Chapter 3
Maple
This has to be the wildest day of my life so far, for sure.
I’m in a glass box in the sky when I should be in math. Finally proving that filming all those videos for YouTube was worth it.
‘I’m great, thank you.’ I smile, follow Mom’s rules: look pretty, act grateful.
But the truth is I’ve spent nearly four hours in and out of this box and I’m kinda done now.
Hungry, thirsty, tired. Six outfit changes feels like a lot, especially as it’s hot as hell in here and my head’s hurting.
There may be four men on scissor lifts holding diffusers and strobes to even out the light, but the Nevada sun is still finding its way through.
‘You know, the shots look amazing,’ Lois goes on. ‘Exactly what I was hoping for, and the client absolutely adores you. Another twenty minutes and we’ll have everything we need. You can cope in there okay? You don’t need another break?’
I eye Mom, pick up the subtle shake of her head. And I suppose if the client really does adore me, this could be the start of something bigger. Maybe a commercial for TV. The Superbowl even. I can’t wreck my chances by being all needy now. ‘No, I’m good, thank you.’
She nods, smiles, then turns to the cameraman, Paul, and starts a conversation I can’t hear.
Paul has a bald head and a goatee so black it must be dyed.
He barely comes out from behind his camera – his assistant is right next to him, also taking photos, but I haven’t seen them interact once – and I can’t help thinking he’s a bit creepy.
In fact, if I think too much about it, it’s lowkey freaky that he’s looking at me through his zoom lens.
He could be staring at my knobbly elbows, the pimple on my chin that Destiny, the makeup lady, promised she could hide, or even my …
It’s crazy to think I have tits now. And proper ones with cleavage. This time last year I barely needed a bra, but a lot can happen in twelve months, I guess.
‘Hey, Maple, could you lie down on your front, then lift up onto your elbows?’
I do as Lois says, even though that means most of the top I’m wearing is now hidden. Except the straps are super cute – cream lace with a vintage vibe – and the cut of the neckline is low and curvy. I guess that’s enough to sell it.
‘Beautiful, I love it,’ Lois calls up. ‘Now dip your head to one side, no, the other side. That’s so much better. Let your hair fall over that shoulder. Wow, Maple. You’re a natural!’
There’s a sudden clatter to my left and I jump at the sound. One of the men in the scissor lifts has dropped the piece of equipment he was holding.
‘Shit, sorry, man,’ he shouts down, grimacing. ‘My hands are so sweaty, it just slipped out.’
He does look sweaty. His dark hair is wet at the edges, and there’s lines of it running into his beard and down onto his Raiders T-shirt. His eyes are blinking unnaturally fast too, like maybe he’s high.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Paul grumbles from below, his toe nudging the diffuser now lying torn on the ground. ‘That cost me a hundred fucking dollars.’
I don’t know why, it’s not like I’ve never heard people swear before, maybe it’s the heat, but from nowhere, I feel a giggle work its way up from my belly.
Lois watches me crack. And it must be infectious because she starts giggling too.
Mom picks up on the vibe and follows suit, and then Jules joins in.
Soon the whole production crew is laughing except for Paul; even his assistant’s sniggering, I think, although he’s doing a good job of hiding it behind his camera.
I sense the man who caused this mayhem looking at me, and I instinctively turn toward him, expecting gratitude for the distraction.
But his expression is weird. Super intense.
The giggle inside me dies, and my smile drops.
My stomach clenches and I have a sudden urge to throw up.
Because this middle-aged guy with a sweaty head doesn’t look grateful. He looks hungry.