Chapter 9
We sit at the kitchen island and spend the next ten minutes ironing things out. Luke’s letting me lead the conversation, which
I appreciate.
“We’ll meet after school only,” I say, holding up a finger. “Like you said. I’m happy to walk you through my day, to show
you my schedule and what I’ve got going on for extracurriculars and homework and whatnot, but you can’t come to school with
me.”
“What if we went after hours?” Luke asks. “It would be nice to see the space.”
“Won’t you see it when you’re filming there? You are, right? Shooting some scenes there, I mean? During our Thanksgiving break?”
“Yeah, but it would be nice to get a sense of the space beforehand.”
“Maybe,” I allow, because I do understand. There’s a lived-in confidence you get through familiarity, especially with a set.
Though I don’t know what the rules are about accessing school grounds after hours.
I hold up another finger. “No extremely public places. We aren’t going to be strolling down Glenridge Avenue or going to Starbucks.”
“But do you do those things? Normally?”
“Sometimes,” I say.
“Then shouldn’t I do them with you? For the full experience?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.” I move on to my next finger. “And the most important rule is that you can’t breathe a word about who I am to anyone. I’m serious, Luke. Not to your agent, not to your manager, not to a friend or any of the other actors.”
“Okay.” He’s perched on the stool next to mine, his feet on the second rung, and his knees are high and pushed together. “But
was it really that bad? Being CeCe Lafayette?”
I think back to when I fell in love with acting, when I was six years old and watching Dad get ready for auditions. How I
begged to be enrolled in acting classes, begged to go out on auditions of my own. The excitement of waiting to hear if I’d
been booked. The joy of sinking into a character, becoming someone else, even if it was just for a commercial. The way Dad
and I had screamed and jumped up and down when we got the news that I’d booked Bricks, how he’d picked up a three-tier chocolate cake to celebrate, as if it were my birthday.
But then there was everything else. There’s so much I haven’t told Luke. That I haven’t told anyone.
“Yes,” I say. “It really was. Now. Do we have a deal?”
“And we’ll start tomorrow?” he asks.
“We’ll start tomorrow,” I agree, holding out my hand. A moment later, he slides his large palm into mine and shakes slowly. He’s got hot-guy hands now. The way his fingers are gripped around mine, strong but not too tight . . .
I grit my teeth and increase the speed of the handshake so it’s almost comical. Like I’m Scrooge McDuck with a top hat and
no pants on, making a deal for gold coins.
Get a grip, Claire, I tell myself.
Mom finishes with her invoices a few minutes after Luke leaves for real.
“So,” she says. “What was that all about?”
I sigh. “They’re going to pay me to mentor Luke for a few weeks for the film. To show him what being a real high school student
is like.”
Mom furrows her brow at me. “And is that . . . a bad thing?”
“No. Sorry. It’s great. The money is amazing. I’m just—it’s complicated.”
“I understand, honey. Say no more.” She squeezes my arm on her way into the kitchen and doesn’t push it any further than that.
And I appreciate it as much as anything she’s ever done for me.
That night, I barely sleep at all.
I abandon the homework I have left for tomorrow, because I can’t focus to save my life. What will Luke think about how I spend my time? Showing my life to someone who now goes to premieres and wears designer clothes and owns a magazine-worthy house in Brentwood is embarrassing, right?
I wish I were more charming. Wore better clothes. That I had niche interests and a community of people and friends who adored
me here, shopkeepers who knew my name, baristas who knew my order by heart.
But that isn’t how it is. Isn’t how I am. I keep my head down, I focus on school, I try not to draw any attention to myself. Here, I’m a shadow of who I used to
be. At first, it was for survival. For separation. But now . . . it’s who I am. And I think that’s made me more uninteresting
than I’ve realized until now.
Another reason I can’t sleep is because I know I need to do damage control with Evie. From midnight to one a.m., I run through
different ways I might be able to explain the Luke situation. Because I have to tell her at least some of it. Evie and I spend too much time together for me to keep it a secret entirely. Maybe I can say we’re old friends and
he reached out for help with his role. I wrestle with the idea of just telling her everything, all of it, but I can’t begin
to imagine how she’d react.
I must drift off at some point, because I wake to the shrill bleating of my alarm, feeling like absolute garbage. On the bus
to school, I text Evie before I can lose my nerve.
ME:
Walk during morning free period? I have something I need to talk to u about
EVIE:
Sure. Everything ok?
ME:
Yep!
She sends me a taco emoji in response, which is Evie’s version of a heart.
During our free period, Evie and I meet outside by the huge boulders on the way to the soccer fields. The sun is shining,
but the air has a chilly, almost metallic edge to it. The grass on the fields is still green and somewhat lush, but it’s only
a matter of time before it gets brittle and crunchy from the cold.
“It’s starting to get actually chilly,” Evie says. “This is so depressing.”
“Yep. It’s almost winter,” I respond cheerfully.
