Fame, Fate, and the First Kiss

by Kasie West

  “You’re good at this,” I said before I talked myself into doing what I wanted to do.

  “At what?”

  “At investigative reporting. Maybe it’s in your future, after all.”

  He laughed a little and shook his head. “No, I dread doing it.”

  And yet, here he was doing it . . . for me.

  “Who else?” I asked.

  “Who else?” he asked.

  “Who else made the notebook?”

  He looked back down. “Oh, right. Did you know that Faith tried out for the movie?”

  My mind went back to that video I’d watched in Amanda’s dressing room. “I did know that. I’d forgotten.” Could that be something? Was Faith jealous? “What else did you find out? Have you talked to Grant yet?”

  “I haven’t talked to him yet.”

  “When I saw you walking around the set he asked what you were doing. I told him you were interested in acting. Then he said that you could interview him.”

  “How big of him.”

  “It actually is kind of big of him. He’s a big deal, Donavan. It’s nice that he’d be willing to give you an interview.”

  “Me? As in a nobody?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  He pressed his lips into a thin line.

  “I know you don’t think he’s a great actor and didn’t like his movies, but he doesn’t know you’re the viral-review guy, so if you’re scared that—”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “I just don’t think it’s him. It would be a waste of time.”

  “Really? What happened to everyone is a suspect?”

  “I think he’s too prideful to think that you could screw up his career.”

  “He’s not. In fact, one day he told me he didn’t want me to screw up his career.”

  “Wow. Nice. Then I don’t think he has enough foresight to plan out something like this. To string together a bunch of mistakes that he hoped would be enough to get results.”

  “You don’t think he’s smart enough? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Maybe.”

  I shook my head. “Even if he’s not, he has his agent, who could easily be helping him.”

  He nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  A knock sounded at my door, and I backed up, putting some space between Donavan and me. “Come in!”

  Aaron opened the door. “Hey,” he said. “Do you need anything?”

  “I’m good.”

  “I’m glad you’re back. Sorry for all the drama with the missing zombie face. I wish there was something I could’ve done.” It was so cute when he acted like a mini adult. Like he was somehow in charge of anything on set.

  “There wasn’t anything you could have done. Thanks though.”

  “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will. Thanks, Aaron.”

  He smiled and left.

  “Who was that?” Donavan asked.

  “That is the director’s son and my biggest fan.”

  Donavan raised his eyebrows. “Who has a huge crush on you?”

  “No. He’s just nice.”

  “What did he mean by missing zombie face?”

  I lowered my brow and pointed at my cheek. “That section Leah always took off my face went missing sometime in the last two days— Wait, you didn’t know that?”

  “How would I know that?”

  “I guess I thought you heard somehow. . . . So you are helping me because of what I said at the restaurant about the article?” I felt my cheeks go pink but tried to pretend they weren’t.

  He met my eyes. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled. “You already said that.”

  “It’s just I’ve felt so alone in this. Like nobody truly thinks it’s a big deal.”

  He held up his notebook. “So what about that kid? Aaron. Does he have a reason to sabotage you?”

  I thought about it. “This is really sad that it’s come to this.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t think of any reason he would. He really does like me. But maybe? I don’t know. What would be his motive?”

  “I don’t know.” Donavan nodded once. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “I guess everyone needs to be on the suspect list,” I said.

  “Well, everyone but me.”

  I let out a burst of laughter. “No, you are at the top of the list. Remember, you used to think I was a spoiled, entitled snob.”

  “Used to?”

  I scrunched my nose at him. “So mean.”

  His eyes dropped to the cushion of space I’d put between us when Aaron had knocked. “Who did you think was at the door?” he asked.

  “My dad.”

  He wrote two more names in the notebook: Aaron and Donavan. Next to his own name he added, revenge for all the math Lacey makes him explain.

  I smirked. “I’d want revenge for that, too. I don’t blame you.”

  He shut the book. “I have to go. I have to work tonight.”

  I looked down at my hands. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

  “About what?”

  “About showing up at your work and acting . . . I don’t know, however I acted.”

  He smiled a little. “You were fine. Just a little demanding.”

  I gave a half-hearted laugh. “That’s the quality I would’ve assigned to myself too.”

  He stood and lingered for a moment.

  I stood too. “Fine, you can go. But let me look at our list one more time. I’m going to hang around and try to talk to a few more people.”

  “So demanding.”

  I pushed his arm.

  He flipped open the book, and I scanned over the names of the suspects we had added. “I’m going to try Phil and Duncan.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Some of Grant’s security guards. Maybe they’ve seen something.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Will I see you tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Hopefully.” He lifted his hand in a wave and left my trailer.

  I stared after him. He was still treating me exactly like a friend. And although I did like him as a friend, it killed me that he didn’t want more.

  Dancing Graves

  INT. LORD LUCAS’S LAB—NIGHT

  SCARLETT overhears EVELIN talking to LORD LUCAS about how Benjamin told her about the cave full of zombies. There had been multiple deaths in the forests lately, and she felt she had to go to the other zombie hunters with the information. Scarlett steps through the window. Evelin screams.

