by Antony John
“Sure is,” she says. “We’re movie stars, see.”
“I can’t believe you don’t recognize us,” I add.
In the moment before he turns around and leaves, I’d say the guy looks a little freaked out.
Annaleigh grins. “Can’t believe he didn’t recognize us, huh?”
“You’re the one who said we’re movie stars,” I point out.
“’Cause we are. Could be a while before anyone knows it, though.”
“Hmm. We need to make headlines.”
“You could try starting a fight with Kris Ellis. Oh no, wait—you already did!”
“Kris is small-fry. I need a bigger target.” I smack the water. “I’m going to take down Hollywood!”
Annaleigh whistles. “Wow. You do think big.” She removes the headcam and offers it to me. “Remind me not to get in your way.”
While I adjust the strap, she pushes off from the edge and slides into the pool. She ducks down, and swims a length underwater. Beams of light dance around her like flames. When she reaches the end, she does a tuck-turn and continues back toward me without stopping to breathe.
She surfaces beside me. I expect her to gasp for air, but she doesn’t. “Penny for your thoughts,” she says. She sweeps her short hair back. It’s spiky, but cute.
“I was just thinking: How can any of this be real? Why me, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I’ve lived near here all of high school, but everyone knows there’s two Hollywoods. There’s the place where Muggles walk around on sidewalks and cars drive bumper to bumper, and there’s the magical Hollywood, where people’s faces are on billboards a hundred feet tall, and anything can happen.”
She thinks about this for a moment. “Did you really just go all Harry Potter on me?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Hmm.” She puts her hand over her mouth to cover the grin. “I see your point, though. It’s hard to believe this is real.”
“So what about you?” I ask. “What are you thinking about?”
She points toward the top of the hotel. “I’m thinking that penthouse up there is where Richard Gere and Julia Roberts got cozy in Pretty Woman.”
I follow her finger. “No way. My dad loves that movie.”
“All dads love that movie. Or maybe it’s just Julia Roberts they love.”
“Do you blame them?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get me started.” She smiles again, but her expression is serious. “Do you believe in that whole Pygmalion, ugly-duckling-turns-beautiful-swan thing?”
“I don’t know. I mean, Pretty Woman is hardly trying to be real, right? But yeah, I do think people become more beautiful the longer you know them.”
“Really? The way I see it, most people can hide their flaws for a while, but eventually the truth comes out.”
If she’s talking about Sabrina, she’s wrong. I know now that Sabrina’s not perfect, but she’s more fascinating than ever.
“Here,” says Annaleigh, swimming close. “My turn again.” She eases the camera over my head, her fingers running through my hair. A few seconds later, the lens is pointed at me. “So did you and Sabrina hook up today?”
“What?”
She wields an imaginary microphone. “It’s what all our viewers want to know.”
I splash her. Then I remember Brian telling us not to test the waterproof capabilities of the camera.
“I would’ve hooked up with her, if I were you,” continues Annaleigh.
“And if you weren’t me?”
“I would’ve hooked up with Kris instead.”
“After what he did at the party?”
“We’re talking about hooking up, not getting married. Anyway, since we’re at Hogwarts, I’d just use a memory charm on him afterward to make him forget. Wouldn’t want him to go all stalker on me.”
“Is that a problem for you normally?”
“Absolutely. Ex-boyfriends trail me around like puppy dogs.”
“Maybe you smell like bacon.”
She busts out laughing. “That is the weirdest thing I’ve heard in years. I’m so glad I’m filming. This is going straight on YouTube.”
“What?”
“Kidding! What happens at Hogwarts, stays at Hogwarts.”
She climbs out of the pool. Grabs a couple towels and tosses one to me as I join her. Lays the camera gently on a deck chair.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come with you and Sabrina this afternoon,” she says. “To be honest, she kind of intimidates me.”
“She’s cool.”
“Yeah. She and Kris were the coolest, most beautiful couple in all of Hollywood. Makes you wonder what went wrong between them.”
I wrap the towel around me. Annaleigh does the same. The air is chilly, but neither of us moves.
“Hey, we’re going to look out for each other, right?” she says finally.
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“Promise?” She holds out her closed fist.
I bump it. “Promise.”
11
WE SPEND THE MORNING REHEARSING, AND the improvement is dramatic. Ryder sits at the head of the conference table, nodding like a bobblehead doll as we nail scripted lines and improvise others. The only downside is that Sabrina isn’t around to see it. Or maybe that’s the reason things go so well.
After three hours, two bottles of water, and a cup of coffee, Ryder wraps things up.
“Is Sabrina all right?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says. “We just felt there was no need for her to be here today. There’s only so much she can do until things change.”
Annaleigh and I glance at each other. I don’t know what Sabrina thinks needs to change, and I’m not sure I want to.
Ryder drops us at the hotel at one p.m. Five minutes later, he texts me instructions to pair the white shirt with the gray sports coat, and the blue jeans with the white Converse sneakers.
This afternoon’s theme is preppy.
