by Kasie West
“Your packet.”
“If you do something for me.”
“What does that mean?” He tapped the top of the computer. “You’re not going to try to kiss me again, are you?”
“Ha! I did not try to kiss you yesterday. I accomplished exactly what I needed to. No more, no less. If I had wanted to kiss you, I wouldn’t have had to try.” When I could tell he didn’t find that amusing, by the way his face darkened, I added, “But don’t worry, I’m not into distractions like that. I don’t date.”
“And I don’t date actresses, so I guess we’re clear on our roles here.”
I stopped, sidetracked. “You don’t date actresses? Did one actress in particular cause this universal ban? If so, tell the story, it must be a good one.”
He picked up my packet and held it up, dismissing my question. “What’s the deal, then?”
Right, the deal. I didn’t need Donavan’s dating history anyway. I was trying to spend less time with him, not bond with him. It wasn’t Donavan, in particular; it was the interruptions. I wanted to do my homework on my own timetable. When I knew I wasn’t working on a scene or studying my performance. I wanted to do it in bits and pieces, not dedicate hours at a time to it. “I will do the packet if you let me check in with you remotely.”
“Remotely?”
“Yes, instead of coming in here, I text you a picture of my completed pages. Then when I’m done, I leave the packet at the front gate for you to deliver to school. And what my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
He studied my face for a moment, and I resisted the urge to start peeling away at the zombie makeup.
“Deal,” he said.
I stopped by Amanda’s trailer on my way out for the day. She let me inside and then went to the microwave, where she pushed the start button.
“So,” I said. “I think I need some help with my chemistry after all.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, I watched some of your soap opera scenes, and you’re really good.”
“Thanks. Of course I’ll give you some tips, but for the record, I don’t think it’s all you. I was watching your scene today, and Grant’s not his normal self.”
I took a relieved breath and sank to her couch. “Thank you for saying that. He made me feel like it was all me.”
“He has a lot riding on this movie. His last Heath Hall movie tanked. And the reviews have really gotten in his head. Especially that one that went viral.” Heath Hall was the name of the spy that Grant played in a series of action movies. It was a role he had made famous or the role that had made him famous, it was hard to separate the two.
“This is about a bad review?” I asked.
“Not just a bad review,” she said. “A scathing, viral one that was retweeted more times than any of his good reviews ever have been. And it won’t go away. It keeps resurfacing.”
I cringed. I knew which review she was talking about. “Grant James Goes Down in Flames.” There had even been a meme made of it—a picture of Grant’s handsome face contorted in a scream and engulfed in flames. The meme was now used in completely unrelated conversations. “I thought he had more confidence than that.”
“Most of the time he does. Sometimes he doesn’t.”
I could understand that. “Why did he choose this movie, then, if he feels he needs to redeem his career? Shouldn’t he be doing another one of his Heath Hall high-budget films?”
“He’s hoping fans will get behind a campy horror movie with heart versus his cold action-driven movies. We need to figure out how to help him get past this bad review, because I can give you all the tips in the world, but if he’s not on board too, it’s not going to help.”
“We should play that Taylor Swift song for him,” I said, thinking about what Donavan had told me earlier and smiling despite myself.
“What?”
The microwave beeped and she took out a mug full of water, then dipped a teabag into it and sat down next to me.
“Never mind. Inside joke.”
“Okay, so chemistry on camera. My first tip that always leads to loads of chemistry is to imagine your costar, Grant in this case, as the guy you really like.”
“The guy I really like? I don’t really like anyone.”
“Okay, then someone you used to like. Remember and draw on the feelings you had at the height of liking someone.”
“Right . . .”
She narrowed her eyes and studied my face. “Wait . . . I know you said you didn’t date, but have you never dated? You’ve never been in love before?”
“No?”
“Is that a question?”
“No, it’s not. I’ve kissed a lot of costars in theater, but I’ve never been in love.” I had been focused on this singular goal since the sixth grade. And I’d seen what boys could do to normally rational people—take over their every waking thought. I was too busy making my dreams happen. I had the rest of my life to figure out the love part.
“Wow. Well, I guess you need to work on your personal life. You’re seventeen years old and starring in a movie, but you’ve never been in love? Between you and Grant, this is going to be harder than I thought.”
“But I’m really good at pretending. I’ve acted a lot of ways I’ve never personally felt before.”
“True.”
I looked down at my hands and back at her. “Amanda?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for helping me.” I had needed a friend on set. I hadn’t realized how much until then. Just sitting there talking with her was making all the difference in the world.
“Of course,” she said. “Any time.”
Dancing Graves
INT. SCARLETT’S BEDROOM—EARLY EVENING
BENJAMIN SCOTT waits impatiently near a still-unconscious SCARLETT, hopeful that the experimental cure might have an effect even though he begins to lose hope as each day passes. She starts to stir and wakes. She takes in her surroundings, obviously not fully herself but not fully gone either. He rushes to her side and takes her hand. EVELIN waits in the corner, worried and uncertain.
