3. Adaline
Internally panicking about whether your life is going down the path it”s meant to suredoes take it out of you. And after letting the annoying debate team in my head be the substitute for the audiobook I’d usually listen to during car rides home, I seriously needed some me time.
Which was what, as soon as the last thread of my jeans breezed through my apartment,had me switching my outfit for my dusty pink dressing down, shopping my shelf of vinyl records and plucking out my well-loved Dolly Parton disc, making a gallon of iced coffee, before slumping back into my couch and letting the gorgeous chords of ‘Here You Come Again’ engulf my living room.
Ahh, hello, my favourite pastime.
This was exactly what I needed after this morning, something easy and familiar to calm mynerves and distract me from wondering whether or not I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.I thought that a call with Florence would be enough of a distraction, the alluring twang from her English accent putting me in a trance and making the doubts in my head float away. But it wasn’t.
It doesn’t take long for the novelty of having my record player on to wear off. And noshame to Dolly, but the lyrics were too similar, too on the nose to make me forget my morning. Not even wandering over to the window and staring down at the street below, free of tourists now that December had passed and the Times Square Ball had dropped two weeks ago, is enough to quiet my mind and stop me from rolling onto the floor and zoning out completely.
The only sound breaking through louder than Dolly was that of the woman sitting next tome at the signing (who actually was the casting director) repeating what a wonderful, career-defining opportunity this was.
I’m sure, though, that all the benefits of this role could be read to me a thousand timesand I still wouldn’t remember them. Because deep down, I knew I couldn’t care less.
When the role was first offered up to me, I was interested. I’d read the book when it wascircling the globe and getting the attention it well and truly deserved, and I immediately fell in love with the female lead, Anastasia. She was a little spitfire, a fiery redhead who refused to take anyone’s bullshit, especially from her lifelong academic enemy, Harry. Who she eventually falls for, and realises that all her years of denying her feelings for him were a waste of time.
She reminded me a lot of myself; a secret, hopeless romantic, loyal as anything,overachiever, with chronic eldest daughter syndrome with a people-pleasing tendency, who spent her mornings daydreaming, and nights making up silly scenarios in her head to fall asleep to… I related to her more than I’d ever admit to anyone out loud.
It was almost as if the author, Miss Eleanor Winthrop, had secret cameras hidden aroundmy apartment, had hired private investigators to track my every move, capture every word that left my mouth, steal my personality and publish it for millions to get lost in.
So naturally, I said yes to the role when I was first offered it, seeing as though I was,unknowing to most, being paid to act as myself. Better than that? It was just another role for me to delay the inevitable of admitting that I perhaps didn’t love this career as much as I used to, if I ever did.
But it would be my easiest job to date.Or so my naive little heart thought.
Dolly Parton? Sing louder, please; I’m overthinking again.
I remember the moment my agent told me that the studio had officially cast the manplaying Harry. My heart fluttered with the wonder of whether or not it would be anyone I’d worked with before, or someone new. Would it be someone I’d always wanted to act with? Would it be someone who I had on-screen chemistry with already? Would we clash? Would we become friends?
My mind was too busy trying to get over the unbearable thought that the words ‘NatePatricks’ had just left her mouth to answer any of those questions.
My hands go clammy like they always do when this crosses my mind, causing me toflatten my palms on the hardwood floor. My lungs jump, and my breath goes patchy. I don’t know why I torment myself with the memory; all it does is bring to life the nostalgic hatred that I spend my days trying to hide from.
Of all the actors, across this very, very large planet that they could have chosen to be myco-star, they had to pick the one I didn’t get along with. They had to pick Nate. Of course they’d pick Nate. I was way overdue for some karma from the universe, and this right here was it.
Sure, Nate and I had worked together before, we filmed the Defenders series with noissues whatsoever. Was that because our characters barely interacted in the movies? Maybe. But it doesn’t take away from the fact that we survived it. We hadn’t killed each other. Surely that must mean we could survive this too?
