by Melody Grace
I pause. He’s just a stranger, but there’s something about him that makes me open my mouth and admit, “I don’t have any friends.”
I cringe, hearing the words come out. Being friendless seems like the biggest crime of all when you’re a teenage girl. Better to be bitchy, or slutty, or a nerd—as long as you have someone in your corner. But alone? What’s more pathetic than that?
Blake just shrugs. “So fuck ’em.”
I gape. “Aren’t you supposed to give me a pep talk? Tell me to join a club or something.”
He laughs. “Nah, that won’t help. From what I’ve seen, teenage girls are vicious. Turn your back for a second, and boom, they strike.”
I giggle despite myself.
He smiles. “See? You just need to make it through the next couple of years. Then I promise, this won’t mean a thing.”
I look at him hopefully. “Really?”
He nods. “You want to know a secret?” He leans in closer. My heartbeat quickens. “I was a loser in high school.”
“No way!” I protest. “You were probably like, prom king.”
Blake pauses.
“See, you were!” I laugh.
“Well, homecoming prince,” he corrects me, grinning. “But that was later. Freshman year, I was just another skinny kid getting stuffed in lockers and picked last for teams.”
I can’t believe it. “So what changed?”
He shrugs. “I hit a growth spurt, started working out with my big brother, and figured out how to fake the popular thing.”
“Gee, that’s going to help me,” I sigh. “If I get any taller, they’ll start calling me Godzilla instead of giraffe.”
Blake winces. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
I slump lower. This is what my life has come to: pity, from the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.
“It’ll be OK,” he says quietly. “You can get through this. It’s only high school.”
“It’s only high school,” I repeat, trying to believe it.
“Stop hiding, stop apologizing, tell them to go fuck themselves.” Blake gives me a supportive grin. “I believe in you.”
I shake my head, smiling. “You don’t even know me.” Like I could tell anyone to go fuck themselves. I can’t even say the word out loud.
“I have great instincts.” Blake winks.
His cellphone buzzes, he glances down. “That’s my cue.”
I feel a strange pang of disappointment. Blake unfolds his limbs and gets up. “Thanks for the hide-out, Zoey.” he smiles.
“Um, you too.” I blink up at him. He towers over me for a moment, the sun hitting just right behind his head, a shimmering halo of gold.
His lips curve in a sympathetic smile. “It just takes one friend to make everything OK.” He says, “One day, you’ll look back on this moment right now, and wonder how you ever let them hurt you so much.” Then he’s turning and walking away, around the corner and out of sight.
Out of my life forever.
At least, that’s what I thought.
3.
Now
I set my alarm for five a.m. and spend an hour in the bathroom to look as if I just rolled out of bed. I’ve decided to act like yesterday at the beach never happened: I’m trying to overcome six years of bad first impressions with Blake, one more false start isn’t going to hurt. My problem is whenever he looks at me, he still sees that gawky teenager I was the first day we met. Making him see me as the sophisticated, sexy woman I am now is going to take more than one good hair day.
But it doesn’t hurt to try.
Since I’m going to be running around all day on-set, I dress deceptively casual: jeans, boots, a light sweater and blazer. But these jeans are magic, hugging what curves I do have, and my jacket is crisp and professional. I finish it off with some mascara and lip stain, grab my leather satchel, and head for the stairs, trying to be quiet and not wake the other guests at Mrs. Olsen’s B&B.
I’m halfway to the front door when a voice pipes up behind me. “No breakfast, sweetie?”
I turn. Mrs. Olsen herself is in the kitchen doorway, an apron tied around her waist. A petite, spry woman in her early seventies, her grey hair is pulled back with a patterned floral scarf, and although it’s early, she already has an armful of jangling bracelets on each arm.
“I’ll just grab some coffee on my way, thanks,” I tell her.
She tuts at me in a grandmotherly way. “You need something. It’s the most important meal of the day. Here, take a muffin.”
