Chapter 8 #3
For a while, even after I broke up with Kai, I thought I couldn’t be “fully” aroace if I still crushed on the idea of someone.
I thought maybe I just had to try harder in real life.
If I could conjure up an imaginary crush, I could train myself to do so in real life.
I thought I had to push myself to feel these things, to flirt when flirted with, to go on dates and not have them feel like a chore.
Not because I wanted to fall in love, but because it’s so difficult to swim against the current, and I thought I’d have an easier time not drowning if I just went with the flow.
“Thanks for talking to me about this,” Kai whispers. “I know it’s not easy.”
“Thanks for listening.” I pick myself off the floor and walk toward the door. “I’ll listen to you, too … if you ever want to tell me anything.”
His lips pinch, and his frame stiffens against the wall. “I know.”
I manage to get a few hours of sleep before I’m picked up to go to the set at six AM. Kai has asynchronous online classes, so we decide to meet up after I’m done filming.
I’m so nervous I could shit myself.
I take deep breaths, but my hands shake around the script as I walk onto the set.
It feels like stepping into an ant colony.
The whole place hums with activity. Crew members scuttle about—directors and ADs orchestrating, technicians tinkering with lights and sound, underpaid PAs dashing around with coffee orders.
“Sassy.” Stella, Friday’s acting coach, waves a hand at my face, snapping me back to the present. “Let’s move through the space. Familiarize yourself with the set.”
“Ah, yeah…” I twist a strand of hair around my finger to ease my nerves.
The studio has been transformed into an amalgamation of Gothic architecture.
Gloomy mansions loom in the background, adorned with creepy, twisted ornaments.
A dimly lit alleyway leads to a haunted carnival with unsettling animatronics.
Their glassy eyes seem to follow me as Stella directs me toward a fake forest with gnarled trees, their branches reaching out like bony fingers.
“This place looks so cool,” I mumble. My first scene takes place here. My character, the villain’s assistant, runs into one of the main characters, the love interest played by Asher Grish.
Stella and I settle down on the fake grass to rehearse. I didn’t hire her, but I guess the studio thought I might need an acting coach. I don’t know how to tell her that I need a minute to be by myself while she does something else. There’s a lot of noise around me that I need to tune out to focus.
“You shouldn’t have stolen those ancient books from the crypt, um—” My voice shakes, and I clutch my script as if my life depends on it. I feel stupid. I took theater classes in middle school and high school, and I’ve shot some music videos, but I can’t remember my own name right now.
My heart beats so loud that it drowns my thoughts. I got this role through connections, not talent. I’m probably going to disappoint everyone.
“Let’s go through the script once, but let’s replace every word with spaghetti,” Stella says.
“I want to know what emotion you’re conveying, even if I can’t hear the words.
Like for instance, this line right here: Do we know each other?
Instead let’s say Spaghetti?” She gestures animatedly. “Spaghetti, spaghetti.”
“Sure…” I don’t think this will help, but I don’t want to be rude.
Footsteps crunch on the grass, distracting Stella. She lifts her head to look at someone behind us. I spin around, my stomach flipping when I come face-to-face with Asher Grish.
Oh, shit. For a moment I don’t know what to do with my hands.
I settle for waving at him like an idiot.
Asher leans against one of the fake trees, studying me with a grin.
He’s even taller in person, over six feet, perhaps a little shorter than Kai.
His dark blond hair catches the studio lights in a dazzling display, his gray eyes piercing me.
“I hope I’m not intruding.” He sweeps his gaze between us. He’s already in character, an apocalypse survivor dressed in a threadbare jacket stained with faux blood and dirt and paired with ripped jeans. “But since she and I have some scenes, I was hoping we could rehearse together.”
She and I. He probably doesn’t know my name, which is fine. Cool even.
The character he plays has an American accent, but real Asher speaks with a mix of them—not quite American, not quite British.
I barely had time to look him up online before the shoot, but if I’m not wrong, his mom is from Texas, and his dad is from here.
But Asher was raised in different parts of the world due to his parents’ schedules, especially since his mom is an industry pro.
“Is that okay?” He extends a nonchalant hand toward me. “May I borrow you?”
His touch is unexpectedly gentle as he helps me up.
I trail behind him, navigating the labyrinth of corridors until we stumble upon a rehearsal room.