The oddly shrill voice of the casting director, I think her name was… actually, I have noidea what it was; penetrates my thoughts.
Have you read the book? Oh, tell me you’ve read it, Ms. Moore! I’m a sucker for enemiesto lovers, throw in the fact that it’s got all the twists and turns of a thriller, and you’ve got me hooked!
Was this one of those life-imitating art moments? It was, wasn’t it?
The thought of how bizarre this whole situation is makes me straighten up from the floor,my feet tingling back to life, while getting a nice reminder from my body about my iron deficiency and nearly falling right back on my ass.
Once the grey clouds and white stars had faded from my line of vision, I got to my feetand stood there for a few seconds, letting the iciness of the hardwood floor shock some more feeling back into my feet, all the while racking my brain for how to keep itself from reminding me of the inevitable. When it hits me.
My secret weapon.
I ditch my living room, darting down the hall to retrieve my laptop from the office,narrowly avoiding my hanging plants and tangles of fairy lights as I do, before cannonballing into my fluffy bean bag that’s nestled up right next to the window wall and opening it to the half-completed manuscript of my latest story.
It’s no secret that I’m an avid reader. My stacked bookcases in this office, organised byauthor, genre, and, most importantly, spice level, prove that point very well. But what still remains my biggest secret? It’s that I’ve also written books.
I’m a writer. A secret, unpublished writer.
I discovered pretty early on that writing was my passion. I also found out that it was abeautiful way of expressing how I felt, growing up under the heat and pressure of thousands of cameras and spotlights.
Picture this: I’m seven years old, just got home from my third callback audition of theday, and have just spent an hour on a car journey with my parents, who had spent said car journey reminding me about the six other auditions and one more callback I had that week. I get into my room, and instead of screaming into a pillow or listening to the Avril Lavigne CD I’d borrowed from the girl across the street, I grab my notepad that was covered in holographic Lisa Frank stickers and pick up where I left off from whatever story I had going at the time.
Writing was a way for me to say every word and express every feeling my seven-year-oldself could understand that I couldn’t project out loud. Express what I was too scared to say. I wrote several, probably not grammatically or punctually correct, stories, about girls who were living lives they were pushed into, trapped and scared and saw no way out, who were then magically saved by a handsome hero (who, most of the time, was inspired by the naughties heartthrob Tom Welling) or found her confidence and told the baddie to back off for good.
As I grew up, my stories became a lot more complex, to the point where I’d spent myentire sophomore year of high school writing a romantic fantasy series about lost kingdoms and fairies and maybe a chapter or two of R-rated content.
And I loved it. I truly fell in love with making up worlds and their histories and creatingcharacters that were so brutally broken but found the strength, either within themselves or with the help of a friend turned-lover, to face up to their problems and regain their life back.
If only their confidence were contagious.
Every heroine I created, I lived vicariously through. I dreamed that I was a princess whosingle-handedly knocked down her tower, or the heiress to an ancient kingdom who was being forced into a marriage that would eventually make her queen, who would also find her voice with the help of her arranged fiancè, and put an end to this outdated and dehumanising rule.
I hoped that the more I wrote, and believed that I was those women, that I’d wake up oneday with the strength of all of them combined, with the power to march down the stairs and tell my parents why I never wanted to step foot into an audition room or set ever again.
But clearly, my manifesting skills weren’t fully developed at twelve, or seventeen, ortwenty-five… At least my writing helped get all of my built-up angst and anger out in a healthy way. Or at least in a way that wouldn’t get me grounded.
And it helped me. Helps me. Even now.
Although, I still keep all twenty-three of my books a secret.
There are only three people on the planet who know about my books; myself, Nate, andmy little sister Goldie, Marigold is her actual name, but I can’t remember the last time I ever called her that.
As I settle into the beanbag and find a comfy place to exist for the next few hours, myeyes fall back onto the paragraph I’d left my story at the last time I needed a writing session. I feel my heart flip when I realise I’d bookmarked my chapter smack bang in the middle of a sex scene, internally squealing at the butterfly-inducing but still ethereal way I’d described how intense my heroine’s orgasm was.
