6. Jake
Chapter 6
Jake
Dear Dad,
You’re never going to believe this, but remember how I joined choir just to have something in common with the Fansee family’s dumb foster kid, Bea? Well, they left me enrolled in it when I stayed with them, and I didn’t really care. I was just killing time, right?
Only, it turns out, I’m, like, really good at singing.
The choir teacher, Mr. Kline, says I could be a singer, like a real singer. The Fansees said they’d pay for me to get voice lessons from this really awesome lady who lives in the City, and I know you always say to take whatever you can get for free, so I know you’ll be excited to hear they’re paying a ton for them.
I’ll keep milking them for plenty, yeah?
Love,
Jake
Jake:
Quit choir right now. It’s for losers and dreamers. We only go after sure things. Stupid dreams are just that—stupid. Don’t waste your time on it for another second.
And stop worrying about the Fansees. I have something amazing in mind for them that will cover everything they’ve done and then some. Keep your ties to them minimal. I can tell you’re getting soft—it’s because you’re so young. You think they really care about you, but they don’t.
Remember our first rule. Never try to protect anyone else. It’s you and me against the world. Taking pity on losers is how you get dragged down with them.
Whatever you do, never let yourself get entwined with people weaker than you. It’s far, far easier to get dragged off a chair than it is to pull someone else up.
Never forget that either.
-Dad
W hen Bea says, “White Knight looks good on you,” I can barely make sense of what she’s saying.
White knight?
Is she saying I’m being. . .protective?
Bea’s smirk has always irritated me. “Are you sure you’re not the one who leaked the video?”
Octavia’s eyes widen.
She can’t think I’d be that stupid, right? I’ve been paying attention. I don’t go fighting wars for people they don’t want me to fight, at least, not in ways they would clearly hate. All I did on social was tell the studio I wouldn’t let them push my family around.
“Do you really think I’d have done that?” I look at Octavia to see if she thinks it was me, too.
“I guess you’re right.” Bea’s clearly not convinced. “It’s someone who wanted to help, but didn’t really get it.”
That’s her reminder to me not to push this too far. All of this back and forth and making a big deal out of things is clearly upsetting the very person it’s meant to help. I get that. It can’t be nice to have public support only because someone mocked you so horribly about your greatest and most visible sensitivity.
I can’t help thinking about it, over and over as we record the scene another half-dozen times. Is Octavia upset or pleased that she’s doing the vocals and now the video as well? Or does she wish she’d just been cut out? I can’t tell.
She’s the same as she’s always been.
Which means she’s even better at putting up a front than I am. She must be hurting, though. If Patrice’s initial insult didn’t hurt, seeing it again and reading the callous and offensive comments must sting. The fact that the studio only did the right thing when their hand was forced can’t feel nice either.
“I think we can call it a day,” Eddy finally says, making the same looping wave he always does. “That’s a wrap.”
“That went fast.” I force a smile. “Right?”
“It helps that the singer you found never misses a single note.” Eddy’s half-smile is irritating. He may know how excellent she is, but he didn’t stand up for her when it mattered. He sees her as too weak to matter. That probably pisses me off more than anything else. “I couldn’t believe how in sync the two of you were. It felt like you’d performed together a dozen times.”
“Instead of the truth—that they barely know one another.” Patty’s extended artfully against the wall, her chest forced up and out in a pose I’m sure she’s practiced in the mirror a dozen times. Everything about her is so fake it turns my stomach.
An urge to show her that Octavia’s strong rolls over me. But how?
She doesn’t mess with me—we’re on par, really, because I have social media accounts and fans who will defend me. They’d turn on me in a second for a few misplaced comments, but as long as I’m careful, I do have some power. That’s why I’m not at risk like Octavia is.
But how could I extend my immunity to Octavia so Patrice would just leave her alone already? An idea hits me, but it’s a terrible one. I ignore it.
But the idea persists.
The more I think about it, the more I can’t seem to let it go.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, wondering as I do. Would Octavia go along with my stupid idea? Or is she the kind of person who insists on strict truth at all times? I decide to find out—maybe I do like playing the White Knight after all. “I think I know Octavia pretty well.” I sling an arm over her shoulders.
Patrice’s frown tells me it’s working. “She’s your sister ’s friend, and I heard Bea say they only met a few months ago.”
“In addition to being my sister, Bea’s my roommate and my best friend,” I practically spit. “As usual, you’re totally wrong about all your assumptions.”
