1.
Amelia
“Bastard!”
I rammed my hand against the horn as yet another driver cut me off on my mad race to reach Aorta Studios before my audition started in—shit, in twenty minutes. I stopped looking at the clock because it was making my heart race so fast I could’ve died of a heart attack. Wouldn’t that be just my luck? I finally land an audition for a movie and I die on the way to the studio at the tender age of twenty-three.
Or maybe the L.A. traffic would kill me first. I slammed the horn again, resisting the urge to rage out on the driver flipping me the bird. Breath, Amelia. Breath. This definitely was not the head space I wanted to be in right before trying out for my big break.
But maybe a small part of me was relieved at the thought of never making it to my audition. Sure, the movie might make my career, but there was one little catch. Actually it was a huge catch. I’d have to kiss a girl. Not just kiss her, but whisper in her ear and make googly eyes at her for the several months it took to film a romantic comedy.
Yes, I was auditioning for a lesbian romance movie.
No, I wasn’t a lesbian. Though it’d been hard to convince my mom that I wasn’t when I’d told her about the audition over the phone. She’d been awkwardly supportive—all, You’ll always be my daughter. I’ll love and accept you no matter what.
Which was sweet and all, except I wasn’t a lesbian! After explaining three times, she finally reiterated that her love and support was unconditional. Frustrating, but I guess nice to hear.
It wasn’t a new accusation. Because of my short hair and the way I prefered tailored suits over dresses, people tended to make stupid assumptions about my sexuality. But I’d never even considered women as an option—no matter how many loser guys I’d dated.
Truthfully, I was terrified about the prospect of faking attraction to a woman. I’d already been to two auditions for the film, and this was a call back to do a “chemistry test” with the other lead. Would I really be able to let a woman put her mouth all over my face and pretend to like it?
I turned on the radio to distract myself from that thought, because I was freaking myself out again. The DJ on my favorite station was droning on about celebrity gossip.
“Rumor has it,” he said over a cheesy whispering sound effect, “Jessica Black is dating her Maid for You co-star, Oliver Colt. Hasn’t she broken enough hearts already?”
I rolled my eyes. A week later, Jessica would be photographed cheating on Oliver, and then there would be rumors that she and Oliver were broken up, followed by whispers that they were engaged. Why were people so obsessed with this crap? I hated the thought of making it big if it meant my life became a stupid spectacle.
Just as I thought that, an ugly groan erupted from my car. Shit! I felt the car losing speed as more disturbing noises grunted from somewhere under the hood. I flipped my blinker on, begging one of the asshole drivers to let me get off the freeway before my poor car straight-up died in the middle of the road. I barely made it to the gravel before she puttered to a sad stop.
I told you about my bad luck, right?
But people with my horrible fortune don’t have time to sit around and feel sorry for themselves. I unclipped my seatbelt, leapt from the car, and started sprinting. Thank God I’ve always been a converse girl—there was no way I’d make it to the studio in heels.
I leapt over the guardrail and stumbled through long grass toward the street Aorta studio was on. I ran until my lungs burnt with every breath. I was a sweaty mess when I saw the small studio in the distance. Three minutes to spare. Yes! I bolted down the sidewalk even faster, fire tearing at all my muscles—when a puppy skittered out in front of me, running between my legs. I tripped, trying not to stomp the little thing, and stumbled off the curb in the process. Pain seared up my arm as I used it to catch my fall, barely managing to avoid scraping my face on the pavement.
I was sweaty, scratched, bruised, and late.
“Ruff!”
I looked up to the little white face nuzzling at my cheek. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the thing felt bad for what she’d done.
“Ruff!”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it.” I pushed myself up, wincing as I put pressure on my arm. I didn’t even know why I was still trying to make it to the audition when I was going to be this much of a mess. I guess I realized then how much the opportunity had meant to me.
“Ruff!” the puppy cried after me as I broke into a new sprint.
“I said don’t worry about it!” I called over my shoulder, but she was still running after me. If she thought we could be friends even after she’d nearly killed me, she’d be disappointed to learn I was seriously allergic to dogs.
I ran faster. Pushed harder. It was always about pushing myself. Even when months went by without booking an audition and I had to choose between electricity and groceries. Even when I received rejection after rejection. The only thing I could do was push myself. Relief washed over me when I tore open the door to the reception room. Only two minutes late. Maybe there was a chance they’d take pity on the poor mess that was me.
“I’m here to audition for Real Love,” I said to the receptionist. “My name is Amelia Earhart.”
“Wonderful!” The woman smiled sweetly with lips painted a sugary pink. “We haven’t started yet, so you can just take a seat.”
Was this really happening? Had I actually stumbled into some good luck?
“Do you have a restroom I can use?” I asked.
“Right through that door on the left.”