by P. G. Kain
Honey had no problem getting me in for the Happy Family Cruises spot.
I’m early for my audition. Very early. I could have waited until the end of class and then raced up here for my appointment, and I probably would have still been on time. But telling Mr. Evans I had stomach cramps and was going to see the nurse and getting sent home meant I would not only definitely get here on time, but would also miss a substantial part of my stupid summer class. I know I told my parents I would faithfully attend summer school, but no one seems to be keeping their promises these days, so where is the harm in missing just part of one class? Of course, if I actually book this spot I’ll have to figure out another plan, but for now just leaving class to go to this audition feels good. It feels like leaving the complicated, confusing part of my life behind for the camera-ready part.
It’s been a week since they sat me on the couch and told me they were “moving forward with the divorce.” I cried that night, but the next morning I made the decision not to let the situation have any effect on me. Ginger thinks I’m just being quiet, but really I’m just trying not to think about anything. That’s my plan—to just not think about it. Okay, it’s not a great plan, but at the moment the only thing I can do is not think.
My mom keeps asking me if I want to talk about it. I keep telling her, “No!” and going about my life as if nothing had ever happened. What’s the point of talking about it with my mother? It’s not like talking about it is going to change anything. If there was some magic phrase I could utter, a phrase that would make everything go back to the way it was when we all lived in the same apartment and did things on the weekends like regular families, I would have already said it. I think my mom was upset that I didn’t have anything to say, but I really didn’t, so what was I supposed to do?
At least if I can’t be part of a perfect family in real life, I can be part of one for thirty seconds.
As I walk up the stairs to the studio for my audition, I look at my watch and realize my summer class still has a few minutes until it ends. I picture everyone copying down the assignment for the next class while my desk remains empty. For a few seconds I feel guilty. I didn’t like lying to Mr. Evans, and when Nevin showed actual concern for my well-being and offered to take notes for me I felt another pang of guilt, but it disappeared quickly. Maybe I would have felt worse if it had been more difficult to do, but faking my way out of class to get to this audition was just so easy. It was almost too easy.
When I get to the right floor and see the door for the casting office, I no longer feel even a little guilty. I know once I walk through that door I will be in another world. I won’t have to worry about summer homework or chores or even think about the phrase “visitation rights.” I can focus on saying the lines or brightening my smile or any number of things to make sure I am camera-ready.
I open the door and see about half a dozen girls in the room. A few of them have their mothers with them. I go to the sign-in sheet and examine the list of names. I see that Phoebe was here much earlier in the day, but it looks like I missed her.
I take a seat in the corner of the room and take my compact mirror out of my bag. I decided to wear just a tiny bit of makeup to this go-see. My parents forbid me from wearing any makeup at all, but they are so busy messing up our family that I don’t think anyone will even notice a little bit of blush and some eyeliner. I hold the mirror up to my face and take out a tissue. I think my eyeliner is a bit too thick on my right eye, so I try to wipe some of it off, but the more I try to wipe it off, the worse it looks. I keep wiping and trying to make it look better, but I am on the verge of looking like a rabid raccoon. Why can’t I do anything right?
I give up and go to the restroom. Luckily, I threw some makeup remover towelettes in my bag before leaving my house this morning. I gently move the cleansing pad under my eye, since I don’t want to exchange eyeliner smudge for red irritation. I look at myself in the mirror and shake my head.
For a second I’m about to start thinking of all the stuff happening with my parents, but I point my finger at myself in the mirror and say out loud, “Cassie, stop it.” I take a deep breath and examine myself in the mirror one last time to make sure I won’t embarrass myself with any stray makeup errors on camera.
I walk back into the waiting room and start looking at the sides so I’ll know what I’m doing during my audition. It’s a pretty simple spot. There are four members of the happy family on the Happy Family cruise: a dad, a mom, a son, and a daughter. Each panel shows a different family member doing something they enjoy. The dad practices his golf swing, the mom is at the spa, the son is pigging out at the pizza buffet with some friends he met on the cruise, and the daughter is lounging by the pool with some friends she met on the cruise. In real life I would much rather be pigging out at the pizza buffet, but I remind myself that, thankfully, commercials are not real life. At the end of the commercial the family spends the evening together, having a meal in the fancy dining room. It’s pretty easy stuff, and since the waiting area has only girls my age, I assume that we’re going in together and that they’ll match families up later at the callback.
I am about to turn off my phone and prep for my audition when it starts buzzing. The word DAD flashes across the screen. I’ve been ignoring his calls since the big announcement, and I consider just pressing ignore one more time, but something actually makes me answer. I dash around the corner for a bit of privacy and hold my hand close to my mouth as I talk.
“Hi, Dad,” I say. Usually I’m overjoyed to hear from him, but at the moment my tone is glum at best.
“Hi, Peanut. I’m so glad you picked up. I’ve been trying you for days.”
“I know,” I say. My voice is devoid of emotion. I feel like a robot.
“I think we should talk,” he says.
I don’t say anything. Why does everyone want me to talk about this? I don’t want to hear him tell me how everything is going to be fine and this has nothing to do with me. I know it has nothing to do with me. If it did, I wouldn’t let it happen.