“I’m totally wrong about what, exactly?” Patrice steps closer. “Because it seems like a mistimed comment on my part is causing all sorts of problems. It might even put the movie’s success in jeopardy, and instead of shoring things up for the movie, you’re over here. . .whatever it is you’re doing.” She waves at Octavia. “You backed the wrong person.”
She’s clearly sore about my social media post, even though I kept things polite about her. “I backed Octavia because. . .”
This is the moment. But will claiming that we’re dating make Octavia’s life better? Or am I doing it because of some kind of caveman imperative to protect her? Sure, being tied to me will give her some notoriety, and it’ll grab more attention for the movie, too. It’ll also make Patrice look jealous , which she is. She’s jealous of Octavia’s talent, but no one will realize that. Any way I look at it, the rumor should help Octavia.
Unless she’s like Bea.
If she wants to be left alone, well. . .
She’s in the wrong career for that. If she wants to sing songs, if she wants to make music videos, she’s going to have to come to grips with people looking at her face and saying mean things. It’s the world we live in. While I work through things, my obnoxious co-star can’t keep her yap shut for three seconds.
“It’s fine,” Patrice says. “This will all blow over and you won’t have to do stuff like this with her anymore. By the time the movie comes out, everyone will have forgotten about all the nastiness, and they may even re-record this whole thing. You don’t have to worry about your image or being linked to her.”
Is that really what she thinks? That I can’t stand the thought of being linked to Octavia? Have I had that great a poker face, or is she just utterly delusional?
Her total cluelessness decides it for me.
I slip my fingers through Octavia’s delicate ones and take advantage of her surprise to tighten my hand around hers. “Oh, that’s not at all what worries me. Octavia hates being in the limelight, so I’ve listened to her, but I’m done with it.” I tug Octavia along with me as I round on stupid Patty. “Octavia Rothschild’s the most talented singer I’ve ever met, ever heard , and we just started dating. The only reason I’ve bitten my tongue until now is that she doesn’t like to make a scene.”
That news hits just about like I expect it to. I’ve been in a lot of movies now, and so far the studios have loved me, because I’ve never had a single confirmed girlfriend. Lots of rumors, and lots of interest, but not a single actual scandal.
When I turn toward Octavia’s beautiful face to see how she’s taking my proclamation, I feel something strange.
Pride.
Unsurprisingly, stupid Patty laughs. “Her?” Her giggle’s so annoying and high-pitched that I can’t fathom how any man in America could find her attractive. “You want people to believe you’re dating her ?” She snorts. “So I came in for a fake apology, and you go straight to fake dating.”
I swear, one of these days, I’m actually going to strangle her. It’s like she can’t help herself. But this isn’t about Patty’s idiocy. It’s really not. I force myself away from the moron and turn to look at Octavia.
She’s not watching Patty. She’s looking up at me, and she looks. . .unsure. Her eyes are wide, confused. It guts me, really. I wanted to strengthen her position, not confuse her.
It won’t hurt her , I promise myself. “Sorry, Octavia,” I start. I want to promise her it will go well. I want to tell her that this will make things easier on her. But I’m worried I might be wrong.
In that moment, she looks so gorgeous, so trusting that I act without thinking. My head drops, my hand slides to cup her cheek, and I drop my mouth over hers.
I’ve probably had more first kisses than most guys the world over.
It’s a common part of an audition—at least, for beginning actors it is. Sometimes once I’ve been cast, I have to kiss a dozen different women to see whether the directors think we have chemistry.
I doubt many men are technically better at kissing than me.
But it’s like anything you do for work. When you’ve made a hundred copies. . .or filled two thousand coffee cups. . .or mopped a million floors, it gets a little boring. I expect to feel what I always feel during a first kiss when my mouth presses up against Octavia’s.
Nothing.
But that’s not what happens.
On what might be my four hundredth kiss, for the first time in my life, I feel. . . everything.
There’s an explosion in my chest.
My arms and legs feel light and full of energy.
I want to dance around and sing a ridiculous Disney song.
Birds should be singing, and fireworks exploding in the sky. As her mouth moves against mine, as her body softens against me, I realize something is making noise. Only then does my brain kick into gear, reminding me what the noise is: the flashes of cameras.
Shoot.
We’re still on set.
By the time I release Octavia, Bea’s standing right behind me, and her wide, wide eyes tell me better than anything else could what I already should have known.
This changes everything.