  LORD LUCAS

  It’s me, darling. Your father.

  Scarlett seems to shake off a fog upon seeing her father. She cries out and runs from the mansion.

  Twenty-Seven

  I walked outside. We were shooting on location the next day, and the set was a hive of activity. The crew was filing out of the studio, carrying equipment and packing it away in open trailers on the other side of the lot. I made my way to the end of the row, where Duncan and Phil stood guard.

  “Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” Duncan said when I reached the barrier that led to Grant’s trailer.

  “Hi!”

  “You want me to radio Grant?”

  “No. I wanted to talk to you guys.”

  “Really?” Duncan said. “What can we do for you?”

  “You two have a pretty good view of my trailer. Have you seen anyone, besides me, of course, go in there?”

  “Who don’t we see go in your trailer? It’s like a revolving door.”

  “I agree. Anyone who looks suspicious though? Like they shouldn’t be there?”

  “Anyone on set would have made it past security up front, so no, it’s all cast or crew. And that tutor of yours.”

  “Hmm. What about people going in there a lot when I’m not there?”

  “We’re not sure when you’re in there or not.” He looked up as if thinking. “But I�
��d say your most frequent visitors are probably that tutor kid . . .”

  Of course. He was in there all the time.

  “The director’s son.”

  “Aaron,” I filled in for him. And again, that didn’t surprise me; he was always stocking my fridge and snacks.

  “And Faith.”

  Faith might have had reason to dislike me because she’d been unsuccessful when she tried out for the movie, but it was also completely expected that she’d be in and out of my trailer. Besides, I just couldn’t picture her trying to sabotage me. I couldn’t picture any of the people I worked with doing that.

  “What about Amanda?” Phil added. “I’ve seen her go in quite a bit.”

  Of course Amanda had been in my trailer a lot. She was my best friend on set.

  “Okay, thanks.” I backed away slowly. That hadn’t helped at all.

  Tuesday we were filming at a campground an hour outside the city. All the trailers were lined up in a gravel parking lot, and the action was taking place a hundred yards into the trees. There was a shallow cave that, with the right camera angles and lighting, would look much bigger on-screen. And today that shallow cave was the setting for the bloodiest zombie scene in the entire script.

  “Cut!” Remy called. “Remember, Lacey, this is Scarlett’s breaking point. Again. From the top.”

  I nodded and picked my way back toward the cave entrance, around fake body parts, when my foot met a human finger that was actually attached to someone.

  “Ouch,” the extra hissed, raising his head a little.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “It’s okay.” He put his head back down.

  We had already shot the beginning of the scene where I had just discovered the carnage. Now we were mid scene, and I was covered in fake blood. It dripped from my fingers and onto the dirt floor. I made it back to the first zombie, my starting mark, and knelt beside her. Simone came over and poured more blood onto my palm.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  She laughed a little. “You’re welcome?”

  I smiled, and she backed out of the shot.

  “Quiet on set,” Noah called. “Slate in, sound rolling, camera rolling.”

  “Action,” Remy said.

  “No!” I screamed, bringing the limp form to my chest in a hug. “No!” I stood and tripped my way deeper into the cave. “Please, no.” I tried to walk again, but my foot snagged on my skirt and I fell down to my knees where I was now eye to eye with a zombie’s dead eyes staring into space. I cried out.

  “Cut!” Remy yelled. “Very good. I think we’re done in here.”

  And just like that, the dead bodies lying on the cave floor stood and began talking to one another. I stood too. My hands were caked with blood and dirt, and I tried to wipe them off onto each other, which did nothing.

  Grant stood just beyond the lights. I hadn’t realized he was watching. He wasn’t in this scene at all.

  “Don’t touch me,” he said as I came close.

  I held up my hand and lunged toward him. He let out a funny shriek and laughed.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m coming after you and your kind tomorrow.”

  “Can’t we just be friends?” he asked.

  I paused for a moment and looked at his smirking face. It took me too long to realize he was talking about his character. “Never,” I said. It seemed I didn’t trust anyone right now.

  I didn’t use the shower in my trailer often, but I was done for the day and there was no way I was getting into my car like this. I piled my bloodied clothes by the rack for wardrobe and went into the small bathroom. When I was done, the shower walls looked straight from a crime scene. I tried to spray them off with the showerhead, but it was pointless, they’d need to be scrubbed.

  I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. The mirror was foggy with steam, so I wiped it with a hand towel and brushed through my hair. The sound of my trailer door shutting startled me. The little trifold door to the bathroom didn’t lock, so I held it closed.

  “Hello!” I called. “Dad?”

  There was no answer.

  “Donavan?”

  Nothing.

  “I’m not dressed. So don’t come in here. And I swear if that’s you, Amanda, and you jump out and scare me, I will never speak to you again!”

  There was a rustling noise, but then the outside door shut again. I quickly dressed and slowly opened the door that led to the main part of the trailer. It was empty. I checked my table to see if maybe it was just Faith dropping off revisions. There was nothing. My fridge wasn’t newly stocked either. This was not cool.