“Dad, I’m at an audition. I really can’t talk now. I gotta go. Bye.” I close my phone. It hurts to basically hang up on my dad. He was the one who took me on my first audition and convinced my mom that I should get an agent and everything. My mom has supported me in her own way, but my dad is the one who has encouraged me.
I decide to keep ignoring reality and go back to looking at the sides to prepare for my audition. These sides have a storyboard with them, showing exactly how they imagine the commercial will look. It shows the “happy family” just being happy. I try to imagine myself inside that commercial.
It would take very little to make me cry at this moment, but instead I turn off my phone and turn on the biggest, brightest commercial smile I have. I am going to book this spot and be part of this happy family if it kills me.
CHAPTER 30
I had a great audition. I never say I know I’m getting a callback, but this time I feel very strongly that I will. I walk out of the overly air-conditioned lobby onto the sun-baked street. It’s a brutally hot day, and the sidewalks radiate heat. I feel the sweat beginning to bead across my forehead. I do not want to be a part of reality just yet. I want to hold on to this good feeling for as long as I can. I decide to go home and fill the bathtub with cool water and my favorite bubble bath and just forget about my enemy—reality—for a little bit longer.
By the time I get home I am covered in sweat. Before I start my bubble bath, I go to the refrigerator to get something cold to drink. I grab a can of diet soda and guzzle as much of it down as I can without choking. It hits the spot perfectly and immediately refreshes me.
Without even thinking, I run to the mirror in the bathroom. I want to remember exactly what this feels like and how it looks so I can remember this exact moment at auditions. I study myself in the mirror. My bangs are stuck to my forehead, and parts of my shirt are damp from sweat. I grab the can of soda and hold it up near my face like I would during a shoot. It’s an in
credibly unnatural position, but it’s used all the time in commercials because it puts the person’s face next to the product.
I take a sip of the soda and replicate the experience I had in the kitchen. I taste each drop of the liquid and experience the same level of enjoyment and refreshment that I did a few seconds ago, but this time I’m staring at myself in the mirror as it happens. I study the curve of my smile and pay attention to how my eyes crinkle.
This is me. This is Cassie enjoying something. This is Cassie enjoying a cold drink on a hot day. With each phrase I snap a mental picture of myself and try to burn the image in my mind.
Then I put down the almost empty can and take a deep breath in and out. I close my eyes tightly and then open them again so I can start with a blank slate. I put my hand around an imaginary can of soda and watch myself in the mirror. I pretend to take a sip from the pretend can and try to copy exactly how I looked when I was doing it for real. I make sure my mouth curves in the same way and that my eyes crinkle just enough. I freeze for a second and really study my expression.
Is this me? Is this Cassie enjoying something? I notice that my smile was a tad wider before and that I showed a few more teeth. I carefully make the adjustment until how I look in the mirror is how I look in my head. Yes. That’s me. I finally recognize the copy of myself that I want to put out for the world to see, and I try to save it to the hard drive of my life.
The doorbell rings and breaks my concentration. I take the last sip out of the can, but this time I do it without even thinking about it or how it looks. I just want to finish the drink.
I walk through the living room and open the front door of the apartment. It’s Ginger.
“Should we go to The Bench, or is it just too hot out? We could sit on the back fire escape and try to catch a breeze,” she says.
I should have known Ginger would be waiting for me after class today. I haven’t really seen her since the night I spent at her house after my parents told me the news. I know she wants to talk about it, but I don’t really have anything to say. Ginger and I talk about everything, but I just want to forget what’s going on in my real life for as long as I can.
“Actually,” I tell her, “I was just about to take a bath.”
I’m worried she’ll be upset, but her face doesn’t look hurt. She looks more concerned.
“Well, okay. It’s no big deal. Call me when you’re done with your bath, okay?”
“Ginger, I can’t—” I say.
“Oh, do you have a go-see? Or did you get a callback for something?”
“It’s not that,” I say. How can I tell my best friend that I don’t want to talk to her about the most devastating news in my entire life?
Ginger just looks at me sweetly. Not for a second does she suspect I’m trying to wiggle out of seeing her later. There’s no way I can lie to her, so I say, “I have a lot of homework for my summer class.”
Since Ginger is such a good student, homework is something she totally gets. “Oh, okay,” she says, nodding her head. “I’ll just see you later. You don’t want to get behind in your class.”
“Thanks, Ginger,” I say. “You’re the greatest.”
She smiles and says, “No problem. That’s what best friends are for. I’ll see you later. Now go take that bath and finish your homework.”
Ginger leaves, and as soon as she does I feel calmer but also a bit guilty. I’m sure I have homework I need to do for my class, so I totally told her the truth. The only part I fudged was my actual interest in doing that homework. I’m so far behind in class at this point that I don’t think one afternoon of hard work is really going to catch me up. What’s the point?
