by P. G. Kain
“I brought in three copies just in case you thought we needed an extra copy for something,” Nevin says, handing me his papers. I look down at them and see that he has gone way over the expected word count. “Do you want to go first or do you want me to start?”
“Ah . . .” I hesitate. “Why don’t you go first?” I say. Maybe I can use Nevin’s overachieverness to my advantage. “And read slowly. Very, very slowly. I want to make sure I hear every word.”
Nevin looks at me with a bit of confusion on his face. “You do?”
“Of course,” I say. “I’m very interested in . . .” I grab the papers with his assignment and read the title off the first page. “‘The Role Real Science Plays in Science Fiction’.” Is he serious? Does Nevin want to be a dork for the rest of his life? Why not just come to class wearing a T-shirt that says, I AM THE BIGGEST NERD IN THE UNIVERSE? Then I look down and see that he’s wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Albert Einstein on it, and I realize he already is. I can’t believe I have to spend the summer listening to Nevin talk about hobbits and spaceships and whatever other boring dork stuff he wants to write about.
“Really? You’re interested in science fiction?”
I kind of do a head-shake-closed-mouth-smile thing that could be interpreted as anything from “Where’s the bathroom?” to “This sausage is spicy!” Of course, Nevin takes this as a yes.
“Great, because I’ve already started doing the research, and it is absolutely fascinating.”
“Well, whatever you do, read slowly, okay?”
“Sure,” he says, and then begins reading the first sentence of his assignment with the speed of a taxi at rush hour. Perfect. At this rate he won’t be finished until next Thursday, or at least until the end of class. I immediately tune out and look at my watch. If I can just keep him talking, I can avoid having to tell Mr. Evans that I did not do my assignment. I’ll just bring it to the next class and he’ll never know the difference.
Nevin is saying something about photons or phasers, but my mind is miles away. I’m thinking about the wardrobe fitting I have scheduled later in the day and the shoot this weekend with Rory.
CHAPTER 22
Getting up early for school is almost impossible. Getting up early for a booking is easy. We need to be at the transport van at six a.m. My mom insists on seeing me to the van, although I have been able to convince her not to come to the shoot with me. Some of the kids my age still travel to sets with their parents, but a lot of kids have started going on their own. There is always someone on set in charge of minors, so the truth is, our parents just sit there. Some of the parents get really into being on set, but my mom always hated being shuffled from area to area and having to wait for endless retakes. I imagine that if you’re not on camera, the whole thing can be rather boring.
Usually I would just roll out of bed for a booking, since I know there will be someone on location to do my hair and makeup and put me in some cute outfit. But today I make sure I look presentable, because there is a chance I will see Rory in the van.
We take a cab to the corner where the van is picking everyone up. Since it’s so early in the morning, we fly up streets that are usually bumper-to-bumper. The sun is just beginning to rise, and the shadows are giving way to the glow of a new day. During the ride my mom lectures me on how she only lets me do commercials because she believes they are good real-life experience. I almost laugh when she says this. There is absolutely nothing real-life about them. Real life is messy and boring and filled with homework and curfews and disappointments. Commercials are picture perfect. Everything looks shiny and new, and there’s never a hair out of place. Still, I listen to my mom and nod. The last thing I want to do is get into an argument with her in a cab on the way to a booking.
There are three vans on the street corner and a bunch of kids and adults standing around them. I see a woman with a clipboard, who I assume is the person in charge of minors. My mom signs me in for the shoot, gives me a few final reminders, and then gets back in the cab to go home and back to sleep, I imagine.
“If you have checked in with me, please go to the first van, which will leave in two minutes!” shouts the woman with the clipboard. I walk over to the van, hoping I will see Rory signing in, but nothing. I climb into the van and see an Asian girl with short bangs. I can tell this is one of her first bookings, since it looks like she got up early just to curl her hair. You never “do” anything to yourself the day of a booking, because whatever you “do,” the stylists will want to “do” differently.
“Hi, I’m Cassie,” I say, walking toward the back of the van.
“I’m Jasmine,” the girl says, smiling. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot,” I say, plopping down my bag and sitting next to her.
“This is my first commercial. Do these shoots always start so early? The sun’s barely up.” She tries to stifle a yawn as she talks.
“Not always,” I say, “but usually. The boys are so lucky. They sometimes get a later call, since they don’t have to spend so much time in hair and makeup.”
“On the other hand,” Jasmine says, “they also don’t get to have someone do their hair and their makeup!”
We both giggle, and I can tell we’re going to be friends.
“We’re just waiting for one more girl,” some adult with a walkie-talkie barks into the van. I know Phoebe booked the lead role in this spot and her call time was even earlier, so I guess this will be the girl playing the third friend.
Finally the last person arrives. Everyone knows, or at least has seen, Brittany Rush. She has probably appeared in more commercials than any other person on the planet. When she gets on the van, she barely says hello. She just sits down, closes her eyes, and takes a nap. Since it’s so early, everyone else in the van, adults included, uses the time to catch up on some sleep.
