what you've done!

What have you done?

I don't think he likes it as much as we do.

No, I don't!

It's a mess! I can't even tell the walls from the floor!

Oh my gosh, you painted the floor.

-And where's your desk? -There.

Oh, so you haven't gotten one yet.

No, that is the desk.

It's called deconstructivism.

It's a kind of design where you superimpose...

Yeah, I didn't get it either.

Well, I've got a new kind of design for you.

It's called reconstructivism.

It means you're redoing this room.

What? No!

This room is new Syd.

But how are you gonnahang out in here? Do homework?

Not have nightmares?

Well, I'm not changing it.

Besides, I spent all my money.

Then I'll pay for it.

Wow, he must really hate it.

But you said it was my room.

Yes, but it's my house.

I can't believe you!