God, I’m good at this.
But just as my brain starts piling up with the hundreds of ways this scene go, barelytyping more than a sentence, my tapping is halted by the buzzing of my phone that’s in my pocket. I arch my back to grab my phonebefore looking down at the black-and-white picture of me and Goldie that’s lighting up my screen and swiping to answer without a second thought.
“Hey, Goldie! How are you?” I ask eagerly, trying to remember the last time I talked to my sister,my heart sinking like I was in this bean bag when I realised our last phone call was before Christmas.
“I‘m good, really good,” Goldie rushed, the familiarity of her voice making menearly bypass the fact that I could tell she wasn’t telling the truth. “Just thought I’d call… see how you were.”
Sitting up straighter, I felt my smile grow. “I’m good too. Have you been up to much?”
A beat of silence passed before her voice flooded my ear again. “I suppose… Dad and Imade a detour and took the coastal road home today, the ocean looked really pretty, and it’s getting sunnier, which is making me excited for spring.”
“I do miss it… living so close to the ocean.” I admit, closing my laptop and laying it onthe floor beside me. “But you know what I don’t miss?”
A less impactful silence floated by before we said in sync. “L.A. traffic.”
Her giggles, however hollow they were, still made the corners of my lips tug higher. “ButI suppose New York traffic still sucks.”
My sister cleared her throat before she asked, “Oh, how did the meeting go this morning?For your new movie? Was Nate there? Isn’t it cool how—”
As if it was tired of holding my phone in place, my arm fell forward, dragging the phoneand Goldie’s questions away from my ear. But I knew it was because I wasn’t ready for this part of our call just yet. I felt my whole body weaken as my heart sank further this time, right down into the cesspit of shame and guilt it always falls to whenever we talk about him.
Goldie was born when I was eight, making her seven approaching eight when my andNate’s friendship was just teetering over into relationship territory. Her life up until that moment was flooded with memories of him, as was mine. He was basically her older brother, with him being my best friend and living right next door, it was bound to happen. And although she hasn’t seen him in years, she still asks about him every time she calls.
To her, Nate is still someone she looks up to, and I’d never want that to change.
Regardless of how he ended things with me… he was so good around her. He was the onewho taught her how to ride a bike, because our dad was too busy arguing with my agent at the time or fighting with the producers over how much I was being paid to teach her. He even let her sit in on our cinnamon bun baking nights, where he showed her how to get a gooey batch of buns every single time.
So, whenever she mentions him, I pretend we’re still friends. I forget what happenedbetween us, and make up stories that didn’t happen, to keep her memory of him alive. Because I know that if I tell her what really happened, it’ll break her heart, just like it broke mine.
Sucking in a breath, I interrupt the flow of her questions as I place my phone back on myear. “He was there. He said he saw you in that Netflix show, the high school drama one, and told me that you killed the role as the mean girl.”
“He did?” I could practically see her brows pull together. “I really hated that role. I didn’tlike being mean, it felt so weird. But I’m glad he saw it.”
I knew that getting praise for her acting wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what I wantedat her age, either. And from the way her voice sounds as grey as the clouds that I can see rolling in out the window… then I know I shouldn’t keep subjecting her to it.
I relax my back into the bean bag, and shift my head to stare at the beams of wintersunlight that were casting over the room, before releasing a steady breath. “Is everything okay, Goldie?”
I could’ve sworn I heard the breath die in her throat, none of the right words to get acrosswhat was wrong coming to her, right when a staggered sigh slipped through the line.My eyes fall shut as I drawl, “Go on, let it all out.”
“Ugh! I just… I just hate them. Addy… I don’t know how much longer I can take this.Every time I’m in one of those dingy little audition rooms, I swear the walls are closing in on me. I don’t have time to study, and call me crazy, but I like studying! My GPA is slipping, and my last report card was awful… well, except for psychology, I’m top of my class for that one.” She took a deep breath, reminding me to do the same. “But… I just… I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Addy. I’m… I’m so sick of it.”
