Now That I've Found You

by Kristina Forest

  “A reporter asked me about the FCCs, and I told them you should’ve received the award years ago,” I say.

  Gigi sucks her teeth. “I wish everyone would just be quiet about this ceremony. You should’ve told them to mind their business.”

  I laugh. “I’ll make sure to say that next time.”

  I don’t bother telling Gigi that James Jenkins has been trying to get in touch with me. It would only upset her. I’m not sure why she hates him so much or what he did to make her blow up at him on live television. I just know it’s bad, so bad that she still refuses to talk about it eight years later. I don’t even know what he wants, but I have no interest in finding out. My loyalty is to Gigi. James might have been like a grandfather to me the first few years of my life, but I haven’t seen him since they divorced when I was ten. He’s a stranger now.

  In the background, I can hear Milo say something to Gigi. She mumbles in response. Then, “Evie Marie, my love, I have to go. It’s time to cook dinner.”

  “Cook? You?” I’ve never known Gigi to even boil ramen noodles.

  “You can learn new things, even in old age!”

  I laugh again. “Okay, Gigi. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” She sounds distracted for a moment, the sound of Milo’s voice getting louder. But then she’s back. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

  When the line goes dead, I remind myself to ask for more information about this Milo kid the next time I call her. Gigi is smart and a great judge of character, but we all have our lapses. I’d hate it if he were some gold-digging boy looking for a handout. But I’ll think about that tomorrow. Today is meant for celebrating.

  Simone is slouching in a deck chair when I finally make it outside. I’ve changed out of my dress and put on a T-shirt and cutoffs. LA is the best city in the world, especially during summer, and we have an awesome view of the ocean from the patio. The perks of living in Malibu. I take a deep whiff of the salty air and plop into the seat next to Simone.

  I check my Instagram, and like I guessed, I have thousands of tags and DMs from today’s panel. Everyone loved the outfit and my hair. Lots of people want to know when I’ll be in their cities next or when I’ll start filming Deep Within.

  I post a selfie that I took with Paul Christopher right before the panel started, and within five minutes I have over two thousand likes.

  All the love is making my heart grow ten sizes. It’s wonderfully overwhelming, like a rush. All these people—strangers—who are invested in me, people who take time out of their day to say the nicest things. Their support makes me feel so worthy of the roles that have come my way.

  “I could get used to this,” I say to Simone, showing her the post of Paul Christopher and me. The likes keep ticking up and up.

  She smiles a little and looks down at her own phone.

  I wait for her inevitable wisecrack about how I always hold the camera too close to my face when I take selfies, but she’s staring off into space, unusually quiet.

  “Hey,” I say, waving to get her attention. “Everything okay?”

  She pulls her legs up onto the chair and wraps her arms around her knees. “I’m just wondering when all of these great things are going to happen for me too.”

  I wince and look down at my toes. Simone and I were in the same play during the senior showcase. After watching in the audience, Paul Christopher asked a handful of us to audition for Deep Within. Simone and I both auditioned for the lead role of Shay, a girl who investigates a classmate’s murder at her ritzy New England boarding school. But Paul Christopher chose me. It was a little weird between us at first, but that went away eventually. I didn’t know she was still upset.

  “Your big break is coming,” I say. “I just know it. You’re way too talented.”

  And I mean that wholeheartedly. Simone was one of the best actresses in our senior class. Hell, even at all of McKibben.

  “Sometimes I just feel like you get everything so easily,” she says, still not looking at me.

  Her words are like a punch to the gut. That’s what everyone at McKibben used to say, that every lead role I got came down to nepotism because of my parents and Gigi. No one thought about how I had to audition just like everybody else or how hard I worked to prove I wasn’t some legacy with a name. It’s why I don’t have any friends, except for Simone. She never seemed to care about any of that.

  Except maybe she did.

  “You know that isn’t true,” I say quietly.