Before I can object, she disappears back into the kitchen, emerging a moment later with a basket of fresh-baked muffins and scones.
“Thank you, but this is too much. I can’t eat all of these!” I try to give the basket back, but Mrs. Olsen insists.
“Then share them around.” She steers me to the door with a pat. “They eat in Hollywood, don’t they? You could use a few extra pounds, dear. Men like something to hold on to at night.” She sends me out the door with a wink.
Dating tips from a retiree? I would be offended, except the smell of the fresh-baked pastries is too good to resist. By the time I’ve driven to our first filming location, a wooded area on the edge of town, I’ve polished off two of the berry muffins and I’m seriously contemplating the third.
There’s a sharp tap on my window. My production manager, Kira, is outside, bundled up in a winter coat with a stressed look on her face. I quickly shut off the engine and climb out.
“Why does it have to be so cold?” she asks, hugging her arms around her.
“It’s barely sixty degrees!”
She fixes me with a look. “I’ve been living in LA for five years. My blood freezes if it goes below seventy.”
I laugh. Kira intimidates me—she’s my boss, and experienced working on movie sets—but she’s only in her late twenties, and there are moments I feel like we could be friends. “Have a muffin,” I comfort her, as we head towards the collection of trailers parked back from the woods.
Already, the set is teeming with noise and activity: lighting rigs, sound equipment and cameras currently being unloaded and carried into the woods to the location for our first scene.
I feel my excitement rise. This is it, day one of the shoot! “Where do you need me?” I ask.
Kira checks her clipboard. “Our great director wants a full cast and crew meeting before we start at seven. Make sure Miss Moore and Mr. Callahan are there and have everything they need.”
“Yes, boss!”
I turn on my heel and go in search of the trailers for the talent, as they’re known. There have to be at least thirty people here, all scurrying around getting everything set up—and all for just a couple of scenes. I’m beginning to understand just how many moving parts are whirring away behind every minute of film on-screen. It’s daunting, but exhilarating too.
I head for the trailer assigned to Lila and Blake. The other assistants were telling me that on a lower-budget indie movie like this, we don’t have the same fancy perks as the blockbuster productions: no fleet of private cars or personal makeup artists. Out here in Beachwood Bay, the cast will be hanging out with the rest of the crew, and I’ve already met many of the actors playing the smaller roles, like Blake’s best friend and Lila’s little sister. I like the “all hands on deck” feel, and the atmosphere on set is already great: everyone smiling and ready to start.
“Meeting in five,” I tell everyone as I pass. “Take a pastry!”
“That’s one way to be the most popular girl on set.”
I turn. Blake is leaning against his trailer, his script in his hand.
“All part of my devious plan,” I reply lightly. “People get wound up when they’re hungry. My last job, everyone was on a diet and went into total meltdown every day. If I can keep you all fed and happy, this will go a lot smoother.”
“Smart woman,” he smiles, flashing me that show-stopping grin. I tell myself I’m immune, but I still feel a flutter as I offer him the basket.
“No blueberry?” Blake makes a puppy-dog expression.
“Too late. I’ll remember next time,” I promise him, as he takes a maple scone and demolishes it in two bites.
I laugh. “What happened to healthy eating? Tegan told me you’re all body-conscious now.”
“One won’t kill me.” Blake lifts his sweater and slaps his toned, muscular abs with a wink. “What do you think?”
I think I would happily lick maple glaze off that stomach, but I pretend to stay cool. I roll my eyes. “Put that away, you’ve got a meeting in five,” I remind him. “Wait, where’s Lila?”
“I’m right here.” Lila waltzes down the trailer steps. She’s just as beautiful in real life as she is on screen: delicate, doll-like features and glossy auburn hair. She’s wearing a pretty sundress, her costume for the scene, bundled under a huge puffy parka jacket.
She beams at Blake. “Ready to get started? I’m so excited, I know this will be an amazing shoot. Coffee, no-fat mocha whip latte.” She rattles off the instruction without pausing for breath, and even though she doesn’t even turn to look at me, it’s clear I’m the one she’s bossing around.