I pull my knees up to my chest and sink my head into them, my free hand raking throughmy hair and pulling at the curls that had all dropped since this morning, rage as red as the strands in my fist boiling my blood. Drenching me in silent anger.
It’s scary how much I can relate to every confusing feeling that’s probably swirlingaround her brain right now. I’d thought my parents had exhausted all of their fame-seeking resources with me, that my career and status and power would be enough to satisfy the restless dreams they never got to chase.
But no, my poor baby sister, sweet, honest and stupidly smart Marigold Moore, was theirlatest prodigy.
Their second child star.
“What happened, Goldie?” I asked softly, the endless possibilities of what they’d put herthrough stacking up like the books on the shelf my eyes were boring into.
“Wanna take a guess at how many auditions I’ve been to since Friday night?” That gameshow host-style tone in her voice makes me want to giggle, and I do. If I didn’t, I’d start crying.
“Okay, I can get this.” I lay my phone down and tap the speaker button, as I start to countwith my fingers. “Were they for movies, TV or commercials?”
“All three, Addy.” She sighs, the monotone veil her voice takes on forcing a laugh out ofme, loud enough that I couldn’t hear my heart split for her.
“Okay, so I know that most of the commercial studios in L.A. do their auditions onSaturdays. TV and movies can have you in at ridiculously early hours,” I say to myself, my head falling back into the sherpa fluff of the bean bag. “So, I’m gonna take a whack at…. eleven.”
The sigh that rattled through the speaker and into the room made my heart feel like it hadreached the bottom of the ocean, engulfed in the unexplored darkness. It was a sigh that should have come from a girl who hadn’t found the right prom dress yet, or hadn’t been asked to the spring formal. I knew right then that the number I’d suggested was nowhere near right.
“If you double that and add four, then we have our number.”
My hand flew to my mouth to cover the gasp that was trying to slip through the cracks inmy fingers, tears stinging my eyes and another crack forming in my heart.
Twenty-six.
Twenty-six auditions.
Are they idiots? Have they officially lost their minds?
She’s just a kid. Barely eighteen. Her weekends should be spent at the mall, going toparties and pep rallies, and hanging out with friends. Even studying! Not being driven around the smoggy highways of L.A., auditioning for God knows what stupid commercial or soul-sucking kids show.
She needs a childhood. A real one. She needs to experience what I never had the chanceto.
I sneak a glance at the almost black clouds that were still drifting over the city, thatequally dark voice thundering in my head.
It’s your fault they do this to her.
If you didn”t leave, they would’ve left her alone.
You were selfish, you got your freedom, just to make Goldie take your place as thesuperstar.
My head tipped forward as I tried to take a breath, the air around me turning cold andsharp. Peeling my hand away from my gaped mouth, I straightened my back.
“Goldie… I’m so sorry, honey. I’m…” My tear-smothered voice managed, trying mybest to hide the cracks in it. I’d be damned if I let this girl hear how much what she just told me is breaking my heart.
I tried again, this time getting in enough air to power me. “Listen to me, honey, you’regonna be okay. I know it feels like this is all your life is going to amount to, but trust me, it won’t be. Your best days are still so far away in the future, which is why you can’t see them, or imagine them yet… I know you’re strong. You are so much stronger than I was at your age.”
It felt like I could barely lift my shaky voice above a whisper, but I took a few deep breaths before suggesting, “Do you think that maybe you could mention to Mom, or Dad, that acting isn’t what you want to do?”
“Addy, I’ve tried. They won’t listen. I pulled them both to the dining room table lastweekend and explained to them what I wanted to do after high school, and how I didn’t see acting as a lifelong thing. I even gave them a bunch of college flyers, the Liberty Grove ones I showed you, and welcome packs I’d got in the mail, but they wouldn’t look at them. They told me that you didn’t want to go to college because you loved acting so much, and that I should feel the same.”