  She glances at me and shakes her head. “Never mind, don’t listen to me. I’m just being stupid.” She jumps up out of her chair, a mischievous look on her face. “This is a cause for celebration! I’ll be right back.”

  The tension in my stomach recedes as I watch her skip back inside.

  I take a deep breath and wait for my heartbeat to slow down.

  Gigi is all the way in New York, and my parents are never around. Simone has been my family since our freshman year. Our white classmates at McKibben thought we actually were related, even though we look nothing alike and all we have in common is our light-brown complexions. After a while, we began tricking people into believing that we were sisters.

  If I lost Simone, I don’t know what I would do.

  When she returns, she’s carrying a bottle of champagne from my parents’ bar, which is strictly off-limits. But they’re never here, and Simone is grinning, so I reach for the champagne flute she hands me. With a flourish, she pulls the cork, and it shoots out with a loud pop. We both jump back in surprise and laugh.

  Simone pours the bubbly champagne into both of our glasses. “To your much-deserved success,” she says, holding up her flute in cheers.

  I don’t usually drink, because I hate the taste of alcohol. But I’m so happy, and I do deserve a little celebration.

  “Cheers,” I say, knocking my flute into hers.

  We sit back down, and I pull up a playlist to match our good mood. Every time one of our glasses is close to empty, Simone quickly fills it to the top. The warm summer air feels amazing on my skin, and I take a deep breath every time a breeze blows. I feel myself swaying in time to the rhythm of the ocean waves, and that’s when I realize I’m buzzed. I’m such a lightweight.

  We’re both humming along to Janelle Monáe when Simone suddenly smiles and says, “Hey, do that Paul Christopher impression.”

  “No,” I say, laughing. “It’s so bad, and it does him no justice. I don’t sound nearly as dignified.”

  “Oh, come on!” Now she’s laughing too. “Your British accent is so good.”

  “No.” I shake my head, laughing even harder. “I did it that one time because I thought I could pull it off! I won’t embarrass myself again.”

  “Do it, do it, do it,” she chants.

  I easily give in to the peer pressure. “Okay, okay.” I stand up and push my thick curls away from my face, pulling them into a ponytail just like Paul Christopher’s. In my best British accent, I say, “The psychological-thriller genre continues to grow more and more each year. You’d better bet your fannies that Deep Within will be my greatest work yet. Better than anything you’ve seen thus far, because I am better than every other director there is, and you’d be a fool to think otherwise.”

  Simone giggles, whispering “fannies” to herself. She pulls out her phone to record me. She hiccups and says, “Keep going.”

  I start laughing again but force myself to stop, schooling my face into seriousness. I sit up straight and look down my nose at Simone. “Everyone is always going on and on about the awards I’ve won, but is it real talent on my end? Or have I just hypnotized you all with my posh accent?” I say, giggling. “Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it’s talent! Tarantino who? Christopher Nolan? Please. Scorsese? Not bloody likely. I’m leagues better than the rest of these sorry chaps. Cheeky bum, bloody numpty, knickers, knickers, loo.”

  As my performance devolves, we laugh so loudly I’m nervous the neighbors might hear us.
All the tension and awkwardness from a few moments ago slide away, and what’s left is a feeling of extreme contentment.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” I say, flopping back down in my chair. “Paul Christopher is one of my heroes, and I hope he never hears my terrible impression.”

  Simone stops recording and puts her phone away. She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “I don’t know, that accent is pretty great. Maybe he’ll cast you in the next movie he films in the UK.”

  I snort. “Yeah, right.”

  I lean my head on Simone’s shoulder. After a moment, I say, “Thanks for being here for me. I’ll be right there with you when it’s your turn.”

  She doesn’t say anything in response, just wraps her arm around me and gives me a sideways hug.

  As I watch the sunset in my backyard, I figure today has probably been the best day of my life.

  Article from TMZ.com—May 16, 2020, 11:45 A.M. PST

  EVIE JONES, WOULD-BE HOLLYWOOD STARLET, HIRED THEN FIRED!!!

