Chapter Two #2
Of two things I am absolutely certain. One, James Neely looks even better in a Henley from close range.
And two, James Neely is terribly, terribly fast.
It’s like he’s been in a yoga self-defense course or something, because the movement from lying down to grabbing my ankle while he sits up is so rapid, so purposeful, so smooth, it’s like he’s trained for it.
I, however, have not.
When I try to twist my ankle from his grasp, I go down faster than a shitty Jenga tower, hitting the ground so swiftly and completely that the breath is knocked from my lungs.
Another reason I bonded with Arabella straightaway? She’s a little clumsy. I’m a little clumsy, too. But whatever the source of my decidedly un-swan-like existence, there is no hope for me of becoming a vampire whose every imperfection is smoothed out by magical venom, so I’m stuck like this.
Just like I’m now stuck on my back staring at the blue, blue summer sky through the tangle of hair I worked so hard to tame this morning and wondering if it’s possible for your lungs to be ejected out of your body without you noticing because I literally don’t feel like I can breathe.
My condition artificially worsens when James Freakin’ Neely appears in my view, leaning over me with a look of absolute panic on his face.
“ Fuck, I am so, so sorry. I was just totally zoned out and then something was tickling my side and…shit. Are you hurt? Let me call an ambulance. Let me—”
I haven’t found my voice yet, but I reach up and touch his arm, trying to communicate that I’m okay and to pretty please not call an ambulance because not only am I jobless and living with my dad, but I’m also without health insurance and I don’t need to go into thousands of dollars of more debt just to have a paramedic arrive in a not-free ambulance to tell me I’m a klutz.
I don’t know if James gathers any of that from my touch, but he does stop his rambling.
“Oh, here,” he says. “Allow me.”
I’m not sure what it is I’m allowing, but then I feel his hands on my cheek, my hair. He’s trying to push it back from my face but it’s really thick and annoying and brown and—
James freezes, his hand on my hair-free cheek, staring down atme.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever watched as someone was struck with recognition in real life, but I’m watching it now and it looks just like the movies.
It probably says more about James and his chosen profession than it does his real emotions, but it’s truly an experience watching as his eyes dart back and forth over my face like I’m a puzzle he is just a single clue away from solving.
Maybe it’s stupid, but I didn’t count on him remembering me.
He certainly didn’t recognize my voice during the audition—the same voice he called like a siren in college—so I figured that I could just ignore the shared history, not bring it up.
Maybe we wouldn’t have to have the conversation at all, the awkward one about how we knew each other for a single night in college and it was one of the best/worst nights of my life.
“Juliet?”
So much for that pipe dream.
This was not a scenario I played out in my head. Not even close to one. There are no lines, no script to follow.
My lungs are beginning to inflate properly again, and I do my best to smile up at him even though it feels like a grimace.
“Long time no see, Romeo.”
—
Catarina is babbling.
Which I know is rude to say, but she’s basically regaling James with a blow-by-blow of her favorite interview I did for On the Same Page about an older gentleman whose favorite book was a newer fantasy book written for middle schoolers.
“You just wouldn’t believe how impactful it was to hear a man in his seventies discuss children’s literature with such passion,” Catarina is saying.
“He told stories about the kinds of books he read in school and how he was never a big reader because of them, but then his great-granddaughter wrapped up her favorite book for Christmas to give to him. He totally forgot about it until his wife passed away and one night when he couldn’t sleep, he gave it a go and couldn’t put it down. ”
Catarina is babbling and James is staring.
At me.
I know he wanted to have a whole conversation about it outside the studio, about me being both Act 5 Juliet and Juniper Green, podcast reject.
It was written on his face, etched into the way he helped me sit up, made sure I was okay, and the way he looked like he had swallowed a firecracker when he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Look, Jul—Juniper. I don’t—”
“We’re going to be late,” I interrupted, as if that weren’t my whole schtick, not being on time.
Part of me was dying to know what he was going to say, but a bigger part of me wished I could go back to fifteen minutes ago when it was just my stomach that hurt instead of my entire respiratory tract being filled with lead.