CHAPTER 23
I’m still only half-awake when the van pulls into the amusement park. There are a few hours until it opens to the public, so the parking lot is empty except for the vans and trailers with all the wardrobe and equipment. Once we stop, the van door slides open and a woman in jeans and a T-shirt tells us her name is Shirley and that she is in charge of minors. She gives us our instructions for the morning, but before we head off to sign in, I hear her say, “The van with the boys should be here soon.” That means Rory will be here soon. I decide I had better sign in and head straight to wardrobe and makeup, since I want to look my best when Rory arrives.
I love walking around the set in the morning before production has begun. It always has this feeling of orchestrated chaos. To get to the makeup trailer I have to walk through the entrance to the amusement park, where an army of set designers is making the perfectly manicured lawn look even more perfect. At first it looks like they’re just adding to the rows and rows of flowers with additional ones, but as I get closer I see that they are actually sticking fake flowers in among the real ones. I’ve seen this dozens of times. Of course, in person it looks weird, but through the lens of the camera those fake flowers will look realer than the real ones. I smile to myself and admire their vibrant color. Who’s to say those fake flowers are any less real than the ones grown from seed?
I sign in and check my wardrobe as fast as I can so I can make it to the makeup trailer to see Phoebe. I open the door, and the bright fluorescent lights sting my eyes. I see that they are putting the finishing touches on her. Her eyes are closed and a skinny guy in skinnier jeans is lightly brushing something on her eyelids while a not-so-skinny woman with tattoos on her shoulders is arranging Phoebe’s hair so the curls are just perfect. The counter in front of where Phoebe is sitting is a parade of the latest and greatest cosmetics and hair products. The stylists on a shoot always have inside information about what new trends are developing, so I always try to pay attention to what they use. On the counter in front of Phoebe are rows of tackle boxes that are usually used to carry bait to a fishing hole. In this alternate universe all the stylists use th
em to organize their products. I love peeking into them and seeing all the blushes, lip liners, and powders arranged neatly by hue.
“Okay, Phoebe. You’re done,” the guy stylist says, and she pops out of the chair, comes over to me, and gives me one of her tight hugs while keeping her face turned up to the ceiling so her makeup doesn’t smudge.
“Is he here yet?” she asks as discreetly as possible.
“No,” I tell her. The adults in the room are going over the script for the day, so we have a few minutes to gossip.
“Well, I heard them say that they’re shooting the girls in the morning and that we might not see any of the boys until the afternoon. Did you see my friend Brittany?”
“I didn’t know you were friends with her.” The truth is, Brittany seemed kind of stuck-up in the van. She barely said a word to Jasmine or me, but maybe she was just tired. If she’s friends with Phoebe, she can’t be all bad.
The loudspeaker in the makeup trailer crackles and announces, “I need leads on set. Phoebe and Doug to their first mark.”
“I better go,” Phoebe says. “See you out there.” She heads out of the makeup trailer, and I take her spot in the makeup chair.
I’m grateful that the boys won’t be on set just yet because it means Rory will get to see me as Commercial Cassie, not boring Everyday Cassie. I look straight ahead at myself in the mirror and smile. I’m ready to be transformed.
CHAPTER 24
I spend the morning in commercial bliss, running around the amusement park, riding rides and hanging out. It’s the way any other girl might spend a warm summer day with her friends. The only difference is that entire rides are shut down for us just so we can ride them over and over, lights and cameras follow our every move, and a professional stylist is only a few yards away in case even a single hair is out of place. It’s a great day, but it’s also a lot of work. When it comes time for lunch, I’m exhausted from having so much fun.
We are given a ninety-minute break for lunch, so the girls and I go back to our dressing rooms to change into our regular clothes. Eating while in wardrobe is not allowed. I knock on Phoebe’s dressing room door so we can finish getting ready together. As I comb my hair, Phoebe straps on her sandals.
“Are you ready?” she asks.
Suddenly I feel nervous for the first time today. You would think shooting a national commercial for an amusement park would make me nervous. This spot will be seen by tens of thousands of people, maybe even my dad, but being in front of the camera has never made me nervous. However, the thought of walking into the catering tent and sitting next to Rory has me totally rattled.
As we walk out of our trailer, I ask Phoebe, “What do you think I should say to him?”
“Uh, how about ‘hello’?” she says with complete sincerity.
“I mean after that!”
Phoebe thinks for a second and then looks at me and says, “I have absolutely no idea. Most of the conversations I’ve had with boys in that way have been at go-sees, reading off cue cards, or at a booking where a director is telling me exactly what to do.”
It’s true. We go-see girls have much more real-life experience from the parts of our lives that have nothing to do with real life. If only there were a way to make real life more like our commercial lives.
When we get to the catering tent, we spot the table of kids. Jasmine is there with Rory and the other three boys who have booked the spot. One is a kid I have known for years, Doug, who’s playing Phoebe’s boyfriend, and the other kids are new. Brittany said she was going to skip lunch and rest in her dressing room.
