Fame, Fate, and the First Kiss

by Kasie West

  He hesitated, like he didn’t want to tell me but then finally said, “I took it because your dad had submitted an ad to the paper, and I read it but didn’t want to print it because that seemed . . .”

  “Super embarrassing?” I finished for him. My dad was going to put an ad in the school paper? Anger surged through my chest. “Does the paper have other ads?”

  “Yes, it has a classified section. People sell instruments and cars and promote yard sales, so don’t be too mad at him. Like I said, he seemed desperate.”

  I sighed, trying to take his advice but failing. “What did it say? ‘Come help my daughter, who’s a bad actress and even worse student’?”

  “No. I don’t really remember what it said, but not that. And we already established you’re a brilliant actress.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I like how you didn’t refute the bad-student part.”

  “You’re a horrible student. But only because you have zero desire to do schoolwork.”

  I tried to hold back a laugh. “I wouldn’t say zero.”

  “Zero.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So does everyone see all the ads? Or are you the editor of the paper or something?” Actually, he probably was. That’s why he sat in that little office in the journalism room.

  He shrugged one shoulder like it was no big deal.

  “So you could probably assign yourself any section to write. Why entertainment?” I asked. “Why do you like to write reviews?”

  “I love stories. I love watching them play out and trying to guess the endings. I love being surprised and learning new things about people or about myself.”

  “And then you love saying how it could’ve been done so much better?”

  He laughed, a soft, deep laugh that made my stomach flutter. “Or how it was done well. Don’t forget I do write good reviews too.”

  “So no hard-hitting, investigative journalism for you?”

  “I have the flight personality, remember? I like to avoid conflict when I can.”

  “Says the guy whose movie review became a meme.”

  “Not by choice. I have no desire to pick a fight with Grant James.”

  My hand was full of latex, and I could tell he was done when he did a final scan of my face. I pulled out a makeup wipe and finished the job. “Thank you,” I said. “For talking me through that.”

  “Any time.”

  “You should ask my dad for a raise.” I don’t know why I said that. Maybe to remind myself that Donavan was here because he was paid to be here.

  “Should I add listening to my bio? What was it? Haircuts, harmonizing, and . . .”

  “Homework,” I said with a smile.

  “Oh, right. How could I forget homework? The only one that is actually true.”

  “But you can’t add listening. That doesn’t fit the H theme we have going on.”

  “Hearing? Helping?

  “Better.” I took a piece of latex from my hand and stuck it to his cheek. “You’d make a cute zombie.” The piece fell off his cheek and onto his leg.

  He picked it up with one hand and used his other hand to steady mine while placing the latex onto the top of the pile. When he didn’t let go, I met his eyes. He averted his gaze, dropped his hand, and then stood. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I promised my mom I’d be home earlier tonight.”

  I threw my whole handful of scraps into the garbage. “Oh, that’s okay. I wasted all our time.”

  “Text me if you get stuck on any of the math.”

  “For sure. Thanks.”

  I moved in to hug him as he was turning toward the door.

  “Oh,” he said, and patted my back awkwardly. “See you.”

  “Bye.”

  He closed the door behind him, and I sank down to the couch. Why had I turned that weird? What was I doing? I did not like Donavan Lake. He was just a very helpful friend who I felt comfortable around, which was great, because that’s what I needed right now. That’s all I needed.

  What I didn’t need was people talking about me to Remy. I took a deep breath, but Donavan was right, it was just on-set gossip. People talked about other people all the time. Remy was probably used to it too. It wouldn’t influence him . . . I hoped.

  Dancing Graves

  INT. LORD LUCAS’S LAB—LATE NIGHT

  LORD LUCAS mixes chemicals and herbs in a glass beaker, measuring each carefully. His large wooden table is a mess of dirty beakers, spilled formula, and scattered ingredients. His eyes are bloodshot. His hair is disheveled and his nerves are on edge. Every noise outside makes him jump. He spills a chemical and it splashes onto his wrist, burning him. He curses and throws the glass beaker across the room, where it shatters against the far wall. BENJAMIN rushes in.

  BENJAMIN

  Was there a break-in?

  LORD LUCAS

  No, but I think somebody is tainting my ingredients.

  BENJAMIN

  Who? Why?

  LORD LUCAS

  There are some who believe we shouldn’t help the infected. They believe we should eradicate them to stop the spread.

  BENJAMIN

  Don’t let them influence you. Don’t give up on her.

  LORD LUCAS

  Death is the only thing that can stop me.

  Seventeen

  The next morning, after hair and makeup, I had some extra time, so I walked to Amanda’s trailer. “Come in!” she said after a single knock, and I stepped just inside her doorway. She was flipping through some papers, and when she looked up her hand flew to her chest. “You really shouldn’t do stuff like that when you’re in full zombie makeup. You’re going to give a girl a heart attack.”

  “Says the girl who hid in my shower yesterday.”

  “You’re right. I deserve much more than a casual scaring.” She studied my face for a moment. “Everything okay?”