  Just a month ago, it was announced that Evie Jones, granddaughter of the great Evelyn Conaway, would star in the next Paul Christopher thriller, Deep Within, alongside a slew of other A-list actors. But that excitement was short-lived to say the least. This morning, footage leaked of Evie mocking Paul himself!

  In the video, she’s visibly drunk, swaying side to side as she makes fun of Paul’s accent in a surprisingly good impression.

  Apparently, Paul was so offended by the video, he fired her on the spot! He’s already hired another newbie, Simone Davis, as Evie’s replacement. And get this, Simone went to the same high school as Evie. Apparently they were best friends. Can you say awkward? We doubt that friendship is gonna last …

  A petition (most likely created by Paul Christopher superfans) went around online, begging directors and producers not to work with Evie. Our sources tell us that some big-deal people in Hollywood are already way ahead of them and Evie’s name has made it onto a blacklist.

  Evie has yet to make a statement, and she hasn’t been seen out in public. Sounds like a certain grandmother of hers …

  AUGUST

  Chapter Two

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 12

  This has been the worst summer of my life.

  I think it’s safe to say that this has been the worst summer of my parents’ lives too. Because here they are back at home, nowhere near Botswana, their film nowhere near finished. And it’s all my fault.

  They sit across from me at the dining room table, silently watching as I push scrambled eggs around my plate. My mom went through the trouble of cooking breakfast this morning. She clears her throat, and I glance up, but she doesn’t say anything. I look at my dad and wonder if I’m the reason he has new gray hairs sprouting in his low-cut afro. He takes a sip of his orange juice and steeples his fingers, like he’s thinking hard about a way to start conversation. But he doesn’t say anything either. Instead, they both look at me with matching frowns—a mixture of disappointment and confusion. This is how it’s been between us all summer.

  “Kerri will be here soon,” I say, breaking the silence.

  My mom nods, rubbing her eyes. Her usual light-brown skin is a few shades darker from all the time she’s spent in Botswana. “Are you all packed?” she asks. I nod. “Well, you should finish your food before Kerri gets here.”

  I look down at my eggs, which have gone cold. It’s weird to try to eat food with actual protein or vitamins. For weeks I’ve survived on nothing but Cheetos and Sour Patch Kids as I lay in bed, bingeing cartoon shows from my childhood. Total Drama Island was the only thing that could keep my mind off the disaster that is my life. “I’m not that hungry.”

  Dad gets up and starts stacking plates. “Do you need help bringing down your luggage?”

  “No, I’ve got it.” I take this as an out to excuse myself from the table. “I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”

  My parents share a look and only nod in response.

  They came back from Botswana the day after the video leaked. All it took was my life blowing up for them to finally come home. First, there was a lot of yelling. What were you thinking, sneaking into our bar and drinking? Didn’t we teach you better than that?

  After the anger, there was embarrassment. Not that they’d say so. But I could tell. Usually, when my parents get back from a documentary trip, our house is bustling with their friends who haven’t seen them in so long. This summer, the house has been a dead zone. It’s just been me wandering to the bathroom at 2:00 A.M. while my parents act like I killed their real daughter along with my career.

  Now they’re just coming to terms with the fact that I’m not as exemplary as they thought I was. My mom wanted to send me to rehab. She thought I’d been sneaking into their bar behind their backs for months. Gigi is the one who persuaded her not to go through with it.

  Gigi, who I haven’t spoken to since the night before the video leaked.

  She’s called, but I’ve been too ashamed to speak to her. I deleted all of her voice mails except for the last one from a few weeks ago. “I know what this is like, Evie Marie, I do,” she says. “If there was anything I could do to help you through this, baby, you know I would. I hope you know I would.” She heaves a sigh, and there’s a long silence before she hangs up. I’ve listened to it so many times that I have it memorized.