  I was not staying in my trailer today. I could do homework from home. I got my backpack and jumped down the metal steps. I turned to the left and headed for my car. Amanda’s trailer was just past mine, and I slowed outside of it. I glanced over my shoulder to see a new set of security guards blocking the way to Grant’s trailer. Why couldn’t they guard all of us? I remembered what the other guard had said the night before: Amanda had been in my trailer a lot.

  I took a determined breath and knocked on Amanda’s door. There was no answer. I started to leave but changed my mind. I reached up and pulled on her door handle. It opened. I went inside and pushed myself against the closest wall.

  Her trailer was dim, all the blinds closed. It smelled like rose petals, like Amanda. Anyone who smelled like rose petals couldn’t be out to get me. Right? The trailer looked a lot like mine—a rack of clothes in the corner, a couch, small kitchenette, and bunk area. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Incriminating evidence? A journal or something spelling out how she hated me? The thought made my eyes sting. She didn’t hate me. We were friends. I knew that. Maybe that’s why I was here, to put my mind to rest.

  I closed my eyes, then pushed myself off the wall. Apparently I was doing this. I started at her cabinet in the corner. Like me, she had a script there. I riffled through all the pages, but it was just a script. Next to that was her phone. We weren’t allowed to bring them on set, so it didn’t surprise me that, like me, she left it in her trailer. I picked it up and pushed on the home button. It gave me the prompt for a passcode. I didn’t know how to break into phones like someone on set did, so I put it back down.

  I spun around and went to her bunk. I checked under her pillow and blankets. Nothing. “You are a horrible person, Lacey,” I said, but that didn’t stop me from moving on to the kitchen drawers. I opened each one, reaching my hand all the way to the back. On the third drawer, my hand met with something hard. I pulled it out. It was a red plastic case. My breathing hitched, because I knew exactly what this was before opening it. I opened it anyway, hoping I was wrong. I wasn’t. The section of my zombie cheek that had gone missing was here. In Amanda’s trailer all along. My lip quivered, and I bit it, angry at the emotion that flooded through me.

  I shut the case and shoved it back in the drawer. Then I stood there, not sure what to do. Did I take it and show it to Remy? Would he think I had taken it? And if he believed me, what then? Would he replace Amanda? I didn’t want him to. I liked her. She’d been my only real friend on set. But it was obviously one-sided. So I should just pretend this didn’t happen? I didn’t understand why she had done this, what sabotaging me did for her.

  I covered my face with my hands. Did this mean she called into that entertainment site too, trying to trash my reputation with that article? Of course that’s what it meant.

  I pushed the drawer shut and left her trailer, walking slowly until I reached my car. At home I found an empty apartment. Not that my dad was the first person I wanted to talk to about this. We still hadn’t spoken since our last fight. I had wanted an apology from him, and he’d probably wanted the same from me. We were at a standoff.

  I thought about calling my mom. She’d be more sympathetic, sure, but she would also be more preoccupied.

  I paced the living room several times before deciding there was only one person who might help me feel better r
ight now. Donavan Lake.

  Twenty-Eight

  This time when I arrived on campus it was busy. The bell must’ve just rung, because it felt like every student in the entire campus was now walking to their next class. I went straight for the journalism department.

  “Hey, isn’t that . . .” I heard as I walked by a couple of guys. I didn’t linger to hear how that sentence would finish.

  Before I made it to my sanctuary, two guys came up on either side of me. One said, “Are you Grant James’s costar? You’re way prettier than that pic they posted.” That article must’ve been passed around online even more than I realized.

  This is not how I wanted to become famous. I wanted to earn it with stellar performances. “No,” I said.

  “You totally are,” the other guy said. He put his arm around me, held up his phone, and leaned in. I wanted to tell him not to touch me, but I was afraid he was recording. I didn’t need more bad press. I kept my head down, hoping that my face wouldn’t turn out well in that picture. At this point I was closer to the building in front of me than I was to my car, or I would’ve turned around and left. Finally, I couldn’t handle it anymore, I shoved the guy off me and they both left but not before yelling out to anyone who would listen who I was. I picked up my pace and ducked inside the building.

  The journalism class that I’d been in before was halfway full and continuing to fill up. I scanned the room and the far office for Donavan. I saw him at the same desk he’d been sitting at before, his head bent over some papers. A new set of tears stung my eyes.

  “Are you Lacey Barnes?” someone asked from beside me. “I’d love to get an interview.”

  Right, now I was in the journalism department, where good journalists would be thinking that I would make a great story. “I can’t. I’m not.” Why did I keep saying that when it was obvious they knew exactly who I was? I stepped around backpacks and people until I was in the office where Donavan sat. I shut the door behind me and he looked up.

  “Lacey?”

  “I need to get out of here.”

  Maybe he heard the tears in my voice or the desperation in my eyes, whatever it was, he didn’t question me, just stood. He took my hand, opened the door, and dragged me through the room as several people called out his name, including the teacher.