We walk through the food line. I’m so nervous I barely grab anything to eat. I just put some apple wedges and a few carrot sticks on a plate and grab a diet soda and a chocolate cupcake. Not exactly a balanced meal, but the cupcake looked too good to pass up. As we leave the line, the table of kids spots us and Jasmine waves to us to join her. “Here we go,” Phoebe whispers in my ear. I take a deep breath, smile, and walk over to the table.
“Do you guys all know each other?” Jasmine asks the group as we take our seats. I am sitting directly across from Rory, which is nerve-racking because I’m worried our knees are going to bump or something.
“Yeah,” Rory says. “I know Phoebe and Monique.” When he says the name Monique, his lips reveal a playful smile, and he almost winks at me. He is so amazingly cute that I just want to study his face and take a picture of it in my mind.
The other kids who know me are a little confused when they hear Rory call me Monique. A look of terror flashes across Phoebe’s face, and being a good friend, she jumps in. “Uh, actually her name is—”
Rory cuts her off. “I know, I know. It’s Cassie. Monique is just a little inside joke that we share. How you doing, Cas?”
Phoebe looks at me, her eyes as wide as Ping-Pong balls. I’m sure the mention of an “inside joke” between Rory and me has given her a shock. I’ll have to explain everything when we’re back in our dressing rooms.
“The morning was fun, Rory. We got to ride the Storm Twister over and over,” I tell him.
Stephen, the kid sitting next to Rory, lets out a loud groan. “Uhhhh!”
Rory turns to him and says, “Look, bro, I told you it’s all gonna be fine.” He looks down at the full plate in front of Stephen and says, “But maybe you should lay off the chili dogs until after we wrap.”
“What’s wrong?” Jasmine asks as Stephen pushes his plate of food away from him.
“Well . . . ah . . . Stephen gets a little sick when he goes around in circles. He told me during the van ride here.”
Suddenly I remember something my mom taught me that she learned from one of her hippy-dippy healers. “If you feel sick, you should just press here and here with your fingers.” I put my index fingers on his forehead over the pressure points my mom showed me for dealing with nausea.
“That’s so cool,” Rory says. Stephen immediately begins to practice putting his fingers on the pressure points. I don’t know whether it will actually work, but at least giving him something to do will take his mind off the spinning.
Everyone starts trying out the pressure points, but Rory looks directly into my eyes and says, “That was really nice of you, Cassie.”
I smile at him, but I’m too overwhelmed by his directness to really look straight at him. Instead I let my eyes half focus on my plate of carrots and apple wedges. When I finally look up, I see Phoebe chugging her can of root beer. She finishes the last drop and says, “Boy, this shoot has made me thirsty. Rory, would you be an angel and get me another soda from the catering truck?”
Of course there is no reason why Phoebe can’t get a can of soda herself, and Rory sees through her little trick. “Sure, Phoebe. Wanna come with me, Monique?”
Phoebe gives me a look that seems to say, GET! UP! NOW! so I say, “Sure. Why not?” and remind myself to thank Phoebe for being an amazing friend.
Rory and I walk over to where all the tables are set up near the catering truck. I have no idea what to say. None. I’m just so excited that I know I should say something. Luckily, he takes care of that.
“I had to miss a soccer practice for the shoot today,” he says, and then I remember that he plays soccer.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” I say.
“No, it’s awesome,” he says. “The sun is brutal today. I’d much rather be here.”
Whoops. Miscalled that one. I quickly try to back it up. “Yeah. That’s awesome. I just mean it’s too bad . . . uh . . . about . . . uh . . . the sun. You know.” What am I saying? Even I don’t know what I’m saying. Seriously, I have absolutely no idea what I’m saying, and I’m the one saying it. There is no way that can be good.
Then Rory says, “You mean the like frozen layer?”
Now I have no idea what he is talking about, but still I agree. “Yeah,” I say, and nod my head.
He nods his head too and says, “Yeah, I heard there’s a hole in it, which is why I gotta wear so much of that sunscr
een goop during practice. I hate it.”
Then it suddenly dawns on me that he means the ozone layer and not the frozen layer. So he’s not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed. He’s still the cutest. I decide not to correct him on the ozone thing and instead listen to him tell me a play-by-play of his latest soccer game as we grab a few sodas and head back to the table with the other kids.
I walk as slowly as I can on the way back. I don’t want our time alone together to end. I want us to walk like this side by side all the way back to the city.
When we get to the table, we pass out the extra sodas we got for everybody before we’re interrupted by an anxious production assistant.
“I need you boys on set for some lighting tests,” the PA says, pointing at the boys and shouting from across the room. Part of me is upset that this moment is being interrupted, but another part of me is glad I don’t have to think of anything else to say.
The boys get up from the table, and I say to Rory, “See you on set.”
“Totally,” he says. The boys head out, but Rory lingers just a bit and says to me, “We should hang out sometime.” Before I can say anything in response, he breaks into a jog and catches up with the other boys and heads out of the tent.
The three of us girls don’t say anything until the last boy is safely out of earshot, and then Phoebe begins. “Excuse me, but O period. M period.”
“Let me finish this,” Jasmine says. “G freaking period. Rory totally likes you.”
“You think?” I say. Sure he was being awfully sweet to me during the break, but he’s sort of like that with everyone.