BENJAMIN
Scarlett? Talk to me.
SCARLETT tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Her eyes widen in worry.
BENJAMIN
Don’t worry, my love, you will be fine. Your father will fix everything. I think we’ve slowed down the transformation. Your heart never stopped.
EVELIN
Do you understand us, Scar?
SCARLETT nods.
BENJAMIN
Thank goodness. I can’t lose you now.
Seven
I opened my eyes, and I knew something was off. The lighting in my room was too bright, and I was hot. I kicked off my covers, then picked up my phone off the nightstand. The time showed it was 7:00 a.m. My phone alarm, the one that had worked every morning for the last week, hadn’t gone off. Had I disabled it?
I had five text messages from Leah. I shot out of bed. Call was at eight, but I would barely make it to location by then, let alone be in full makeup. I brushed my teeth and ran for the door, hoping there weren’t too many overly observant photographers today.
My dad sat on a barstool in the kitchen, his laptop open, a bowl of cereal next to him.
“Don’t you want to eat before you leave?” he asked.
“No, I overslept.”
“I noticed.”
My hand was on the door, and I stopped and turned. “You knew what time my call was this morning. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because I figured you could use the extra sleep. You’re not getting enough.”
My mouth dropped open. “You didn’t turn off my alarm, did you?”
“Of course not. I’m sure that was your overly tired subconscious.”
I was angry but had zero time to discuss this with him right now. “If that happens again, please wake up both my conscious and my subconscious.”
He gave me a wave of agreement, and I ran out the door.
I text
ed Leah: Running late. Sorry!
“I’m so sorry,” I said when I arrived breathless to Leah’s station.
She checked her watch, which told her we had fifteen minutes until call, and makeup took about ninety. “It’s fine.”
“Should I go tell Remy or Noah not to wait on me?”
“No. Sometimes they’re running late. If they are, they won’t even realize that you were too. If they’re not, they’ll know we’re not ready soon enough.”
They were not running late. Noah was at our station at five minutes to call. “You don’t look ready,” he said, wearing his normal scowl.
I went to open my mouth to explain, when Leah said, “Sorry, makeup is giving me issues this morning. Tell Remy it will be another hour.”
“He won’t be happy.”
“Art takes time,” she said.
When Noah left, I said, “You didn’t have to do that. It was my fault.”
She waved something that resembled a small paintbrush at me. “It’s fine.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Hold still,” she directed as she pressed the premade section onto my cheek. “What happened anyway? Why so late?”
“Apparently I slept through my alarm. I was up late doing homework.”
“And you finished it?”
“No, actually. I fell asleep. There might be some numbers inked onto my forehead.” I rubbed at my forehead as if that was a real possibility.
“But I let a guy into your trailer the other day who said he was your tutor. Donavan? Isn’t having a tutor supposed to make homework faster?”
“Well . . . it would if I used him. I kind of made him leave.”
“Why would you do that? He seemed really nice. And cute too.”
“He is . . . cute, I mean. I’m not sure if he’s nice. He acts like a dad number two, so I’ve been treating him like that.”
She laughed. “Your dad’s not so bad.”
“You’ve met him. You know how overprotective he is.”
She waved her hand through the air like that shouldn’t bother me.
“The point is, I don’t need another dad. The one I have is already doubling up. But I really thought I could do the work on my own. I hardly get any alone time and I needed it yesterday. And I can do the work on my own . . . except the math. The math is hard.”
“So, thinking about your life choices . . . ?”
“Yeah yeah, send the tutor away after I do math next time.”
“It’s good to learn from our mistakes.”
An hour later I walked on set, then realized I was holding my phone. I hadn’t had time to stop by my trailer in my rush this morning. I panicked but Faith held out her hand with a smile.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She tucked it into her pocket, and I joined Grant.
“Oversleep this morning?” he asked.
My eyes shot to Remy, who was busy inspecting a headstone with the art director. This was our last day at the cemetery. Tonight everything would be packed up and moved to a church. “How did you know I was late?”
“Because Leah did my makeup at a time when she should’ve been doing yours.”
“How much mascara does she use to get your lashes that long?”
He let out a faux gasp. “This is all me, baby.”
Despite his jokey tone, he was being honest. He had long eyelashes, which I knew weren’t enhanced. He probably only got a dusting of foundation and a bit of eyeliner. And a whole lot of hair gel. “What’s your favorite part about this job?” I asked.
“About this particular acting job? Or acting in general?”
“This one.” Even though Amanda said he’d taken the job to win back some fans and redeem his reputation, I wondered if that was the only reason. His salary was probably half the budget, but it still couldn’t have been anything close to what he was used to.
“You, of course.” He winked.
I rolled my eyes. “You say that to all your costars.”