  “Ugh.” I leaned my head back against her door. “Someone here doesn’t like me and shared their feelings with Remy yesterday.”

  “And Remy told you this?”

  “No, I overheard them talking to him.”

  “You seem to attract drama: lights falling, ripped wardrobe, missing kneepads, and now on-set gossip.” She laughed.

  I started to laugh too but then stopped and walked farther into her trailer. “Wait, do you think . . . ?”

  She waved her hand through the air. “I was kidding. Accidents happen. And people, don’t get me started on people. They talk trash on set all the time. They complain and whine. It’s part of being in a cast. I once worked with a girl who complained about every single person in every single one of her scenes to anyone who would listen. She thought she was the absolute best actress in the universe, and any time there was a mistake it was someone else’s fault. So take this for what it is: someone venting.”

  “You’re right.” It’s the conclusion I had come to the day before too, but it felt better to hear her say it.

  She held up a remote and pointed it at the television that was behind my head.

  I turned to look and saw on the screen a frozen Amanda. “What are you watching?”

  “I’m watching my audition. In some of Faith’s notes she mentioned how I performed in the audition, so I wanted to see what she was talking about because I didn’t remember.”

  “Ooh, fun. Push play. I want to see your audition.” I sat down on the couch.

  She pushed play, and we watched her standing in the room I remembered so well, delivering lines to a table full of people taking notes. It had been an intimidating process.

  “What do you think about tomorrow being the day?” Amanda asked while the television version of herself was talking.

  “The day for what?”

  “Kissing. I’ll swing by your trailer after filming with Grant, you suggest a practice kissing session. I step in to show you how it’s done.”

  “Oh yeah. Tomorrow is really the only day, considering we’re filming that scene the day after that.”

  “Exactly.”
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  “Then yes, I think your plan will work.”

  “It’s really your plan.”

  “True. It’s a good one.” I pointed at the screen. “Does this have everybody’s audition on it or just yours?”

  “I think it’s all of them. Want me to find yours?” She started fast-forwarding, her body on the television jerking and moving in fast unnatural movements. After her was a guy I didn’t recognize, obviously someone who didn’t end up making the movie.

  “Ooh, look who we could’ve been acting with,” Amanda said, pushing play so we could listen. He had a deep, velvety voice. “He’s cute.”

  “He’s okay,” I said. “Kind of old.”

  “Not too old for me,” she said. “But speaking of cute guys, if Donavan isn’t your boy, why is he always hanging around?”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you he’s my tutor?”

  “Really?” she said. “I would’ve done every last bit of my homework if I had a tutor like that. Dark hair, intense eyes, I don’t see why he can’t help you find your chemistry.”

  “Stop.”

  “What? He’s cute. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

  “I’m not going to use him to help with my chemistry.”

  “I didn’t say anything about using him. I’m talking about real feelings here, not fake ones.”

  Maybe I didn’t know the difference, I’d been acting too long. “I can’t even conjure up feelings for a cat, maybe I’m not built to form attachments to living things.”

  She rolled her entire head along with her eyes.

  A familiar voice came onto the television, and I looked over to see that a new person was reading lines. A very familiar person. Before I could say anything, Amanda said, “Hey, that’s Faith.”

  “Faith auditioned for this movie?” I asked.

  “Apparently. Who knew.” She pushed fast-forward again. “Here, let me find yours. Are you one of those people who can watch yourself on television, or do you freak out?”

  “I had a great drama teacher in high school who made us record monologues, watch them, and analyze our performances in front of the whole class.” I’d gotten used to seeing myself on a screen as well as using the opportunity of watching myself as a way to improve.

  “Nice, because here you are.” She pushed play. As I watched, I noticed something: I had been more confident that day performing, more sure of myself, than I had been since actually landing the job.

  “What’s wrong?” Amanda asked after a minute. “You were great.”

  I must’ve sighed out loud while watching. I stood. “I better get to set before I’m late. Thanks for that. It was actually very helpful.”

  Watching that audition had reminded me that I had earned this role. And I took that feeling and used it. The lights, the people, energized me today.

  “You’re feeling it today,” Grant said during a break to move lights.

  “I am. It’s like I remembered what I was doing.”

  “You’re kind of hard on yourself, I’ve noticed.” He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. “Never doubt that you’re exactly where you should be.” And as if he didn’t have the ability to be nice without ruining it, he added, “Right next to me.”

  I shook my head with a smile, knowing he was at least partially kidding. “You were almost supportive.”

  “I’m the most supportive person I know.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  Even if I was trying to forget about the person talking about me in the hall, there was one thing they said that was absolutely true. “You’ve been in the public eye pretty much your whole life now. How do you recommend I change the online narrative of me?”

  “Is it bad?”

  “You haven’t seen all the things people say about me? That is, if they’re talking about me at all.”

  “No, I haven’t. I only ever look up my own stuff, which hasn’t been great lately. I don’t know if I have an answer for you. Hire a publicist?”

