2
I don’t know how Vadim found out that I’m half English, half French.
He isn’t the type to ask questions about others.
When he does, he’s as discreet as he is about his own mysterious private life.
And I’m not the type to put myself on display.
Being a little secretive is perhaps our only common trait.
Just two months ago, I was living in an affluent neighborhood in Paris with my family. I graduated from high school with honors, and thanks to that, my parents gave me a one-year reprieve from their demands for my future.
For me, making movies is a dream. For my parents, it’s just a phase.
In any case, they agreed to pay for me to attend this film school in Los Angeles—the best there is.
One of the Lancaster family mottos is that you either do things properly or not at all.
My father took the opportunity to accept a job in California that will be great for his career, and my brother was able to continue his college studies in English, which fits in perfectly with his plans for the future.
Since we hadn’t moved in a few years, my mother and sister were happy to follow. So, we all relocated this summer.
My father, Edward, an English aristocrat turned real estate magnate, owns agencies all over Europe and the United States.
He’s built a network of friends around the globe, which opens just about every door for him.
He’s the classic absent father, demanding but loving.
The kind you don’t want to disappoint. For as long as I can remember, I’ve bent over backwards to please him.
I admire and fear my father in equal measure.
My mother—the quintessential upper-class French woman in all her splendor, with a taste for luxury and boundless affection—is a housewife and has been following her spouse wherever he has gone for the past twenty years.
She enthusiastically supports his wildest projects, putting up with his absence in exchange for the comfortable lifestyle he offers her.
She is a devoted wife. A doting mother. A quiet pillar who holds the family together, resolves conflicts, soothes sorrows, and sacrifices herself for everyone’s happiness.
I love my mother as much as I pity her.
My older brother, Basile, is following in my father’s footsteps.
At twenty, he has no worries about his future.
Between his marketing classes, where he thinks he already knows everything, he has plenty of time to make other people’s lives miserable.
So far, he’s shown no sign of stopping to reflect on who he really is, beyond what’s expected of him as the son of a respectable family.
My big brother frustrates me, but I do have a soft spot for him.
As for my little sister, Lily, she’s twelve years old.
My parents had her later in life, because my mother was bored and my father thought it was in his best interest to prove to his wife that he loved her, despite everything, and cared more about his family than his business.
Different in every way from her brother and sister, this child came as a big surprise for the Lancasters.
Completely lacking discipline, a fearless, free-spirited artist at heart who is indifferent to family pressures, she has an innate joy for life flowing through her veins.
She’s the family’s wild child and always gets everything she wants.
I envy my sister, but I find her tiring at the same time.
Anyway, now I have exactly one year to prove I’m meant to work in film, that I can carve out a place for myself and make a name in this industry.
That I can do far better than the family wedding and Christmas movies I’ve been making since I received my first camera.
One school year to prove it, before my father sends me back to France to learn a “real” profession…
or my mother suggests I marry a young man who will provide for me, so I won’t have to pursue any career other than that of wife and mother.
I respect those who make that choice, but it’s not the life I want for myself.
“You don’t like being judged, but that’s exactly what you’re doing to me right now, isn’t it?” I snap at Vadim. “You don’t know me.”
I try to hold his hostile gaze.
“Who says I want to know you?”
“Well, you’re going to have to work with me, whether you like it or not.”
“I might like working with you, Lancaster. That depends on you.”
As he murmurs these words, his smirk unsettles me. I don’t like it.
“Like I said, my name is Alma. What is it you want me to do, anyway?”
“We could start by getting out of here. I can’t work with all this noise. Look at them, all excited about making movies like the grown-ups. They just want to suck up to Abrams. And what’s the deal with your French friend staring at us like we’re a pair of freaks?”
“You always do things differently from everyone else, and you expect people not to stare? Seriously… how do you get through life with so many contradictions?”
He watches me in silence, surprised by my comeback.
“We only have forty–five minutes left. Alma, are you coming or not?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stands up, and in a flash he’s at the door. His almost-empty backpack hangs from the tips of his long fingers, swinging like the pendulum of an impatient clock. His pale eyes bore into me, daring me to leave the classroom right this second.
Still sitting in my chair, I hesitate to get up for what feels like an eternity, until Clémentine comes up close behind me, puts her arm over my shoulder, and whispers in my ear, “Go for it! What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know. Permission?”
“You have mine. Go on, before he gets tired of waiting. And call me tonight!”
“Tonight? What are you talking about? I’ll be here before the teacher gets back!”
“Yeah, sure. If you say so.”
Her mischievous smile nudges me toward the door.
Clémentine is my best friend, my soulmate, my twin.
She’s the redhead version of me, with a few more curves and far fewer boundaries.
She’s my adventurous stunt double. My safety net.
The little devil on my shoulder who always tells me to go for it.
And the little angel always ready to pick up the pieces.
We’ve known each other since kindergarten, and we spent most of our schooldays in the same class, at the same desk, sitting side by side.
Even when I was living somewhere else, it felt like we were together somehow, like we were family.
At one point, I seriously thought my parents were going to adopt her because she spent so much time at our place—and because her mom and dad, who were divorced and extremely busy, seemed fine with the idea.
In high school, we took the same electives so we wouldn’t be separated.
She went along with my choices without complaining.
After graduation, it broke my heart when I had to tell her that my parents had agreed to send me to LA.
She’d answered without hesitation and without a trace of doubt, “So, when do we leave?”
With Clémentine D’Aragon, there are never problems, only solutions. It’s her favorite motto.
So, that’s how she ended up coming along on this adventure too, after her parents gave her their blessing, entrusting their only daughter to my family without a second thought.
Clem opted for a small dorm room on campus rather than living with us, officially to give us our privacy—which is ironic, considering how little privacy she has given us all these years.
Unofficially, it’s so she can be free to do as she pleases.
She probably loves my family more than her own, but she knows not to overstep.
Some people might think she’s self-interested or superficial, but she’s incredibly clever.
Clem has a talent for wriggling out of impossible situations, and her only goal is to enjoy each day as it comes, preferably without getting into trouble.
As for cinema, she’s not especially interested in it.
Well, not much more than in anything else.
My best friend likes everything, but in small doses.
She doesn’t really have a passion, but she has a hell of an ability to adapt.
Wherever she goes, she blends in, makes friends, and invariably looks like she’s in her element.
Meanwhile, I’m the one standing there asking myself whether I should take the leap or not.
Clémentine is always one step ahead. She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she knows she’ll get there. I love that about her.
That, and so many other things. The way people mistake us for sisters because we both have freckles.
The way she complains because her fair skin doesn’t tan, while mine is bronze by the start of summer.
The way she sings off-key but twice as loud as everyone else.
The way she spends hours picking apart the contents of her plate despite my mother’s offended gaze, because she can’t stand the skin on cooked tomatoes.
The way she swears she’ll never have children, but says it in a whisper because she’s afraid she’ll be punished and end up with two sets of twins.
The way she complains about her four or five extra pounds while polishing off my fries.
And the way she tells me I’m too stupid to see that I’m beautiful.
I think I admire her as much as she admires me.
Perhaps that’s the key to our wonderful friendship.
“Uh, is anyone there?” Vadim sighs, waving his hand in front of my vacant stare.
“Huh, what?”
“I don’t know where you are, Lancaster, but you’re not with me.”
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Go back to class if you don’t want to be here.”
“Stop being such a grouch… I’m here, aren’t I? What’s the matter, you think that I’m going to start crying because we’re sitting on the grass instead of in class? Working here or there, it’s all the same to me.”
“Then maybe you can tell your hand to stop ripping up all the grass.”