“And I mean it every time.”
I laughed, then stopped and lightly touched my face. “Don’t make me laugh. You’re going to make my chin fall off again.”
“That wouldn’t be my fault. That would be Leah’s. Your chin should be more secure than that.”
“My chin is very secure.”
Remy raised his voice so everyone could hear, “Who broke the headstone?”
“The headstone?” Grant asked.
“A big chunk of it is missing,” he said.
The fake headstone was obviously Styrofoam or something, because the part he was referring to was now white and someone with paints was adding gray to it.
“People,” he said, “be careful on set.” He looked at me when he said this for some reason. I just smiled, hoping to give him a positive image to associate with me. I realized too late that with my zombie face on, it would be a creepy sight.
Remy walked over the mound of dirt and then stopped in front of us. “You two ready?”
“For over an hour now,” Grant said.
“Yes,” Remy said. “Sorry about that—makeup mishap.”
Grant wiggled his eyebrows at me. I just nodded at Remy.
He picked up my hand and inspected my modified nails. “Very undead, right?” he asked with a smile.
“I like them,” I said.
“Good, let’s roll, then,” Remy said.
Two hours passed, and Remy yelled out, “Cut!” He marched past a camera operator, then came to stand in front of me. He studied my face carefully, then waved his hand in front of it. “I can’t see any emotion.”
Grant lifted a finger. “May I suggest a little less makeup. For this scene, she is only a partially turned zombie, after all.”
Remy waved his hand around my face. “Leah, we can work on that, yes?” he asked as if she’d been following along with the conversation. And maybe she had, because she nodded from behind the monitor and said, “Of course.”
“Okay, then work on that. And quickly. We don’t have much time left here.”
I pressed my phone to my ear as I walked to my trailer. “Tell me something nice about me.”
Abby laughed. “You need an ego boost?”
“Yes, a big one.”
“You are the world’s greatest actress,” she said.
“Something sincere.”
Her laughter died down. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make light of this. I can tell your confidence is shot. You really are amazing. I still remember that story you made up inside that empty church last summer. I thought you were speaking about your own life, that’s how believable it was.”
“You’re good at this,” I said. “How much would I have to pay you to come and sit in my dressing room and write me compliments all day long?”
“I’d totally do that for free.”
“You’re hired.” I rounded a corner, my trailer in view. “What are you up to tonight?”
“The homecoming game.”
“Football? You’re going to a football game? I didn’t know that was your kind of thing.”
“I had to take over your social calendar when you left.”
The last homecoming game of my high school career was happening tonight. “I guess school events still go on without me. Huh . . .” A tug of sadness surprised me. Not that things happened without me, but that I was missing them.
“I know, shocking.”
I opened my dressing room door and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Donavan sitting there, head leaned over a book. “We had a deal.”
“What?” Abby asked.
“Nothing. I’ll call you later.”
He held up his hands. “Leah called.”
All my anger was diffused immediately. She was the nicest person ever. “Leah has your number?”
“I had to give it to the security people the first day I checked in.”
“Oh, right. What did Leah say?”
“Something about how math nearly ruined your lif
e.”
“It’s true. Math is a jerk.”
He smiled, and I felt guilty. Math wasn’t a jerk, but I certainly had been. Donavan was just trying to do his job, and even though he was better than my past tutors at not letting me get away with things, I was still making it very difficult for him with my completely negative attitude.
“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been under a lot of pressure, and homework has been an added stress. Plus, my dad . . .” I trailed off. He didn’t need to know that my dad didn’t care if I succeeded or failed at this job.
“We can try a new foot today,” Donavan said.
I raised a fist in the air. “Yes, to new feet.”
“Yes, to finishing this packet so your dad stops texting me for updates.”
“I’m sorry.” So I wasn’t the only one he was bugging. A new wave of frustration hit me. I needed to have a real talk with my dad . . . eventually.
Eight
Ninety minutes later packet two was finished, and Donavan was now explaining an equation in packet three.
“And then,” he said, “the numbers decided to stop trying to solve each other and just get along.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, picking at a loose piece of latex on my cheek. I had managed to quickly change out of my costume, not wanting to mess it up, but this was the third day in a row I hadn’t taken off my makeup right away.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“What?”
“You are distracted.”
“I’m thinking about something my friend Abby said earlier.”
“Was it about math?”
“It wasn’t. It was about this thing I used to do to help me get out of a rut.” It was something I hadn’t done at all since I’d been here. And I knew I needed to loosen up, to get out of my own head. It would hopefully help me project chemistry on set. We’d always called them perspective outings. I wished I could call Kara and Abby and beg them to go on one with me. But they were four hours away. I’d have to make do with who I had—Grant and Amanda. I wondered if they’d go along with it. There was only one way to find out.
“Can we take a break?” I asked. “After an hour and a half my brain can’t process new info anyway.”