  The same thing his agent had suggested. “And if I can’t afford that? What do you think about me going to talk to that group of fans that always lines the fence holding their devotion to you on poster boards? Would that be good for me or bad?”

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “Do you talk to them?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Would you go out there with me sometime? Maybe say something nice about me. Sign some autographs or something? Maybe they’ll post about it. Or maybe you could post something online.”

  “I’d have to ask my publicist if that’s a good idea for me. I’ll let you know.”

  “Right. Okay.” Did I really expect that we were good enough friends now that he would do something as a favor to me? Whatever. It didn’t matter. I’d gotten here with my own group of people supporting me; I’d keep going forward the same way. I didn’t let this affect me. I finished out my day as strong as I started it and left the set with determination to make things work.

  Eighteen

  The next morning, as I climbed out of my car at the studio, a car pulled to a stop next to mine, revved its engine, and then idled. I looked over to see Aaron sitting behind the wheel of his dad’s black convertible. I only knew it was his dad’s because I’d seen Remy driving it before.

  I smiled. “Excuse me, sir, but aren’t you too young to be driving that?”

  “My dad lets me drive it around the studio.”

  “Your dad is very brave.”

  “Do you want to go for a ride?”

  “Your dad is much braver than me.”

  “You can at least sit in it.”

  “Fine.” It was a nice car. I didn’t know makes or models of cars very well but it had a tan leather interior that looked brand-new. I opened the door and sat down.

  “What do you think? When I turn sixteen, he’s giving it to me. Does it seem like an old-man car?”

  “It seems like a rich old-man car. But if my dad had given me a really expensive convertible when I turned sixteen, I wouldn’t have complained.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a guilt gift.”

  “Guilt gift?”

  “Yeah, we were supposed to go on a big trip this year, but then my dad got this job.”

  “Where were you going to go?”

  “Lots of places, but I was looking forward to Thailand the most.”

  “Maybe you can still go, when filming is over?”

  “Well, then there’s editing and then there’s promoting and then they start talking about sequels. You know how it is,” he said.

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  He smiled. “You will.”

  “Sorry about your trip.”

  “No worries, I’m getting a guilt gift.” He patted the steering wheel. “By the way, I meant to tell you that you did great yesterday.”

  “Thanks, it felt pretty good.”

  “I’m just going to drive you to the entrance.” He pointed to the opening in the gate fifty feet in front of us.

  My eyes went wide.

  “Really?” he said. “I’m that scary?”

  “I can just see the headlines now. ‘Lacey Barnes in Accident with Underage Driver.’”

  “There are literally zero cars between me and that gate.”

  “Fine. But drive really, really slow.”

  “Maybe my dad should give you this old-lady car.”

  Seriously. Had Donavan been rubbing off on me? When had I turned into an old lady? When had I started worrying so much? Aaron lifted his foot off the brake and the car moved slowly. It felt like he didn’t even apply the gas at all before he came to a stop in front of the gate. “There you are, madam. Have a good day.”

  “Thanks for the ride, and be careful.”

  For the second day in a row, Remy smiled when we finished filming. Then he added a thumbs-up and “Nice job, Lacey.” Sure, we were working on zombie scenes and not love scenes, but it still felt good.

  In my tr
ailer, I changed into some street clothes and made short work of my makeup. We’d finished a little early today because it had gone so well, and for a second I thought about going home, but then I remembered I’d promised Amanda I would help her with Grant. Why she liked Grant was becoming less and less apparent by the day. Didn’t she talk to the same Grant I talked to? Whatever, maybe he was different with her. Maybe he thought she was a bigger star than me. I hadn’t seen anything bad about Amanda online when I’d googled her kissing scenes.

  Revisions sat on my table next to my very much untouched packet Donavan had left the other day. I looked at both and picked up my packet. I’d have time to look over revisions later.

  I settled in and had only completed three problems when there was a knock on my door. “Come in!” I called, fully expecting Amanda and Grant.

  It was Donavan. “Hey,” he said. “You’re not a zombie today.”

  My cheeks went hot, the memory of our last, awkward interaction still fresh. I refused to be awkward today. We were friends. “So observant. What gave me away?” I moved some papers I had spread out on the couch so he could sit. “I didn’t think you were coming today.”

  He slung his backpack onto the table. “We got zero done last time, so I figured I could come help you power through the math.”

  “Thanks, dude,” I said with a smirk.

  “Ha. Still not loving that.”

  “Do you have a nickname? Donnie, maybe?”

  “In grade school people called me that. But now, surprisingly, everyone says my entire three syllables all the time.”

  “It’s a good name.”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  “Sit your butt down already.”

  He sat down next to me. “How did everything go today? Did you ever find out who was talking about you?”

  “No, but it’s fine. Just on-set drama. Thanks for listening, by the way, and for . . . taking off my makeup.” So much for not being awkward.

  “No problem,” he responded with perfect poise. He seemed perfectly normal to my weird and embarrassed.

  Focus. I could be normal too. “I actually felt good in front of the camera the last two days.”

  “Good.”

  “Yes, all is right in the world.”