“Absolutely,” I say evenly. “Blake?”
“Uh…” He looks uncomfortable. “It’s OK, I can get it myself.”
“Please, I’m working for you now,” I reassure him. “Well, you and about a dozen other people. Coffee?”
“I’d love one, thanks.” Blake smiles, turning to Lila. “This is Zoey, she’s an old friend,” he introduces me.
Lila gives me a brief glance. “Great!” she says, syrupy sweet. “I’m sorry, would you mind getting that coffee ASAP? I don’t want to be late.”
I hide an amused smile. Clearly, the green M&Ms are only just the beginning of her demands. “Coming right up.”
I head over to the makeshift craft services area: a trestle table and industrial coffee machine. There’s no Starbucks for miles around, so Lila will just have to make do with regular sugar and cream for now. I pour their drinks and go join the rest of the team, who are all clustered by the main cameras, listening to the director welcome everyone.
“I know we’re a long way from Hollywood,” he’s saying, as I thread my way carefully through the crowd, balancing a coffee cup in each hand. Some people stand aside for me, and I get my first glimpse of our director, Dash Everett. He’s young, younger than I realized, maybe just twenty-six, wearing jeans and sneakers. He’s got a mop of messy dark hair, three-day stubble, and an animated gleam in his eyes.
“This production has had one setback after the next,” he’s saying. “Some people even said it was cursed. But we’re here now, and I want you to know, each and every one of you is a part of making this movie happen. So, before things get crazy, I just want to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”
He applauds us, and we all join in. I feel another thrill. I know from reading the blogs that Dash is friends with Blake; he made a couple of short films, and one shoestring indie movie before this. I watched the movie, and I liked it a lot: he has a lush, romantic style, and I can’t wait to see what he does with this script.
“Let’s get rolling!” he announces, clapping his hands together. “Set up for act three, scene six!”
The crew disperses. I’m confused for a minute, then I remember: movies are shot out of sequence. The scene we’re filming today is actually the break-up between Blake and Lila’s characters, and it’ll come near the end of the movie. It’s just one of the odd things I’m learning about how a film is really made.
I hurry over to Lila. “Here’s your coffee,” I say, holding it out. She turns sharply, knocking my hand and spilling it all over me. I jump back, but it’s too late. I yelp as the hot liquid spills across my bare hand and Lila lets out a shriek too.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, ignoring my pain. “Are you OK?”
“Do I look OK?” Lila’s voice rises. “You ruined my dress!”
I search, panicked, but I don’t see a mark on her.
“Here!” she yells, pointing to a tiny fleck of brown, hidden on the very edge of her skirt. “Now the whole scene is delayed, I’ll have to go back to wardrobe to change! What the hell were you thinking, being so clumsy?”
I feel terrible. Everyone turns to stare at us. I wish the ground would swallow me up.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “But it’s fine, really. You can’t see a thing.”
“Who the hell cares what you think?” Lila looks on the verge of tears. “Wardrobe?” she screeches. “Wardrobe!”
Kira comes rushing over. “What’s the problem, Miss Moore? Are we ready to shoot?”
“This stupid intern spilled coffee all over me.” She folds her arms.
“It was an accident,” I pipe up, but Kira just glares.
“I apologize, we’ll get this cleaned up.”
“And keep her away from me,” Lila pouts. “God, can’t you people find anyone to do your job right? It was a simple request!”
“Of course,” Kira soothes her. “Zoey,” she barks, “Get this mess cleaned up and get out of here.”
“But—”
“Now!” Kira turns back to Lila. “Let’s get you changed,” she says, soothingly. “You know what? This is for the best. I know Dash loved you in the blue, he went back and forth all night over it.” She steers Lila towards the costume trailer, reassuring her the whole way.
I look around, my cheeks red. People are still staring and whispering, but I catch a few sympathetic smiles too.