  We communicate through my mom, mostly. Meaning my mom tells Gigi that I’m still alive, and Gigi tells my mom that she loves me and hopes to see me soon.

  Well, I’m going to see her now, and she won’t like why I’m coming.

  On my way to my room, I pass the guest room, where Simone used to sleep. It was once filled with her things, and now it’s empty, save for the neatly made bed and unused dresser.

  The morning after we recorded the video, I woke up with a killer headache. I shuffled down to Simone’s room, and she was in the middle of packing her things.

  “Just taking my winter and spring clothes home,” she said when I asked what she was doing. She turned around and flashed a bright smile. “I’ll come back with my summer things tomorrow.”

  I said okay and even helped her finish packing. I should have paid attention to how she barely spoke to me. How she couldn’t get out of my house fast enough.

  Later that morning, when the video leaked, my phone was buzzing like crazy with alerts. Texts from classmates (who never talked to me otherwise) and Instagram DMs and tags. I rewatched the video a dozen times in complete horror. I kept trying to get ahold of Simone, because I was convinced that there was some mistake. Did someone hack into her phone? Did she accidentally send it to someone else and then they leaked it? She couldn’t have done this on purpose. But I couldn’t get in touch with her. She’d blocked my number and blocked me on social media.

  Paul Christopher’s fans flocked to my comments and said I was ungrateful and spoiled. How could I make fun of him after what he’d done for my career? They called me names that I don’t even want to repeat. All that love turned so easily to hate. It’s a little baffling when I think about it now.

  I grab my suitcases out of my room as the doorbell rings downstairs. And then there’s the sound of Kerri’s bright and firm voice.

  “Good morning, Mr. Jones,” she says to my dad.

  I hustle to carry my luggage down the steps, eager to see her.

  She walks into the living room, dressed in an all-black suit and pointy black pumps. She gives me a reassuring smile. “There’s our girl,” she says, sitting down on the couch. I quickly plop right beside her. I just saw her last week, but I’ve also been alone with my distant parents for days on end. Kerri is like a breath of fresh air.

  “How are you?” she asks, quiet enough that only I can hear, as my parents sit down on the love seat across from us.

  I shrug. “The same.” Meaning terrible.

  Her smile is a mix of softness and sympathy. “Don’t worry. It’s going to change soon. That’s why we’re doing this. It’s going to work out.” She turns to
face my parents. “Do either of you have questions before I take Evie to the airport?”

  Mom’s full lips are set in a thin line. “Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you now?” she asks me.

  “I’ll be fine, Mom,” I insist. “I want to spend some time with Gigi, just the two of us.”

  She doesn’t look comfortable with this, but she doesn’t push it either. She’s never tried to put herself between Gigi and me.

  I’m flying to New York tonight for two reasons. The first is that the FCC committee has asked me to present Gigi with her lifetime achievement award during Sunday’s ceremony. After everything that’s happened, I have no idea why they want me to be there. Before, the thought of getting up in front of all those people would have thrilled me, but now I’m just terrified.

  The second reason is because I have to tell Gigi about a deal I’ve made, one that I hope will save my career. One that I hope won’t make her hate me. This is my second chance, and my stomach churns at the thought of everything slipping through my fingers again.

  “I know it’s been a hard couple of months, but things are looking up for us,” Kerri says confidently. “What happened in May was unfortunate, but we have to keep going, full speed ahead.” She turns to my parents. “We’ll fly into New York on Sunday before the ceremony like we planned.” She looks at me. “You just worry about talking to your grandmother.”

  My mom’s pinched expression still hasn’t eased. My dad glances at his watch. “Well, I guess you’d better get going.”

  I stand and cross the room to hug them. Stiffly, my mom wraps her arms around me. The hug lasts a millisecond. Dad follows up with a similar hug, but he includes a shoulder pat.

  “Be careful,” he says sternly.

  “Call us as soon as you get to Gigi’s,” Mom says. “And we’ll see you on Sunday.”

  “I will,” I promise.