Chapter 1
I have that feeling you get when you’re next in line for a roller coaster.
A little bouncy, a little anxious, and so excited that I might wet my pants.
“Rosie?! I can’t believe you’re actually here!”
My best friends, Taylor, Marnie, and Maya, all rush toward me, and for a few moments it’s like the rest of the room fades
away. I’m seventeen again, getting ready for homecoming with the three people I love most in the world, aside from my family.
We all try to talk at the same time, succeed for a solid thirty seconds, and then stop and laugh.
It’s like we never left each other and all of my hesitation about being here melts away.
Our friend group is a sitcom.
Taylor—the chipper one. Class president. Head cheerleader. Currently pregnant.
Marnie—the studious one. Speech team champion and National Merit Scholar. Currently crushing it as the anchor for the local
news.
Maya—the wild one. Rebellious party girl who hid her intelligence behind blue hair and piercings, both of which, I now see,
are gone, making her currently look beautiful and grown-up.
I step back and look at Taylor’s belly. My gorgeous friend is tiny, so the baby bump looks like someone stuck a basketball to her midsection.
My hand hovers over it. “Can I...?”
Taylor takes my hand and pulls it toward her belly. “Of course! All aunties have full access.”
Maya and Marnie and I each put a hand on Taylor’s stomach, like the last ones to leave wins the car, and I grin. It’s been
too long since I saw them, too long since I’ve been home, too long for all the things. I’m so out of the loop, and I swear
to myself not to let it happen again.
“Taylor, honey, come say hi to your Aunt Janet!” Taylor’s mom gives us a wave, then ushers her daughter to the opposite side
of the room.
“Where do I put this?” I give the card I brought a little shake.
“Oh! Over here,” Maya says. “And make sure to sign the guest book.”
I set the envelope down, grateful my mom offered to go in on a gift card together. It’s impersonal, and I do plan to buy something
for the baby once she arrives, but right now, I just can’t swing anything extra. The Cheez-Its I bought at the airport just
about did me in.
Thankfully the Bank of Mom doesn’t charge interest.
“So you’re doing a movie?” Marnie asks, a wide smile on her face.
“And you work in a Broadway theatre?” Maya grins. “Oh my gosh, you have the best life.”
They each loop an arm through mine and lead me we’re-off-to-see-the-Wizard style, over to an empty table.
“Oh yeah, things are good,” I say brightly as we sit. “I mean, I don’t know about ‘the best life,’ but... it’s good. It’s,
you know, different every day. It definitely has its challenges.”
I don’t want to lie to them.
But I also don’t want to tell them the whole truth.
“Have you met anyone famous?” Maya asks. “Please tell me you know Timothée Chalamet.”
“Better yet, please tell us you’re dating Timothée Chalamet.”
I look around for some water. My throat is dry. “Sadly, no. He’s... uh... in a bit of a different... league than
I am. “
“Okay, so tell us all your news,” Marnie says.
“Is there water?” I ask. You’d think being an actor would make these kinds of situations easier, but I’ve always been better
with a script to memorize. “Actually, I’m going to run to the bathroom quickly.”
“You okay?”
I wave Maya off in what I hope is a nonchalant tone. “Yeah, I just feel like I’m still on the plane.” I swallow and wince.
“Motion sickness or something...” My voice trails off as I set out to find the restroom.
I can’t keep this up, of course, but how do I tell them the truth? They want all the details of what’s supposed to be—but
absolutely isn’t—an exciting life.
After college, I booked a few jobs right away. I got a small role in a cop show filming in Chicago before I even graduated,
and I took it as a sign that yes, I was on the right track. After that, I joined the national tour of Oklahoma! , which closed after only a month and a half, thanks to the director’s odd, dark, and very disconcerting burlesque interpretation
of the classic. And even though I was only in the ensemble, a part of me knew it wasn’t a good production, but it was a job,
and that meant that I was making it .
That all changed really fast. Like a carp in the desert... things dried up.
And every time I’m about ready to quit in favor of a more stable job that actually pays the bills, I’ll book something small—a
one-liner in a TV show, or a walk-on role in a movie, or a named part in a small, experimental play that’s being produced
off-off- off -Broadway. Like so far off it’s in Ohio.
Those are the dangling carrots that keep me stretching my neck out and biting for more, even though I’m beginning to regret all of my life choices.