I pull myself together and smile back. Lila isn’t the first outrageous boss I’ve dealt with. Hell, if she spent three minutes with Garance, my old Editor-in-Chief at Deja Vu, she’d probably leave the room in tears. Spilled coffee is nothing compared to the designer shoes Garance would hurl around whenever she got mad.
I quickly clean up and go help out the camera guys, unloading lenses on the other side of the street. I keep my distance from the center of the action—and Lila—for the rest of the morning, even though I’m dying to see them run the scene. I can hear the distant sound of the director, Dash, yelling, “Cut! Roll take…” but I can only imagine what’s happening. It’s driving me crazy to be shut out of the action, but I know it’s safer to lie low today and let Lila forget about the whole coffee thing. Chances are by tomorrow, she won’t even recognize my face.
“Want a coffee?”
I turn. Blake is leaning in the doorway with a broad smile on his face.
I groan. “You heard?”
“The way Lila was screaming, I think they heard in Virginia Beach.” He gives me a supportive look. “You OK?”
“Great. Believe me, it takes more than a starlet in meltdown to throw me off my game,” I add.
“Glad to hear it. Listen, I’ve got to get back, but you want to grab a drink tonight? Celebrate our first day on the gig.”
I blink. “Sure, I mean, yes.” My heart rises.
Blake grins. “Awesome. Jimmy’s Bar around eight. See you there.” He saunters away, leaving my heart racing.
A date!
I hug myself with excitement. I didn’t realize it would be so simple, but now I can’t wait to spend the evening alone with him and really connect.
My giddy moment is cut short by Kira’s voice, crackling to life over the walkie-talkies we use on set. “Did you get finished with the schedule?” she asks, her voice still curt from earlier.
“I’ll be right there.”
4.
The actors like Blake can leave set whenever they’re done shooting their scenes, but the rest of us work late dismantling all the equipment, packing it away, and getting things organized for the next day’s work. It’s after seven by the time I finally manage to finish work and rush back to the B&B. In all the rush to find a place to stay in town, I was lucky to get a room here. It’s a charming old Cape Cod-style house, set just back from the beach, with wild roses and honeysuckle growing over the porch. Mrs. Olsen has crammed the downstairs with nautical souvenirs and tc
hotchkes, and loves to hold court chatting to the guests every evening with wine and cheese served in the oak-paneled dining room.
“Zoey, sweetie.” She catches me as I burst in the door. “How was everything with the movie? Come sit down, and tell me all about it.”
“I’m so sorry, I’m running late,” I apologize, already hurrying up the stairs. “But I’ll tell you everything tomorrow!”
I arrive in my quaint, pale-blue room at the end of the hall and close the door behind me. I take a deep breath.
Relax.
I wish I could take all night getting ready, so I could savor every moment of anticipation, but there’s no time for that now. I settle for a quick shower instead, using my favorite rose-scented body wash, and humming along to the playlist of classic Sinatra songs playing on my phone.
How long have I been waiting for this?
It feels like forever. After that day I met Blake on the steps at school, part of me wondered if I had made the whole thing up. A gorgeous guy appearing out of nowhere right when I needed his comfort the most? It was crazy—the kind of thing that only happened in the movies I watched, not real life.
But somehow, his words made me believe things could be different: I would get through high school, no matter what.
And he was right. That first night in the dorms, I had a new girl assigned to my bunk, Tegan. I found her curled up listening to British indie bands, red-eyed from crying. I sat with her, sharing Red Vines and talking until lights out, and just like that, I found my first friend.
My best friend.
Lexi and the rest of the girls didn’t matter, not when I had someone to giggle with in the back of class, and to skip study sessions with to sneak into town to go to the movies. And then, when Christmas break rolled around and she invited me back to LA to spend vacation with her family, I walked into the living room and found Blake with his feet up playing video games.
It felt like fate—right up until the moment he burped, gave me a casual wave, and yelled to his girlfriend in the kitchen to hurry up before she lost her place in the game.