It’s a lot quieter than outside, and I relish the silence.
Inside there’s a low coffee table and yoga mats and cushions scattered over the floor.
A mini fridge at the back contains different brands of bottled water.
“I’m Asher Grish.” He unrolls one of the mats with a dramatic flick of his wrist and takes a seat. “Your new partner.” He grins when I give him a curious look. “Scene partner.”
“I’m Sasha.” I give him a small smile.
“I thought you went by Sassy.” His gaze locks on mine. Oh, so he does know me.
“Call me Sasha. Sassy is my stage name.”
“Aren’t you both, though? Sasha and Sassy.” The way he says my stage name makes me bristle, as if he knows there’s something behind the person I pretend to be. Maybe he’s looked me up, too.
“Not really.” I shrug and find a seat, flattening my back against the wall.
Asher shrugs off his jacket and pulls his sweater over his head, accidentally revealing an inch of skin and toned abs. Kai’s words from last night rush back to me. I guess Asher is what people would consider hot. I just don’t see how an inch of skin is supposed to make anyone swoon.
“All right. Should we get started?” He grabs his script. “I haven’t learned my lines yet.”
“We’re an hour away from filming.” I shoot him a confused look.
“I like to get a sense of my scene partner before learning my lines so I don’t get stuck in one register.
” He smiles. I cock an eyebrow. That sounds like BS.
“Fine, fine. I had other things to do. But this is TV. The guy playing my dad? Earpiece, lines constantly streaming in. And the writers love to tweak things last minute. You’ve got to be ready to course correct. ”
“Whatever floats your boat,” I grunt. I mean, he’s not wrong. It’s like being onstage. You can’t always give your audience the same performance. But I’m not feeling the attitude. Or maybe he’s just different from his character. I expected him to be a golden-retriever person.
All right, Sasha, you can do this.
“You must be new around here. Fuck. Sorry. That was your line.” My hands tremble around the pages, and I seem to have forgotten how to speak English and Spanish, both of which my character is supposed to speak.
You’re going to disappoint everyone, says the annoying voice in my head. You’re going to get fired and rumors are going to spread about how incompetent you are.
“Sorry, just give me un segundo, um, a second.” I clear my throat. My brain is filled with static. “Must be the jet lag.”
“Are you nervous?”
“I’m fine.” I gulp. “I’ve shot music videos before, and—”
“This is different,” he says, his expression softening lightly. “Look, I get it. I was nervous the first time I had to be on set, too. I nearly shat myself. Seriously, it was a close call.”
“Didn’t you grow up in the industry?”
“Exactly. Everyone expected me to be as good as my mum, and I didn’t want to disappoint.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
He’s a nepo baby. Even if he did disappoint, it wouldn’t matter. He’s got nothing to lose. He’d still get cast in something else.
“Oh, I did. It was so bad that Stella had me do the spaghetti exercise … in front of the entire crew.” A rueful smile touches his lips.
“It was a crying scene, too. Imagine having to play a scene where you’re being taken away from your parents shouting Spaghetti!
Spa … ghe … tti … Trust me, you can’t do worse than that.
” A hint of color rises in his cheeks. There’s a certain distance to the way he speaks about himself, like even when he’s sharing something, he’s holding back.
“Try again. You’re not doing bad. I mean, you’re not doing great, either, but you’re getting there. ”
In some way, I appreciate the bluntness.
There’s no trace of judgment in his voice this time, though, and despite his cockiness, something about him feels oddly reassuring.
I clear my throat and scramble to my feet, discarding my script and mustering my confidence.
I can do this. I’ve sung in front of thousands of people.
I can definitely say a few lines in front of a camera.
Asher and I go back to the main stage to familiarize ourselves with the layout of the fake forest. We rehearse until I’m able to say my lines cleanly, and after a few times, I’m even having fun with it.
“Wait, don’t go, there are explosives—” I cut myself short when a whimper cuts through the air, coming from behind one of the fake trees.
Asher’s eyes narrow at something in the back among the shrubbery. Peeking out from the foliage is a girl, no older than five, tears streaming down her face.
“Hey, sweetheart, why are you crying?” I crouch down to meet her eyes.
The girl directs her gaze to the animatronics that look like giant broken toys. “They’re scary.”