I look at my reflection in the mirror, aware that this baby shower might require the most acting of anything I’ve done in
the last seven years. This is Taylor’s day. I’m not going to ruin it. I’ve gotten very good at keeping any uncomfortable feelings
to myself.
Depressed loser is not a role I want to play.
I splash cold water on my cheeks, then pat them dry. “You can do this,” I whisper to my reflection, wishing for the ten thousandth
time that I didn’t have freckles.
Would I book more jobs if I didn’t have freckles?
“Rosie Waterman? I can’t believe you’re here!”
I turn and see Ireland Abbot standing in the bathroom behind me. She must’ve slithered in when I wasn’t looking.
Taylor and Maya were the more popular ones in our group, and unlike in all the teen movies, they didn’t ditch Marnie or me
when we got into high school. We became an eclectic foursome that had each other’s backs.
But that didn’t mean everyone else understood our friendship. More than once, Ireland had humiliated me in high school, and
more than once, she tried to convince Taylor that I was ruining her social status.
Mean girls don’t always outgrow their meanness, it seems.
“Hi, Ireland.” I smile at her through the reflection in the mirror as I avoid looking at my own eyes. She looks great, darn
it.
I know I’m not classically beautiful. I often rely on my wit to set me apart. I decided I could make a go of this acting thing
if I was fun and funny and interesting to look at, but standing next to Ireland, I feel less interesting and more rough and ready .
“I keep waiting for another update about your big, fancy acting career.” Ireland moves to the sink next to mine and admires
herself in the mirror.
Our eyes meet in the glass, and I paint on a smile. I feel heat rise, and I try hard not to use my years of improv to roast her here in the ladies’ bathroom.
“I’m just living my life,” I say. “I don’t see the need to report home every time I book a job. That would get tedious.” I
laugh to try and cover my annoyance, but I’m sure it doesn’t work. I flip on the water and stick my hands under the stream,
mostly because I need something to do with my hands.
She lifts her chin, I assume so she can look down her nose at me. “You’re adorable, Rosie. Still out there trying to make
it after all this time. Does waiting tables pay well these days?”
It’s so cliché—actors waiting tables. I haven’t worked in a restaurant in two years. Temp work proved to be much more my style.
And I typically don’t spill drinks on anyone in an office.
Although, there was that one time... I feel heat on my neck, the kind that rushes when you’re in a scene and the other
person forgets their lines. So many digs flit in and out of my mind, but then, like a person about to enter into an online
argument with a troll, I hit Delete, paste on a smile, and flick the water off.
“I need to get back to my friends,” I say. “It was great running into you.” I don’t even bother drying my hands as I rush
out of the bathroom before I say something I’ll regret. I wish I could say she has no effect on me, but even I note the way
the run-in has unsteadied me. As if that one encounter could transport me back to high school.
I’m not that girl anymore.
My mom emails me updates about my former classmates, and I happen to know that Ireland Abbot is a lawyer at some big, fancy
firm in Chicago because in real life, mean girls do not finish last.
I hurry back to the table, decorated with a white tablecloth and the most adorable pink mason jar centerpiece with sprigs of greenery inside and try to put Ireland out of my mind. I bet she bought Taylor the stroller / car seat combo she had on her registry without any help from her mother.
I plop down in the chair next to Maya.
“You good?” she asks.
“Great,” I say. “Just a little woozy I think.” And tired from hauling every single thing I own all over Brooklyn, to the airport,
and then to Pleasant Valley, the small town in Illinois where I grew up.
“So?” Marnie is smiling at me, as expectant as Taylor’s stomach. “Tell us about this movie! What’s it about? When can we see
it?”
I force a smile. Thanks to the many, many phone calls from my perpetually worried mother, I’ve perfected the fine art of making
my life sound shinier than it is.
I call it... creative storytelling.
It’s not lying exactly . I’m telling my mom and stepdad that their daughter is doing just fine, despite a few challenges.
But honestly... I can’t bear to say the truth out loud. What would everyone think if they knew?
“Well... my mom might have exaggerated a little about the movie gig.” I don’t have the heart to tell them my mom made that
movie sound cooler than it was because I made it sound cooler than it was.
I absently wonder if there’s a special place in hell for people who turn their mothers into liars.
“Where is your mom?” Marnie asks.
“She and John are on a cruise,” I say, secretly thankful I don’t have to contend with their worry as my life implodes.
I look around the restored loft right in the heart of downtown Pleasant Valley, searching for inspiration to change the subject.
“Was this building always here?”