My parents didn’t lie about that. I didn’t want to go to college. Not because I thought itwasn’t important, or that I wouldn’t benefit from it, I knew I would. And it certainly wasn’t because I loved acting more than my education. That part was a lie.
The reason I didn’t go was because of the contract they’d convinced me to sign, the one that tied me to a three-movie deal that would cost a fortune to get out of. They convinced me that this kind of exposure to the world would treat me better than any college experience would. And I listened to them. Back then, I felt like I owed them that much.
But just because I had, didn’t mean that Goldie had to.
“They’re right, I didn’t want to go. But you are your own person, Goldie, you get tochoose your path in life. Don’t let my choices affect yours. If you want to apply to colleges, do it. I’ll be there with you every step of the way. And if you need me to come with you for open days or interviews—”
“You’d come with me?”
“Of course I would. Tell me a date and a time, and I’ll be there.”
I felt the hesitation on her end, like she was trying to form the perfect sentence. “No,Addy, you’ve got so much going on right now. I don’t want to be a burden. And… I want to do this myself. I know I can get through to them. Just like Lia, the girl in your book who stood up to the evil fairy and won her life back. I know I can do it, Addy. I know I can. ”
I blinked the last of the tears away, the cracks in my heart going unnoticed as they were filling with the pride and adoration I had for this girl. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive, Addy… I’m a fighter.” I felt her smile, with every ounce of power she hadcrowding her words. And just as I smiled too, a beam of sunlight, piercing its way through the darkness, brightened up the room.
“Well, I have some news that will cheer you up.”
“Oh my God, tell me!”
A true giggle, full of laughter, slipped past my lips this time. “Part of the shoot I’mcurrently on is in L.A! After six weeks of filming here, I’ll be back home!”
Nothing could compare to hearing the gasp that left her mouth. I wasn’t going to tell herabout the L.A. shoot, I was just going to turn up and surprise her. But after this conversation, I wanted to give her something to look forward to. She needed the hope of one of the good days I just promised her was on the way.
“Are you kidding! Oh my God, I can’t wait to see you!” Rushes of air broke past hersqueals, sending me a mental image of her jumping around her room, one of her signature smiles stuck to her face, her golden blonde hair swishing around her.
The corners of my mouth tugged up, stretching my smile and I settled my spine back intothe bean bag. “Me neither, honey.”
We talked for another hour, discussing colleges, mainly Liberty Grove, which was the main campus right here in the city. Shetold me about the boy she had a crush on at the minute, some singer from London who was breaking the internet, before hanging up.
The urge to find things we hadn’t talked about was pressing down on my chest until themoment the line went dead. The thought of leaving her to battle this stage of her life on her own hurt me, and made that cocktail of guilt and shame eat away at me.
“I’m positive, Addy… I’m a fighter.”
Her words rang in my ears as my eyes fluttered closed, soaking up the sun that was nowpainting the room.
I don’t know where she gets her strength from. Don’t know what unlimited power source she gets it from to keep herself from crumbling. When I was her age, I would have scurried away to the deepest, darkest corner of the house at just the thought of expressing how I truly felt to my parents. I was terrified of letting them down, because of how badly I knew they wanted this for me.
At the time, I confused their drive for wealth as a passion for my success, and realising that now as an adult makes me want to hug my younger self and tell her it’ll all be okay. But I know she’ll be okay. Because it turns out my manifestations to become mycourageous heroines were so strong that Goldie turned into one.
I knew I’d be counting down the days until I saw her again, but for the life of me, I didn’tknow if I could wait six—
A ding erupted from my laptop, which was still resting on the hardwood floor. My eyesflew open as I arched my back to pick it up and open it on my lap again, the fluorescent screen making me want to squeeze them closed again. I dragged my mouse over to the envelope icon, noting the new email sign and opened it up, my heart started its descent again when I saw that the email was from my agent.
With the words ‘FOREVER AND ALWAYS SHOOTING SCHEDULE’ filling up thesubject line.