He arrives at my room at two fifteen p.m., a full forty-five minutes before the press junket is due to start. Casting a critical eye over my appearance, he awards me two thumbs-up. Since he told me exactly what to wear, I don’t know whether to be flattered or relieved.
“And you’ll change into black for the party later,” he says.
I point to the suit already hanging beside the closet.
“Great. It’s going be at the headquarters of Machinus Media Enterprises. Curt’s a big deal there, so this is our chance to draw some attention to the movie. Get people noticing you, and talking about you. Kind of like this press junket.” He furrows his brow. “You okay?”
“Just nervous.”
“Yeah. Look, I need you to remember something, Seth: Every actor, actress, director, producer, composer, cinematographer . . . hell, every single crew member had to start somewhere, right? Literally, there was a project where they went from being new to being professional. I bet a lot of them had doubts the whole time they were filming, but the ones who make it are the ones who keep going, no matter what.”
He joins me on the sofa and leans forward, elbows on knees. “Everyone at this junket believes you were cast for a reason. Your job is to show them, Hell yeah, there’s a reason I was cast. So for the next couple hours, I want you to put your true self aside and create an alter ego—good-looking, talented actor who’s about to take the world by storm. Okay?”
“Okay,” I tell him, because that’s what he wants to hear. Behind his pep talk is a message, though: He needs me to create an alter ego because real Seth isn’t cutting it. “Actually, Sabrina said something like that—about dividing yourself into different people.”
“Well, if anyone would know, it’s her.” He makes eye contact, but breaks it quickly. “When did she tell you that?”
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
He produces a closed-mouth smile. “We never wanted Sabrina to pull out of the movie. I asked her to come to Curt’s house so I could sell her on rejoining. But after our conversation she was still totally on the fence. Then she meets you. Next morning, she’s ready to sign on the dotted line.” He pats me on the shoulder. “So tell me, is that a coincidence? Or does Sabrina Layton see the same promise in you that I do?”
The press junket is in the aptly named Champagne Room. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling and crystal sconces adorn the walls. Annaleigh’s eyes are as wide as mine. I wonder if she’s thinking of that movie Pretty Woman again. I can totally empathize with a rags-to-riches story right about now.
Ryder leads us to a narrow table on a stage. Annaleigh sits to my right, Sabrina to my left. Mine is the only seat without a microphone.
In an ideal world, I’d create an alter ego who savors the improbability of being sandwiched between two hot girls. But as Ryder introduces the movie and us with a prepared statement, real Seth just feels freaked out. It doesn’t help that Brian is standing sentry at the back of the room, looking like a disgruntled bouncer.
There must be fifty people here. Most of them are reporters, I guess, but some are photographers. Sabrina exchanges a nod with half of the front row as if they’re longtime friends. One of the front-row attendees raises her hand. “Kind of strange to have the junket before you’ve started filming, isn’t it?” she asks Sabrina.
Sabrina turns to me, eager to share the limelight. But her hand rests on the base of the microphone, and so it’s Annaleigh’s mic I drag toward me. “It’s, uh . . . well, it’s a different kind of movie,” I say, my voice booming around the room.
The reporter never takes her eyes off Sabrina. “Different, how?”
“We’re being given unprecedented control,” Sabrina explains. “Not just over character development and dialogue, but even the filming itself. Being here today, talking to you, it’s like we’re going on record. This movie is a process, see? Today’s plan for the movie could change tomorrow. We want witnesses to that evolution.”
“You want witnesses?” The woman snorts. She’s clearly not a card-carrying member of the Sabrina Layton fan club.
But I’m beginning to understand what drew Sabrina back to this movie. “I think what Sabrina’s saying is that everything’s going to affect a movie that’s as real as this,” I explain. “If we’re behind the cameras, deciding when and where and how to film, the real world is going to matter.” I picture the photo of me and Kris. “People getting in the way of what we’re doing is going to matter.”
A new reporter raises her hand. “So you’re asking people to stay away?”
“No,” says Sabrina quickly. She smiles at me like we’re explaining a problem to a bunch of particularly dense kids. “We’re saying the audience will own this movie like never before, because they’ll literally have played a role in what it is.” She’s excited now, all bristling energy and unshakable confidence, the polar opposite of the melancholy, introspective girl on the beach. “Look, Seth and I can’t just block off a street when we want to film each other. People’ll be able to get on frame, say stuff, screw around with us. And yeah, it might piss us off,” she admits, chuckling, “but you’ve got to admit, it doesn’t get any more real that that.”
Our audience looks just as confused as before, but their eyes flit between Sabrina and me now. She has identified us as a team. Perhaps that’s why the next reporter points his pen at Annaleigh.
“So you’re the love interest, then, Anna,” he says flatly.
“Annaleigh,” she says. But the microphone is still facing me, so her voice is lost. After a long moment, she slides it closer. “Annaleigh,” she tries again. “And yeah, I’m one-half of the couple.”
“What can you tell us about your character?”
