by P. G. Kain
Rory looks confused, as if he is going to say, Your name is Monique, not Cassie! Sit back down. But then Neil taps me on the shoulder and says, “Cassie, c’mon. Everyone else is already in.”
Rory looks at me and realizes that my name must be Cassie. He gives me this embarrassed grin and then sweeps his fist in front of his body and hits himself in the forehead in a funny way. I giggle but don’t have a chance to say anything, since I’m the last kid to enter the room. He knows that we kids have to appear super professional at every second of an audition or we get a bad reputation fast.
I have never had an easier time pretending to be happy at a callback in my entire life. Rory not only smiled at me, but we definitely had some type of quality interaction. He was even goofing around for me. During the entire callback my smile is bright, open, and real.
Finally the director says, “Thanks, everyone. I think we have what we need,” and we are dismissed. Now we just need to wait to get a call from our agents. I don’t want to appear too anxious, so I make sure I’m the last one out of the studio, right behind Neil, who calls more names off his sheet and brings in the next group.
Rory is seated right next to where I was sitting, and when he sees me he gets up and says, “Hi, Cassie. That’s your name. Cassie.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s me. I’m Cassie.”
“I’m, like, so sorry. I was calling you Monique. I’m so sorry,” he says.
“That’s okay,” I say, standing across from him. He’s a little taller than I am, so I actually have to raise my eyes a bit to look into his.
“I just thought your name was Monique because, you know, Monique is such a pretty name, and, well, you’re so pretty, so I guess I just put the two together. Not that Cassie isn’t a pretty name too.”
RR just called me pretty. He directly called me pretty. The phrase was, “well, you’re so pretty.” That’s what he just said. I want to jump up and down. I want to tear up my headshot into little pieces of paper and use them as confetti. However, I know this is an important moment where I need to act just a bit cooler than I actually may be.
“Thanks,” I say, making sure I have a soft but not too enthusiastic smile on my face.
“No prob,” he says. “So is Cassie short for Cassandra?”
Everyone always asks me this, and sometimes I just say yes so I don’t have to go into the whole story. Uh, no,” I begin. “My full name is actually Cassiopeia.”
“You too?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” Is it possible that Rory is named after a constellation too?
“Free-spirit parents. I’m actually named after a lyric in some folk song. Isn’t it awful?”
Wow. Rory has hippie parents too. How is this possible? I mean, he looks so clean-cut and sort of preppie at auditions. Then I think of how I look at auditions. I don’t look anything like the family I come from. We talk for a little bit about the annoyances of hippie parents and how we both hate granola and anything having to do with sing-a-longs or camping.
“How did your callback go?” he asks.
“They’re going pretty quickly. You won’t have to wait too long.”
“That’s good. I have a soccer game tonight, and I want to make sure I have enough time to warm up before the game.”
“What position do you play?” I ask. I know that when a boy starts talking about playing sports, you can always ask what position he plays, unless it’s something like bowling or golf. Then you’re supposed to ask something else, but I can’t remember what it is.
“I’m usually a forward, but sometimes I—”
The door to the studio swings open, and the casting assistant announces a list of names, including Rory’s.
“Well, I better head in. Maybe I’ll see you on set,” he says, and walks toward the open studio door.
“Yeah, sure! Totally. Absolutely! That would be, like, awesome!” I say. My previous appearance of cool aloofness crumbles a bit with each phrase. Luckily, he’s walking into the studio, so he barely hears my verbal explosion.
Once the studio door closes and Rory and I are in separate rooms, I finally feel like I can breathe again. I walk out of the casting office and take the elevator down to the lobby. As I walk out onto the sidewalk of the busy street, I realize that I am still in a state of shock. Rory and I had an actual conversation, and he actually called me pretty. It still doesn’t seem real.
I consider taking a taxi back to the apartment building, so I don’t forget a single detail of my interaction with RR before I can tell Ginger, but the streets are so packed with summer traffic that I figure I might as well walk.
CHAPTER 18
I get back and head straight to Ginger’s apartment. My knuckles sound like a machine gun on the hard metal door. The door opens and Ginger appears. “There you are.” She doesn’t need to say another word. The familiar and comforting smell of frying buttered bread and melted cheese reminds me of my mistake.
“Ginger, I totally forgot we were planning to make grilled cheeses,” I say, following her into the kitchen.
“I tried your cell phone a few times but no answer. I was beginning to get worried.”
I grab my cell out of my bag, and sure enough, I see the list of missed calls from Ginger. “I had to turn it off for my callback, and with all the excitement I forgot to turn it back on.”
“Callback? Well, that explains it.” Ginger goes over to the kitchen. “You’re lucky I saved you half of my sandwich.” She puts a plate with a slightly cold but still delicious-looking half grilled cheese on it in front of me and then pulls a bag of chips from the top of the fridge and pours a generous serving onto the plate. “I can warm it up for you if you want.”
“No, this is fine,” I say. “Thanks.” I try to sound as friendly as possible, since I can tell by her tone she is a little mad at me for blowing off our lunch plan. She has every right to be a little mad. I should have texted her to let her know I was going to be late. It was wrong of me, and I feel bad for being a not-so-great friend. “Ginger, I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay. You’ll make it up to me, since YOU are doing the dishes.” She announces this last part with a flourish, so I know immediately what it means.
