September 20, 1993
Nate had a problem.
Well, technically, he had several. He was a reincarnated ex-stuntman stuck in the body of an 8-year-old boy in 1993. He had the mind of a grown man, a growing obsession with BP stock, and a desperate need for something called "capital." Also, his shoelaces were permanently coming undone.
But today's problem? Money.
Sitting on the couch after school, munching on a penguin bar and scratching behind Rusty's ears, Nate stared at the telly playing a Blue Peter rerun and thought, I need a hustle.
He'd seen the BP stock headline over the weekend, and it was like someone had handed him a cheat code. He knew where this was all going: Dot-com boom, tech bubble, streaming wars. But you can't invest in the future when your weekly allowance is 50p and half a packet of crisps.
He needed cash. Or rather, a kid-friendly way to make cash.
The Brainstorming Begins
Nate grabbed a notebook (well, technically it was his mom's grocery list, but he turned it over and wrote on the back) and scrawled ideas with a chewed-up pencil.
Open a lemonade stand (Too cold, also too American)
Sell Pokémon cards (Not out yet, brain, stop jumping timelines!)
Start a garage band (Can't play anything. Yet.)
Babysit (He is a baby. Technically.)
Magic tricks? (No)
School raffle rigging? (Illegal... probably)
Inventions? (He could barely remember how to toast bread properly with this toaster)
And then, it hit him.
Modelling.
Yes! He was adorable (objectively speaking), had a good head on his shoulders, and had spent enough time on film sets in his old life to know how to follow directions. He could read lines, hit marks, smile on cue. Most 8-year-olds still got stage fright from spelling tests.
Advertisements. Magazines. Maybe one of those cereal box kids.
If he could just get one gig… one commercial. The 90s were the golden age of weirdly enthusiastic children selling toys. He could be one of them!
Operation Parental Persuasion Begins
Dinner that night was shepherd's pie. A family favorite. Claire had made it with extra gravy, which meant she was in a good mood. Nate decided to strike while the mince was hot.
"So… Mum. Dad." He poked a potato hill with his fork. "What do you think about child modelling?"
Claire looked up slowly. Richard coughed into his cup of tea.
"Pardon?" Claire said.
"Like, for adverts. Catalogues. TV stuff. Just on weekends," Nate added quickly. "I read in the library that it's a real industry. Some kids even make thousands."
Richard raised an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, prompted this?"
"Research," Nate said innocently. "Also, I think I have the look." He attempted a smolder. It came off more like he was trying not to sneeze.
Claire laughed. "Sweetheart, where did this come from?"
Nate took a deep breath. "I know it sounds silly, but I'm serious. I like performing. The play was fun, and I want to try more. I mean, I'm not asking to skip school or anything. Just… dip my toe into the world of toothpaste ads or cereal jingles. You know. Low-key fame."
Richard gave him a look. "You want low-key fame?"
"I'm workshopping the phrase," Nate muttered.
Claire looked at her husband, then back at Nate. "Well… It's not impossible. But you're eight. School comes first. You'd need chaperones. Auditions are in London, most likely. It's not just all fun and cameras."
"I get that," Nate said, nodding earnestly. "I just want to try. Please? Just… just one shot?"
Rusty whined and licked Nate's sock, like he was voting in favor.
After much discussion—and a promise that he'd keep up with school, drama club, and chores—Richard finally caved. Sort of.
"We'll look into it," he said. "See what's out there. Maybe find a local agency. One weekend, to start. If it's too much, we stop. Agreed?"
Nate's grin could have powered the whole block.
"Agreed!"
Later That Night
In his room, Nate lay awake, staring at his ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. Rusty was curled up at the foot of his bed, tail twitching.
He'd done it. Step one: Get permission. Step two: Get booked.
Step three? Profit.
"I swear," he whispered to Rusty, "I'm gonna be on the side of a cereal box by Christmas."
Rusty farted in response.
Nate took it as encouragement.