“Scary? My friends? Nah, look.” To my surprise, Asher throws himself at one of the animatronics, hugging it like a koala.
“Asher, I swear to God, if you don’t get down from there!” A voice echoes from somewhere on set. I look around, but I can’t spot anyone.
“They’re very cuddly. See?” Asher ignores the voice and wraps the animatronics’ arms around himself, making it seem as if the toy is hugging him back. The girl’s tears turn into hesitant giggles.
“What’s your name?” I ask, taking her hand to pull her from the fake foliage. She’s in costume, her face stained with fake soil and a bow around her ponytail. She must be one of the extras.
“Lily.”
“Lily. That’s a beautiful name,” Asher says warmly. “I’m Asher. Did you get lost? I know there’s a scene with a bunch of kids today. Survivors from the spaceship. Are your parents on set?”
Lily nods, her small hands bunching. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I get lost all the time.” Asher smiles. It feels honest, and, for a moment, I feel like I’m staring at a different person than the Asher from five minutes ago. This Asher is softer, less guarded.
“Hi. I’m Sasha. It’s my first day here, too,” I say. “It’s okay to be nervous.”
“Hey, we have some doughnuts in the kitchenette. Fancy one?” Asher’s shoulders drop when Lily’s face lights up. “I’ll find your parents and bring you one. Any flavor and toppings you want.”
Asher disappears while I stay with Lily. The way she clasps my hand, as if afraid to let go, reminds me of walking my sister to school. A minute later, Asher comes back with a box of doughnuts and a bottle of Fiji water.
“Okay, do we have any favorite flavors?” Asher crouches down and opens the box so that Lily can see. “We have cinnamon, chocolate, strawberry, plain?”
“Strawberry, please.” Lily happily takes a bite of her doughnut.
“Asher, oh my God, thank you for texting us.” A coordinator and a woman who looks like an older version of Lily, both visibly out of breath, rush to us.
“Mum!” Lily runs to the woman, who relaxes and ropes her daughter into a hug.
The coordinator directs them both outside, back to their group. Lily turns around, doughnut in hand, and waves at us. “Bye, Asher! Bye, Sasha!”
A content expression takes over Asher’s face. A beat of silence follows after we’re left alone again in the fake forest, but his smile lingers.
“So, you’re good with kids. That’s random,” I say.
“Random?” He cocks an eyebrow, his fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt.
“I don’t know. You’re hard to read, I guess.” Even if I’d had time to look him up, the real him is a little disorienting. Like he’s playing a character.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s a good thing to remain mysterious in this business.”
“Nah. I can tell you have a soft heart,” I blurt out. “I think you just pretend to be someone you’re not to protect yourself.”
Asher freezes for a second, his expression clouding. Tension runs through his frame, and he shifts his gaze to his script, even though he’s already memorized it.
There’s a strange pause, and I falter. The longer it stretches, the more my confidence shakes. Shit, was I too blunt? Did I say the wrong thing?
“Right, well … I’ll go get ready for our scene. I think I need to find Stella anyway. Thanks for helping me with my lines,” I say. If Mia were here, she would have probably switched topics to change the vibe, but small talk is my kryptonite.
“Let me get your number,” he says, resetting his expression to nonchalance. “We should grab dinner tonight, if you want.”
“To rehearse?”
“No. I’d like to talk to you more.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” I step back. Ah, shit, no way. Is Asher Grish making a move on me? Disappointment courses through me. I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to be dating Rosa, the lead. Maybe I misunderstood, though.
A feeling I can’t read flickers across his face. “No.”
“It sounds like you are.” I steel myself.
“I’m not. Trust me.”
“Trust you? You just met me.”
He shrugs. “I have a hunch.”
“And I have a boyfriend.” It feels odd to refer to Kai as my boyfriend. But it’s not a lie. At least not technically. Besides, Kai and I have plans to have dinner together.
Asher frowns. “I thought you and that guy were PR.”
“What?” Panic jolts through me, and something inside me slides off-balance. How does he know? Is he going to expose us? “We’re not.”
“Sasha, I can spot a PR setup from a mile away.” His gaze fixes on me, as if studying my reaction.
“Not judging, though. Smart move for your career.” I stare back, baffled at the way he says it.
Something mischievous dances in his eyes.
“Actually, how would you feel about us dating once your current contract expires? I promise I’ll make it worth your time. ”