“You didn’t!”
“I did.”
“In English or Chinese?” I ask.
“In English, mostly. My Chinese vocabulary is primarily focused on the weather and how to bargain for a chicken in the market.”
“Oh, Ginger. This is amazing news. I want to hear everything.” I take a bite out of my grilled cheese and listen with rapt attention.
“There’s not much to tell. I basically went up to him and said, ‘Hi, I’m Ginger.’ And he said he knew that, because he’s been waiting for me to talk to him since last year.”
“That’s amazing.”
“I know. Anyway, it turns out we were both adopted, but he was born in the US. Still, we talked a lot about that. And that’s all.”
“Stop.” I tell her, and just like the casting director in an audition, I give her some constructive criticism. “I want you to tell me the story again, only this time, don’t leave anything out. I need detail. I want to be able to see the scene in my mind.”
Ginger tells me the story again, and this time she includes all the relevant details, like bits of dialogue and a description of what everything looked like and where they were. As she tells the story, I go over to the sink and start doing the dishes, since a deal is a deal.
I finish drying the last dish and sit down at the kitchen table next to Ginger. “So I didn’t tell you who was at my callback yet.”
“Phoebe?” she asks.
“No,” I say, and look down. I always feel sort of weird when Ginger mentions Phoebe. I’ve told Ginger everything about Phoebe, and Ginger has seen Phoebe on TV hundreds of times. Who hasn’t? But I never really talk to Phoebe about Ginger. It just doesn’t come up. A couple of times Ginger has suggested we invite Phoebe out to the movies with us or somethin
g like that. I always make up some excuse as to why I can’t invite Phoebe, but the truth is, I like keeping my two worlds apart. Sure Ginger knows every detail about both worlds, but that’s different from actually having those worlds collide.
“Who was it?” Ginger asks, and then suddenly she figures it out on her own. “Rory!”
“YES!” I say.
Her eyes widen. “Cassie Herold, I can’t believe you let me go on and on about Ming-wei when this whole time you actually have news. “Tell me everything,” she says. “Do not leave out a single detail. Do you understand, Cassie? I want to hear everything!”
“Hey, I think we have some of those organic juice Popsicles in the freezer at my house. Let’s go get them and take a walk so I can tell you the whole story.”
Is there anything better than sharing a Popsicle with your best friend on a hot summer afternoon and telling her the story of how the cute boy you’ve liked for months has just called you pretty?
CHAPTER 19
“Absolutely not, Michael! No! You cannot do it this way!”
As I walk into our apartment later, I can hear my mother shouting at my father on the phone. I don’t know why they have to argue so much whenever they talk. Can’t they just get along better, like they did when I was a kid or even before I was born? My mom used to tell the story of how they went to a Nirvana concert together in grad school when they lived in Seattle and how they walked home in the rain. I love that story and wish they would try taking a walk in the rain again.
My mother is in her bedroom with the door closed, but I can still hear every word of her side of the conversation through our potato-chip-thin apartment walls. I sit on the floor outside her door and just listen.
“Michael. This needs to come from you and in person!” my mom shouts. Are they talking about money? They used to fight about money all the time. My dad would want to treat us to something special, and my mom would tell him we couldn’t afford it, and then back and forth until someone just stormed out of the room.
“I will not do it. Do you hear me? I won’t.” Her voice is calmer now, but she is still upset. “You can’t just tell her something like this over the phone.”
Now this phrase gets my attention. The “her” she is talking about must be me. I don’t think I actually want to know what they’re talking about. Before I can hear another word, I knock on my mom’s door and burst into her room.
“Hi, Mom,” I say in my best and brightest commercial voice. I might not be able to get them to see eye to eye on whatever they are fighting about, but maybe I can at least interrupt them. “Who are you talking to?” I ask as innocently as possible.
I am like a human Band-Aid in my parents’ fights. They must have read some handbook somewhere that said not to fight in front of your child. Whenever they are fighting and I walk into a room, they immediately stop. I don’t know why they don’t realize that a person doesn’t need to be in the actual room where someone is screaming in order to hear them.
“Oh, Cassie. I didn’t hear you come in.” My mom has obviously been crying. Her face is wet and red, and she tries to discreetly wipe her eyes dry, but I can tell something bad is going on.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, not sure if I want the answer.
“Of course, dear,” she says, her voice cracking. “I’m just having a conversation with your father.” She gets up out of the chair she is sitting in and grabs her purse. She takes out her wallet and hands me a twenty-dollar bill. “Would you run down to Good Foods and buy some soy milk and get some sorbet or something for yourself while you’re there?”