CHAPTER 31
After almost an hour of soaking, I look at my hands, and my fingers look like little raisins. The thick forest of bubbles has dwindled to a few floating islands of suds, but the water continues to be cool and soothing. I could stay here for a few more hours. I close my eyes and rest the back of my head against the spa pillow I have suctioned to the back of the tub. I am in my own little sanctuary, and nothing can disturb me.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong. The doorbell rings. Who can that be? My mom is still at work and would use her key, and Ginger knows I wanted to take a bath. It must be the mailman or something. I keep my eyes closed, assuming I can get back my quietude. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong! Again, only this time the pattern is faster and more insistent. What is wrong with this mail carrier? Can’t they get the hint that no one is going to answer the door? Then again the doorbell, but this time it’s accompanied by furious knocking. This is one persistent mail carrier. I yell from the bathroom, “O! K! I’m coming. Hold on!”
I step out of the bathtub and grab my plush terry-cloth robe. I put my hair in a towel and tighten the belt securely around my waist before stepping into my bath slippers. I walk to the door and check through the peephole, expecting to see some enormous package or at least a letter with some type of special delivery tag on it. Instead I see something totally different. Nevin!
I should just walk right back to my bath and ignore him, but I’m so angry that I actually swing open the door and just start yelling.
“What’s wrong with you? I was in the middle of taking a bath, and you’re ringing this bell like you’re a deranged contestant on Jeopardy!’s Geek Week!” I shout.
“I’m sorry,” Nevin says softly. He looks like I just punched him in the face.
Oh, why did I have to yell at him? He wasn’t doing anything wrong. I change my tone and volume and say as nicely as I can, “It’s okay. What do you want?”
“Well, I wanted to see if you were feeling any better.”
“Yes, I feel fine,” I tell him with a bit of defiance, and then I remember faking stomach cramps to get out of class today and add, “I think the bath I just had really helped.” Then I remember I’m wearing a robe and that my hair is in a towel. “I really should go change,” I tell him, trying to close the door.
“Of course, milady, but I wanted to make sure you had the notes for the quiz we have in class next week.”
I halt closing the door immediately. “Quiz? What are you talking about?” I can feel the soothing calm the bath generated hitching a ride out of my body to make way for a village of panic.
“I think you might have missed Mr. Evans talking about it. He announced it a few times in class and then went over the material at the end. That’s the part I think you missed, but I have the notes.”
I suddenly remember promising my mom I would get at least a B-plus in this class. If I don’t squeak by with at least a B, she will never let me go on another go-see until I’m ready for denture commercials. What am I going to do? It’s not like my participation and homework grades are going to help me. I was planning on doing really well on the quizzes and stuff to sort of balance everything out, but if I can’t do that, I’m pretty much doomed. The village of panic begins setting up shop in my body. What am I going to do?
Nevin is just standing there in the doorway as I imagine a terrible end to my summer. “I’m not doing anything now. If you want, we could go over the stuff together,” he says.
“Yes!” I say. I don’t even care that it’s Nevin or that this means I have to actually study. I’m just grateful to have a way out of this particular predicament.
I pull Nevin into the apartment, sit him down at the dining room table, and say, “There are Cokes and soy things in the kitchen. Let me get changed and I’ll be back in two minutes.”
CHAPTER 32
I find it hard to believe that one person can hate the periodic table as much as I do. It is the stupidest thing I have ever come across, and after thirty minutes of studying my brain is totally fried.
“This thing doesn’t make any sense,” I say, pushing the book away from me.
“Curious you should say that, because it actually makes perfect sense. You see, it’s all very logical. There are four groups—”
I stop Nevin before he launches into the different type
s of elements for, like, the tenth time since we sat down to study. “I need a break,” I say, and get up from the table. I go over to the kitchen to grab a Juiced Up juice box. I booked a spot for them a few months ago, and the client was so happy with the commercial that he sent everyone involved in the production a case of juice boxes. I will be out of college before we finish them all. “You want one?” I ask Nevin, holding up a juice box.
“Yeah,” he says, smiling and nodding his head. “That’s a Juiced Up juice box. I saw you on the commercial for them just the other day when I was at my orthodontist waiting to get my braces tightened. You and some other girl are talking about how Juiced Up gives you energy to play soccer because it’s infused with all these vitamins and herbal enhancements.”
I hold up the juice box in the same way I did during the commercial and go into the little speech I had to say: “Juiced Up juice boxes aren’t just juice, they’re a whole box full of vitamins and super herbs. One box alone contains Vitamins A, B, and C, niacin, potassium, creatine, gingko, guarana, aloe, ginseng, lutein, and full day’s supply of folic acid.” The words roll off my tongue easily, and I say them in the same singsongy way that I did on camera, smiling and only taking a breath once in order to emphasize how complete the juice box is.
“That’s amazing,” Nevin says. It’s nice to feel competent for five seconds instead of feeling totally overwhelmed by our science quiz. “But I don’t understand.”
“What don’t you understand?” I ask, walking back over to the table and taking my seat across from him.
“I mean, all the commercials you do have so many, you know, words.”
“Actually,” I tell him, “we call that ‘copy.’ All the words in a script are called copy, and you’re right. There was a lot of copy in that commercial, but what don’t you understand?”
“Well, if I might impinge upon milady’s kindness, why is it that studying science is so much more difficult than studying, as you call it, copy?”
