Saturday afternoon in the Hollywood Hills felt completely different from the Blackwood estate.
There were no iron gates, no security guards, and no massive marble foyers.
The Blackwood town car pulled up to a beautiful, rustic, Spanish-style house.
It was surrounded by overgrown ivy and tall eucalyptus trees.
Donovan stepped out of the car wearing a simple plain t-shirt, jeans, and comfortable sneakers.
He grabbed his backpack, ready to just hang out and enjoy the weekend.
Before he could even knock, the front door swung open.
"Blackwood! You made it!" Jake grinned, holding a slice of pepperoni pizza.
He was wearing mismatched socks and a faded band t-shirt.
"I told you I would," Donovan smiled, walking inside.
The inside of the Gyllenhaal house was messy, warm, and distinctly artistic.
There were stacks of screenplays on the coffee table.
Vintage movie posters framed the hallway.
The smell of melted cheese and garlic filled the air.
"Pizza is in the kitchen," Jake said, leading the way. "My dad ordered way too much."
They walked into the bright kitchen.
A fourteen-year-old girl was sitting on the counter, reading a paperback novel.
She grabbed a slice of pizza from the box without looking up from her book.
It was Maggie, Jake's older sister.
"Maggie, this is Donovan," Jake said.
Maggie briefly looked up, gave Donovan a casual nod, and went back to reading.
"Cool. Don't eat the last slice with jalapeños. It's mine."
"Ignore her," Jake whispered, grabbing two paper plates. "She thinks she's a brooding artist."
"Hey, boys!" a cheerful voice called out.
A tall man with glasses and messy hair walked into the kitchen.
It was Stephen Gyllenhaal, Jake's father.
Naomi, Jake's mother, walked in right behind him, carrying a pitcher of lemonade.
"Donovan, right?" Stephen smiled warmly, extending a hand. "Naomi told me about you. Welcome to the chaos."
"Thank you for having me, Mr. Gyllenhaal," Donovan said politely, shaking his hand.
"Alright, grab your plates," Stephen clapped his hands together.
"It's movie day. We are watching a masterclass today, boys."
They all moved into the living room.
It was just a big, comfortable room with a projector screen pulled down over the window.
Jake and Donovan sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa with their pizza.
Stephen loaded a laserdisc into the player.
"What are we watching?" Jake asked, taking a huge bite.
"Alfred Hitchcock," Stephen said, sitting down next to Naomi on the sofa.
"Rear Window. 1954. Pay attention to the camera angles, Jake."
The lights went down, and the movie started.
For the next two hours, the room was quiet.
Donovan ate his pizza, genuinely enjoying the downtime.
He had seen Rear Window plenty of times in his past life, but watching it now with a slice of pizza and a friend felt nice.
When the movie finally ended, the screen faded to black.
Stephen turned on a small lamp in the corner of the room.
"Alright," Stephen said, leaning forward. "Jake, what did you think?"
"It was really good," Jake said, wiping grease off his hands.
"The acting was great. You could really feel how trapped the main character was in that wheelchair. And the killer across the courtyard was super creepy."
Stephen smiled, nodding. "Good observation. It's all about isolation. What about you, Donovan?"
Stephen asked the question casually, expecting a normal fifth-grade answer.
Donovan placed his empty paper plate on the table.
"The acting is brilliant, but I think the camera is the real trick," Donovan said simply.
Stephen looked at the ten-year-old, a bit surprised. "Oh? How so?"
"Hitchcock makes the audience a part of the crime," Donovan explained, his voice clear and steady. "We only see what the main character sees. We're spying on the neighbors right along with him."
Stephen leaned forward, genuinely intrigued by the observation.
"When the killer finally looks directly across the courtyard..." Donovan continued, gesturing toward the blank screen. "...he isn't just looking at the main character. He's looking directly at the camera. He caught us watching him."
Stephen blinked. He looked over at Naomi, who raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"That is... actually a really great point, Donovan," Stephen said, thoroughly impressed. "I didn't expect a kid your age to catch the voyeurism angle. Do you watch a lot of movies?"
Donovan shrugged, grabbing his cup of lemonade.
"Yeah, my parents watch a lot of stuff for work. I just pick things up."
Jake laughed. "Told you he was smart, Dad. He draws his own comics too."
The rest of the afternoon was completely normal.
The boys played video games, argued about which superhero was the strongest, and eventually, the Blackwood car returned to pick Donovan up.
When the front door closed, Stephen stood in the hallway, shaking his head with a small smile.
"Jake has a really interesting friend," Stephen said to Naomi. "Kid is sharp as a tack."
"He's polite, at least," Naomi agreed, carrying the empty pizza boxes to the kitchen. "I like him."
Outside, Donovan climbed into the backseat of the town car.
He watched the Hollywood Hills roll by out the window.
It had been a genuinely fun day.
As the car turned onto the main highway, his stomach growled quietly.
He realized Maggie really had eaten the last slice of jalapeño pizza, and now he was wondering if the kitchen staff at home had made chocolate chip cookies today.