“Well, my name’s Lana. I guess you’d say I’m from the wrong side of the tracks. I’ve been kind of beaten down, but then I meet Seth . . . I mean, Andrew. He’s the good guy. Brings me out of my shell.” She shakes her head, disappointed by her answer. “The movie’s so much more than that, though. It’s about trying to do the right thing and still getting it wrong. The way we’re trapped by things we can’t control—events, family . . . love. Seth’s right,” she adds. “Audiences are going to connect with it because it’s going to feel scarily real.”
Actually, Sabrina was first to say it, but I think Annaleigh knows that.
“Scarily real,” the guy repeats. “Are you speaking personally? Because it must be intimidating to be playing this particular role, right?”
“When it’s your first movie, everything’s intimidating.”
“But to be playing opposite Sabrina . . .”
Annaleigh shrugs. “Sabrina’s a great actress. We’re thrilled to have her on board.”
“But this was her role, right?”
“Was, yes.”
“And that doesn’t freak you out? To be playing against someone like that?”
She almost bites her thumbnail, but stops herself. “Okay, yeah, sure . . . it’s intimidating.”
“We went over some material yesterday,” interjects Sabrina, “and Annaleigh’s great for this role.”
“Better than you would’ve been?” asks a woman at the back.
Sabrina raises her hands like she’s surrendering, but she doesn’t answer.
“So what is your role, Sabrina?”
“I’m Andrew’s best friend. His very possessive best friend.” Sabrina links arms with me, and raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. “It won’t require much acting, let me tell you.”
Everyone in the audience laughs. Cameras flash. Flirting is good for business.
“You mean sister.” I whisper the words, but I’m leaning toward her, so the microphone picks them up.
“Best friend,” Sabrina insists. She turns to the audience. “I met with the director first thing this morning and told him that a best friend would add layers of complexity that a sister doesn’t. This is exactly why I want to be in the movie. To feel like I’m creating a character instead of re-creating her, if that makes sense.”
Sabrina’s on a roll again, volleying questions with a dash of self-deprecating humor and a million-dollar smile. Our arms are still linked, which means that I’m a part of every photograph. She looks at me constantly, as if she’s speaking for both of us. And I almost give in to it, the fantasy that I’m no longer Seth Crane. That I’m Andrew Mayhew, and I’m destined to love and be loved. To be a hero.
But Annaleigh is beside me too. Out of frame and out of the discussion. She seems smaller than before, a bulb that grows dimmer as Sabrina’s light shines brighter. Like the pivot of a teeter-totter, I watch one girl rise and one girl fall.
Ryder closes the junket on a high note. Leaves the reporters wanting more.
“Great job,” he tells us, slapping the table. “You nailed it.”
He’s right. The press got value for money today. But ever since Sabrina dropped her best friend bombshell, Annaleigh hasn’t said a word. Now Brian is glaring at Annaleigh from his place at the back of the room. Maybe Ryder should give her the same pep talk that he gave me.
Maybe he already did.
We step into an anteroom. It’s quiet here. There are no cameras or questions. No one seems relaxed, though.
“Mind if we talk, Sabrina?” Ryder asks. He flicks his head toward another room. “In private.”
“Sure.” Sabrina turns to me and pulls me into a hug. “See you at the party tonight, okay?”
She leaves before I can answer.
Annaleigh’s leaving too, but by a different door. “Hey, you okay?” I call after her.
She stops. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
There’s an awkward silence. “Do you want to . . . I don’t know . . . talk?”
She tilts her head back and closes her eyes. “What’s there to say? This morning, Sabrina’s character was your sister. Now she’s your possessive best friend.” She makes air quotes for the last words. “I wonder what best girlfriends get to do to you that sisters don’t.”
“I guess Ryder’s trying to add dramatic tension,” I say, aiming for lighthearted.
“Then he’d better buckle up, ’cause there’s going to be plenty of that.” She gives an imitation of a triumphant smile, but I’m not fooled.
“Sabrina’s not going to take your role, Annaleigh.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have to. Remember what Ryder said at the rehearsal this morning? About how Sabrina will be skipping rehearsals until things change. I don’t think he was talking about our acting. I think he’s rewriting the script for her.”
“So what? We can change the script, remember? We can improvise our lines. We’re the actors here, not Ryder.”
“And he’s the director. Which means he can leave every last scene on the cutting room floor.” She points to the room next door, where Ryder and Sabrina are talking in private. “Come on, Seth. If that junket made one thing clear, it’s that there’s only one real star here. And it sure as hell isn’t you or me.”
12
ANNALEIGH IS LATE. SO IS RYDER. I stand in the lobby, shadow-like in a tailored black suit, watching people glide past as if I’m not even here.
There’s only one real star here. And it sure as hell isn’t you or me.
My phone rings.
It’s Ryder. “Something’s come up,” he says, voice breathy. “I’m going to be late getting to the party. Brian and Tracie can’t make it either.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. It’s good news, but I can’t say anything yet. You’ll be fine, right?”
The last time I attended a party, I ended up on the front page of a newspaper. I can’t do any worse than that. “Sure,” I say.
I hang up as Annaleigh draws alongside me, stylish in a moody, all-black ensemble: satin shirt, tailored pants, and pumps. Ryder wants us to match, I guess.
