Amanda grabbed hold of my hand as I reached her. “You did awesome today!”
“Thanks.” I saw my dad standing against the far wall. “How old were you when you got your first steady soap opera job?”
“Fifteen,” she said.
“And how old are you now?”
“Twenty,” she said.
“And your life isn’t ruined?”
“What?”
I nodded toward my dad, who had almost reached us. “Think you can talk to my dad so he doesn’t worry about me so much?” I knew he did. I knew that’s why he dropped by so often and felt the need to be so strict with my schedule.
He reached us just as I finished the sentence.
Amanda stuck her hand out. “Hi, Mr. Barnes. I’m Amanda. I’m twenty and I’m not screwed up yet.”
“Thanks, Amanda,” I said. “Very helpful.”
She laughed. “It’s so nice of you to visit the set so often. The bigger the audience, the better.”
“It’s fun to watch,” Dad said.
“You’re a brat,” I said to her.
“I’m being serious!”
“I know you are,” I said, then gave her shoulder a shove. “Go talk to Grant before he gets away.”
She looked over to where Grant was heading toward the exit.
“Yes, coach,” she said, and hurried off.
“She’s interesting,” my dad said.
“She’s really great. I like her a lot.”
“I’m glad you’re making friends.”
“Me too.” I put my arms out to my sides. “So what do you think about the new location?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“I agree.” My knees ached. I shifted my weight and tried not to grimace. Dad did not need to know about my hurting knees. He wouldn’t like that. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”
“I had a client on this side of town, so I thought I’d drop by on my way home and check out the new location.” There was a set piece to his right, one that wasn’t used today but would probably be added the day after tomorrow—a big wooden table. Red candles, with wax melting all the way down to the brass candleholders, sat on top. One candle lay on its side with a crumpled piece of paper near it. My dad righted the candle and picked up the paper. Then he looked around as if searching for a trash can.
“Dad,” I said. “That’s a hot set. Don’t mess with it.”
“What’s a hot set?”
“It means that an art director put that table together, and even things that look like trash are part of the scene. So slowly put everything back exactly the way you found it.”
“Oops.” He put the paper down carefully and returned the candle to its side.
I smiled. “Rookie mistake.”
“Mom would’ve known about this.”
“Maybe.”
He draped his arm over my shoulder, and we headed toward my trailer. “How are things going?”
“Good. . . . Things went well today.”
“And how about your new tutor? Is he working out okay?”
“He’s very helpful.” I thought about how he’d gone on the adventure with me the day before. That’s probably not what my dad was referring to, but he’d been helpful with my homework too, so what I said was true.
We stopped outside my trailer door. “Are you coming in?” I asked.
“I actually need to go home and get some work done.”
“Okay, I’m going to do homework here.”
“And you’ll be home by curfew.”
“I will be home by curfew.”
Dad left, and I gave a little nod. That wasn’t so bad. He hadn’t made any comment about going over hours on set or felt the need to tell me how much homework I should finish tonight. Maybe he was realizing that I could handle this.
I opened my trailer door, fully expecting to see Donavan despite the deal we made, but he wasn’t there. I made quick work of removing my makeup, thinking he’d show up at any second and I would have to stay a zombie for the fourth day in a row. But he didn’t come.
Good. He’d rescued me with math when Leah called, but now he was honoring our deal from before about my wanting space. I’d have to text him some pics of completed pages.
I kicked my shoes off into the corner, then inspected my knees. They were red, sure to be bruised tomorrow. I needed some ice.
I found Aaron sitting in a camping chair outside his dad’s trailer, staring intently at a notebook. “Psst. How can a girl get some ice around here?” I wasn’t even sure there was ice anywhere.
He jumped a little but then smiled and climbed to his feet. “I can get it for you. Do you want it in a cup?”
“A plastic bag would be best.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Okay.”
As we walked he asked, “You have social media accounts, right?”
“Yes. Why? Does your dad want me to publicize the movie more?” I tried to think about how I might do that. I didn’t have tons of followers, nowhere near as many as Grant had, but I’d been avoiding posting altogether. I could change that.
Aaron looked down as if embarrassed. “No, I was just wondering if I could follow you.”
“Oh! Yes, of course.”
He pulled out his phone, and I told him my online handles. He typed into his phone for a while, then tucked it back into his pocket.
“I don’t have my phone on me, but I’ll follow you back when I get to the trailer.”
“Thank you!”
We rounded the church building to the back side, where craft services was set up, and I saw Grant’s agent picking at the food on the table. Aaron let out a sigh.
“What?” I asked.
“Peter is so annoying, always hanging around and making demands.”
“What kind of demands?” I asked.
As if he realized he had said more than he should’ve, he shook his head and said, “No, it’s not a big deal. Things most agents ask for.”
I wondered if my agent had made any demands for me aside from all the things my dad had wanted added into the contract, like extra breaks and no working after 10:00 p.m.
We made it all the way to the food table, where Peter looked up with our arrival. He nodded at Aaron, then gave me the once-over like he didn’t realize who I was without the zombie makeup on. I just smiled.
“I’ll be right back,” Aaron said, then walked over to a metal box on wheels. He opened a hatch at the front of it but then looked around, probably realizing he had nothing to put the ice in. He held up his finger to me and then ran off.
Feeling a bit awkward standing there next to Grant’s agent in silence, I began surveying the food table. And even though I wasn’t hungry, I picked up a yogurt cup and took a spoonful.
“Do you have a publicist?” Peter asked me. Of course he knew who I was.
“Um . . .” I actually wasn’t sure. My agent may have mentioned one before.
“You need a publicist,” he said. “To work on your image.” He grabbed a chocolate-drizzled strawberry off the table, and then he and his tan legs and flip-flops walked away.
Aaron came back a few minutes later holding a gallon-size ziplock bag full of ice that I hadn’t heard him get. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What’s this for, then?” He shook the bag.
I took it from him. “My knees are sore. Benches are hard.” I pointed over my shoulder. “I better get to homework. Thanks for your help.”
Back in my trailer, ice on my knees, I worked on my homework for a while before I became distracted with a thought. I tapped my pencil over and over again on the paper. My phone sat beside me on the couch. Why had Peter asked me about a publicist? Was there more than the original horrible picture and caption that I had seen the other day? I picked up my phone and googled my name. I held my breath as my phone worked. Nothing new came up, and the original post I had seen had fizzled out, not turning into anything viral. I let out my breath in relief and sent a text to my dad: Do I have a publicist?
He responded back almost immediately: No. Too expensive for how little money you make.
That was probably true. But I sent off an email to my agent anyway. Do I need a publicist?
No matter how much I stared at my inbox, she didn’t answer back. I’d survive without a publicist for now. I’d done it up to this point.
Eleven
“This is all you got done last night?” Dad said when I walked into the kitchen the next morning. I had tried to sleep in, but my body was used to waking up early now.
“What?” I asked, rubbing at my eyes, then searching the pantry for something to eat. I pulled a granola bar from the box and unwrapped it.
“Your schoolwork. You answered like two problems.”
“Oh, right. I’ll finish—that’s why I brought it home. I have the next two days off,” I said through granola.
He set my work on the table. “Yes, you will finish. Right now. And then you will take this to the school today and turn it into your mentor teacher. It’s about time you met her.”
“Dad, this is my first day off since we started.”