Chapter 6 #2
I pretend to be studiously reviewing lines, but my stomach is a knot of nerves.
Seeing all the cameras and people and the fake set is making me wish I’d asked for permission to observe the action prior to today so I knew what to expect.
There are so many people here working, it’s astounding.
I had no idea it took this many people. Why didn’t I think to do more research on how a movie is made?
Dad and I researched the heck out of the scenes we rewrote.
Looking up anything written about the author’s possible motivations with the characters or storyline.
Watching loads of fan videos on their summations of a book’s plot or why an author killed off a beloved character.
Anything we could find so that our rewrite would include as much of the original mood as possible, while also spoofing them.
I sigh and find I’m staring at a group of people who appear to be discussing the set, possibly the lighting.
“Arabelle?”
Sally bounces up to me, looking every bit the normal teenager that she might have been before this opportunity.
I frown as I realize I don’t really know her story.
I know she’s only done one movie before, but for all I know, she was on Broadway before this.
Or she’s the president’s daughter and used to cameras and being stared at.
Well, look at her. She’s gorgeous. She’s used to being stared at, while I am constantly overlooked because I look young and insignificant.
When her smile wavers, I realize I haven’t yet greeted her back, so I shake my head and force a smile. “Hey, Sally. How’s it going?”
“I was so excited to see that we finally get to film together today.”
My smile slips away as I scan the room full of people who know what they’re doing.
“Uh oh, I recognize that look.” Sally’s tone is serious, and she practically whispers as she steps closer and rests a hand on my arm. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m happy to help you. We’ve devised a signal so that if you don’t understand something, my aunt will know to step in or help.”
“How do you mean?” I look around for an adult standing around on the sidelines that looks like Sally, but everybody seems involved in actual movie business, not here to chaperone.
“According to my aunt, directors often forget they have newbies on set, and they’ll speak in movie jargon, or their own jargon. I don’t know it all, but with my aunt’s help, I’m learning.”
I shake my head. “Who’s your aunt?”
Sally quirks her head and smiles. “Chandra.”
I mean, I knew they were related, but I sort of figured it was some distant cousin’s adopted daughter type of thing. I turn seven shades of red, but hopefully the pound of makeup I’m wearing covers it. “Oh my gosh, no wonder you two look so alike.”
Sally’s laugh is like what I imagine a fairy’s to be. Clear with a sort of tinkling bell tone within it. “You didn’t know that?”
“I was just scolding myself for not doing more research about all of this, but…” How do I explain everything that’s happened in my life recently without totally killing the mood? “Well, let’s just say, things have been hectic.”
She gets a sympathetic look, and I know what’s coming next. I steel myself for it, donning the fake smile before she even speaks. “I saw your post about your dad. I’m so sorry.”
I nod. There is never more to say, and I’m glad when she reaches out and squeezes my hand, then changes the topic.
“So, when I’m confused about what instruction I’m being given or something else that might be happening, I make a fist and then scratch my nose with the knuckle of the middle finger.
Like this.” She demonstrates, and it’s so silly it makes me laugh.
“Really, that’s it?”
“Yep. No one would ever scratch their nose like that, so it can’t be mistaken for anything else. At the same time, no one would recognize the action as a signal, either.”
“But would your aunt mind me jumping in on your secret signal?”
“Of course I don’t mind.” Chandra steps up beside us. “I already told you we’d help you navigate. I was going to bring you in on the secret myself.”
I practically drop into a curtsy. “Oh, hello, Ms. Miracle.”
She looks unimpressed. “I’ll change that secret signal if you keep acting so formal.”
Scrunching my eyes closed, I nod. “Sorry.” Then I grimace as I cautiously say, “Chandra.”
Her smile takes over her face. “That’s more like it. The secret signal is safe.” She points at me and narrows her eyes. “For now.”
“Okay, everyone, let’s take our marks for scene thirty-five,” the director calls. “We’ll need Lidia, Christa, and Stella. Bring your angry eyes.”
Chandra chuckles while I rest my hand on my stomach, worried I might toss my nonexistent breakfast. I wait for Sally and Chandra to go ahead of me so I can follow their lead.
And even though we are directed to our marks and makeup is touched up, and we are ready to go, we end up standing around for another forty minutes while they place extras and give them their instructions.
Finally, the director gives us our next direction and we are poised to start.
In the scene we’re filming, I’m mostly a third wheel, following behind my mom and sister as they walk briskly through the retail square.
They are arguing while I’m supposed to pretend to be oblivious, jumping over cracks, getting distracted and falling behind, then realizing how far they’ve gotten and racing to catch up.
I don’t talk until the very end of the scene when I say the world’s stupidest line ever.
It takes so many takes to get everything right.
Mostly, it’s the extras doing something wrong in the background that makes us start over again, but occasionally it’s because Sally or Chandra missed a line, or once, I tripped and fell flat on my face.
I think it’s the twelfth take when we finally make it to my line.
I run up in between Sally and Chandra, pointing toward a pet store, and say, “When you’re done arguing, can I get a puppy? ”
The whole scene makes me feel seven years old instead of thirteen.
I think I blushed after I said the line the first time.
Fortunately, the director finds something wrong in the playback and makes us start all over again.
Another twenty or so times. As I jump onto the ledge of a large planter only to leap off again, for the millionth time, I think how exhausting it is playing an immature new teenager.
My poor, skinny thighs are burning. I would take the action out, because honestly, I’ve done something different each time, but the first time I did it, the director said, “Good job, Arabelle,” so now I’m stuck with it.
I feel like I should have a unicycle and be balancing spinning plates.
Finally, the director stops, sighs, and crosses his arms over his chest while he regards us. “Something’s not right. I think it’s Stella.”
I jerk like he physically hit me. I am such a non-issue in the scene; how can I be the problem?
“You’re doing a fantastic job in the background, Arabelle, but I’m wondering if you need to change your delivery of your line. Perhaps you can run between them, but keep going, head toward the pet store as you say your line.” He turns to the cameramen. “Can you get a camera in front of her?”
“Can I make a suggestion?” I ask.
It’s like the entire set freezes in time as everybody turns their shocked attention to me.