“You are such a freak,” Evie says. “No one likes winter. Especially ex-Californians.”
“Well, I do.” Winter is all about hunkering down, staying indoors, and lying low. Winter is a cocoon.
We start to walk. “So what did you want to talk about?” Evie asks.
I need to just say it. I look around, to make sure no one else is within earshot. “So, you know Lucas Cordova?”
“Yes,” she says, drawing out the word. “Obviously.”
“Kind of a funny story,” I say. “But I know him. Used to know him. Back when I lived in Los Angeles. Anyway, I ran into him on Sunday, because my mom was catering for a production meeting, and he was there.”
She stares at me in silence as I go on to explain that he’s going to be shadowing me for a few weeks so that he can see what
it’s like to be a high school student in a small town for his role.
I don’t know what I expected. Classic Evie excitement, shrieking and shaking my arm, asking me to tell her every detail. But
she seems . . . mad.
She stops walking and looks at me. “You didn’t think to mention at any point over the past few days that you know him?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I should have said something earlier. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“I can’t believe I went on and on about him at school last week and you didn’t once think to say, ‘Hey, Evie, I actually know
him.’ Like, why would you not mention that?”
If only she knew the true scope of what I haven’t told her. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have.”
“How?” she asks. “How do you know him?”
I can tell she doesn’t have a clue. There’s no flash of recognition on her face, like, hey, wait a minute, you do look familiar. Evie never watched Bricks; I remember questioning her about her favorite TV shows as casually as I could when we first became friends. When I slipped
in a mention of House of Bricks, she said she’d heard of it but that she’d never seen an episode.
I hesitate. I see two paths in front of me. One, to the truth, where I spill everything.
And then a second path that leads to a land of my continued safety, where I don’t have to delve into the gory details of my
past, putting them out into the world for her to examine. Maybe she’d be angry I didn’t tell her. More likely she’d be angry
and sympathetic, but I don’t want her sympathy. I just want to move on.
So I choose path two. “We went to the same school for a while. We were on . . . the chess team together.”
I have no clue why I said that, but there it is. She shakes her head in wonder. “Chess team? I didn’t even know you played
chess.”
“I wasn’t very good.”
I push my guilt about lying to her into a box and do my best to ignore it. I’ve made my choice, so now I’ve just got to go
with it.
“Tell me everything,” Evie says, and I know I’ve been forgiven. “How will it work? Is he going to come to school with you?
Like, what are you going to do with him?”
“No. God, no. That would be such a circus. After school only. I’m trying to keep it quiet, so please don’t tell anyone. I
don’t want people freaking out about it.”
“Can I tell Eddie?”
“Yes. You can tell Eddie, but only Eddie.”
“Cross my heart. Obviously we have to do a double date.” She’s walking faster now, fully in planning mode. It didn’t take her long to switch gears. “We can do it at Eddie’s house. Or go to the diner. Or—”
“Evie, I’m not dating him,” I say. “I’m working for him. Not even for him, more for the movie. And I don’t go on double dates with you and Eddie
in reality, so it wouldn’t be a good representation of my actual life.”
“Oh, please,” Evie says. “You’ve had the opportunity. You just never like anyone back.”
“That’s not true.”
“Darren Levinson? Jason Kung?” she says, an eyebrow raised, counting on her fingers.
“Neither of them liked me liked me.”
“Yes, they did.” She puts up another finger. “And hello, Ben Wilson? Who was panting over you like a cartoon dog at the party
this weekend?”
“It’s complicated with the Chelsea stuff! I’m scared of her.”
“Whatever. I’m confident my point has been made,” Evie says. “Double date aside, it is realistic that you hang out with me constantly, which means, by proxy, he has to hang out with me, too.”
“Okay,” I relent. “I think I can arrange that.”
“When’s your first date?”
“Evie—”
“Work date.”
“After school today.”
“Today!” She looks me up and down. “That explains the cute outfit.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “I’m literally just wearing a sweater.”
“Your cute vintage pumpkin sweater,” Evie says. “And you’re wearing eyeliner and jewelry, and you did your hair.”
“I do my hair every day, thank you.”
“By normal people’s standards you’re not wearing anything out of the ordinary. I just know you well.” She threads her arm
through mine. “Don’t be surprised if I swing by later to borrow a cup of sugar.”
She seems like she’s expecting me to protest, but I don’t. At the bare minimum, Evie deserves special access. “One cup of
sugar, coming right up.”
We’ve made our way back from the edge of the field and are by the boulders near the entrance to school.
“This is so wild. I still cannot believe you know Lucas Cordova,” Evie says, shaking her head.
Knew, I want to say, but that’s when a head pops up from behind the rock.
It’s Victor, one of Eddie’s teammates. Oh no. He’s not the most discreet person.
Of course. This is a popular vape spot. We should have been more careful. Maybe he didn’t hear.
But then he says, “What? You know Lucas Cordova, Hopper?”