I’m being bought off. I know it and she knows I know it. I could say something or ask to talk to my dad, but the mood in the bedroom is so intense that I just nod, take the money from my mother, and head to the store. If the “her” they were talking about is me, then I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
CHAPTER 20
Waiting for the phone to ring makes everything go more slowly. I don’t have any go-sees scheduled for today, there is no summer school, and Ginger is at Chinese school. My life is in a state of suspended animation. I both don’t want my phone to ring and I want it to ring. On one hand it could be my dad, calling me to tell me whatever horrible thing my mom wants him to tell me. On the other it could be Honey, calling me to tell me I booked the Seven Sails spot. I put my cell phone down on the kitchen table with the screen facing up, so I will know right away who is calling. If it’s my dad, I’ll just let it go to voice mail.
Since there is homework due tomorrow in class, I figure I had better start working on it now. The only way I can even consider doing homework over the summer is to make sure I am totally set up before beginning any type of work. I put a generous serving of my favorite nacho-flavored potato chips into a bowl and pour myself a large glass of fruit punch topped off with a splash of lemon soda. Then I grab the bag of carob-covered raisins my mom bought at Good Foods the other day and put them on the tray with the other treats. I put the tray on the table next to my notebook and other school stuff and then take a seat at the table.
I’m supposed to write two pages about a scientific topic I would like to research and then a page about why I would like to research it. I turn to a fresh page in my notebook and just stare at the blank lines. I look over at my cell phone in case I missed a call or text. Then I stare back at the blank page. How am I supposed to write about a topic I would like to research when there is nothing I would like to research? Worse than that, I have to write about why I would like to research something that I really don’t want to research.
I stare at the blank page, hoping something will happen to inspire me.
Nothing happens except the ice in my drink melts, so I get up from the table to go to the freezer to get a few fresh cubes. I take the ice tray out, and as soon as I hold it over the sink, I hear my phone ring.
Please be Honey. Please be Honey. I dump the ice tray in the sink and leap toward the table to grab my phone. I look at the screen before answering. YES!
“Hi, Honey,” I say, unable to hide my excitement.
“Hi, Cas. I don’t have any news on the Seven Sails spot yet,” she says right away. I guess she knows I’m anxious about booking that spot. Who wouldn’t want to spend the day in an amusement park? Still, I try to pretend like I’m not even worried about the booking.
“Oh, Seven Sails? Is that the amusement park? Oh, yeah. Now I remember.”
“Doll, I want to know if I can clear you for some dates for a major campaign that’s coming up. It’s for Happy Family Cruises.”
“Awesome!” I say. “We went on when of those cruises to the Cayman Islands a few years ago. It was amazing,” I tell Honey and then look over to the bookshelf where we keep all the framed family photos. These pictures remind me of what it’s like to be part of a happy family. There’s one of me as a baby coming home from the hospital, a picture of my parents on their wedding day, and a wicker frame with a picture of me and my family during the cruise a few years ago. We are standing under a canopy of bright magenta hibiscus; our faces are lightly sunburnt and our smiles natural and relaxed. My parents are even holding hands. I love this picture not only because we look so happy, but also because at that moment we were so happy. I almost tell Honey they should just use this picture for the commercial.
“Well, let me give you these dates to see if you can take the appointment,” Honey says.
“Sure,” I say, and grab my appointment book. She tells me the audition and hold dates for the booking, and they are smack-dab in the middle of my summer school class. The shoot date is even the same exact date as our final exam at the Science Center.
“Sorry, Honey. I can’t do those dates,” I tell her.
“Too bad,” she says. “It was a pretty big campaign for Happy Family Cruises. They’re launching a new website, and this campaign will—” She stops speaking midsentence and then says, “Hold on, Cassie. This might be the call we’ve both been waiting for.”
My h
eart starts pounding. Could this be news about the Seven Sails spot? I sit down at the kitchen table and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but my foot keeps tapping uncontrollably.
“Cassie!” Honey shouts from the other end of the phone. “I have some good news. You booked the spot for the amusement park.”
“YES!” I shout, matching her enthusiasm.
“Oh, this is going to be a fun one,” Honey says.
“Do you happen to have the full booking list?” I ask as casually as possible. I would hate for Honey to figure out how much I like Rory. I don’t want her to think I’m unprofessional.
“Sure,” she says. “There are six kids playing the friends. You . . .” She reads the names, and the third one is Phoebe Marks, so I know I will have at least one friend on set. Then Honey reads the last name, “… and Rory Roberts.”
“Sounds good,” I say, underplaying how excited I actually am. Honey tells me she’ll e-mail me all the details for the shoot and the wardrobe fitting and I hang up.
I am actually going to be on set all day with RR, who just happens to have told me that he thinks I’m pretty.
CHAPTER 21
After I got the phone call about my booking, I told myself I would spend that evening working on my science homework. After I talked to Phoebe on the phone for a few hours about the booking, I told myself that I would get up extra early and do my assignment before class. After I overslept, I told myself I would think of a really good excuse on my way to class.
As soon as I get to class, Mr. Evans says, “Everyone take out the assignment that’s due today. I want you to work with your lab partner to further define your topic. Each person needs to read their homework out loud to their partner, and I am handing out response sheets that you should use to guide your conversation.” I begin to go through some of the random papers in my backpack so I don’t stick out. Most of the papers in my backpack are sides from auditions. I also have a few headshots in case I have a last-minute go-see. The class settles into their groups and Nevin taps me on the shoulder.