And now here we are, sitting in a conference room in the studio in fancy leather rolling chairs with high backs. I know the backs are high because I can feel every inch of mine where it meets my bruised spine.
Catarina is radiant as she describes her vision for the project. I can see why she was chosen to be the director.
The more she talks about The Meadow and Arabella and William, the more I’m convinced I’m not the biggest fan in the room.
She gets them, this teenage girl and her immortal boyfriend who just so happens to need blood to live.
To her—and I think to most fans—the attraction is not so much about William being a rich, forever-young vampire as it is the love he has for Arabella, and she for him.
“It’s all about chemistry,” she says as James and I flip through the scripts in front of us.
“Both between the characters and the two of you. It’s not so different from film or stage acting, as I’m sure you can already tell, James.
And Juniper, you have such a beautiful way of connecting with audiences via audio already, I think you’ll be able to charm listeners from the get-go. ”
When I’m not smiling and nodding at Catarina, I’m looking at the piles of paperwork in front of us.
“—so if there’s no arguments from you, James, I think we have our Arabella!”
I look up just in time to see James’s eyes leave my face and turn to Catarina’s.
I’d give anything—literally anything—to have just two seconds of William’s mind-reading abilities, because James isn’t giving anything away with his expression.
It’s still. Maybe too still? It’s almost scary how quickly my brain dredges up any shred of James it’s taken in since college.
Every interview snippet, every Disassembled trailer I couldn’t help but see flits through my mind as I try to feed it into a nonexistent algorithm to figure out what’s going on behind his eyes.
Does he want me here? Did he know I was getting offered the job and this is just Catarina confirming it for us both? Did he have a say in who got picked? He did like my reading he heard through the magic headphones.
“I’m in agreement,” James says, his voice as unreadable as his face. And then he seems to hesitate before adding, “That is, if Juniper wants the job.”
I know I’m not signing the contract on the spot, but this feels like the last moment to back out, and now that all my major organs are functioning again, I’m considering it even though I know I shouldn’t.
Because this has just been bad omen after bad omen from the start.
And what if I say yes, get hyped, and two seconds in James feels too weirded out by the fact that I knew him before he was semi-famous and has me replaced?
What if I suck at it and Catarina decides to fire me for being un-directable?
What if, what if, what if.
But god help me, I want to say yes. Because just like an addict, I am endlessly attracted to hope, and this is the biggest dose of it I’ve seen in a while.
They’re both looking at me when I raise my eyes from my stack of papers. Catarina is smiling expectantly while James is doing a very good job of hiding any emotion he might be feeling behind a mask of pleasantness and professionalism.
It makes me want to throw a napkin at him.
“I’d…I’d love to,” I say.
“Terrific,” Catarina says, beaming. “You two are going to be fabulous, just fabulous. Take these contracts home. I think Haniya will be sending along some electronic copies to your email addresses this evening—and to your agent’s email, James—but I’m old-school and wanted to highlight a couple of biggies on physical paper for you.
Especially the social media promotion component. ”
“Which is optional, correct?” James asks.
I swear Catarina’s eye twitches.
“Yes, but it’s highly, highly recommended.
” Her tone suggests she is the one recommending it.
“And if you do choose to participate, the audiobook publisher is willing to give you a bonus twenty-five percent on top of your promised salary should you reach a certain number of followers across platforms before release. They’re very invested in this project and want to give it every chance to succeed. ”
“Twenty-five percent ?” I ask. My brain can’t do the math that quickly, but by my loose calculations, that’s a lot of money. “Not, like, dollars?”
Catarina laughs.
“Gosh, no. It’s a substantial commitment, a substantial number of followers, so you would be compensated accordingly. Your salaries are on the final page. It would be beneficial to consider—”
“We won’t be doing the social media component,” James cuts in. “At least, I won’t be. Juniper can do it if she wants.”
Catarina grimaces.
“The producers are pretty open to the strategy and manner of videos and posts you might make, but I’m afraid it’s either both of you or neither of you. On that, they are very clear.”
One look at his face and I know that James Neely would rather do just about anything than agree to this.