“You really didn’t put her up to it?” I accuse Dee again, even though I believe her when she insists she didn’t. My teeth are chattering, and it has nothing to do with the cold.
“I promise.”
“I’m going to faint,” I warn through my growing nausea. The frigid autumn air feels like thick molasses hardening in my belly.
“You’re not going to faint.”
“I’m going to die.”
Unsympathetic, Dee argues, “All you have to do is walk.”
Easier said than done when my knees are shaking more than a newborn pony’s.
“Danica is going to kill me when she sees me in this video.”
Dee turns to me then, her flawless face illuminated by the fifty-foot-tall crane showering its white spotlight on us. “All Danica said was that you can’t see Mike anymore, right?” I nod, and she says, “So tell her that your scenes were shot separately. You can even say I made you be in the video to show off my dress. Hopefully she’ll call me to confirm.” Her wicked grin reveals her violent intention, and a chill races up my spine.
“She’s still going to be livid that I was in it.” I can hear her now—You took my idea, my role, my boyfriend. And the thing is, she wouldn’t exactly be wrong about any of it.
I’m frowning when Dee loses her devilish smile and says, “I know she has you in a tough spot, but you need to realize that a girl like Danica is always going to have something to hate you for, Hailey. She’s always going to find a reason to be mad at you. I know you think you can walk on eggshells with her until you graduate, but I love you enough to tell you that you’re wrong.”
I want to tell Dee that she’s the one who’s wrong. I want to tell her that it’s only two years, that I can get through two years. But then the director is finishing his speech and asking if there are any questions. And since I can’t very well ask him to repeat everything he just said, I simply stand there like a deer in ten-thousand-megawatt headlights. Some staff workers get into position behind or beside cameras. A clapboard slaps shut.
And then we’re walking.
Step, step, step, step. I glance down at my feet, and someone shouts, “CUT!”
“No, no, no, no, no!” Jillian complains as she marches up to me. “Who put this one here?” She shakes her head at Dee, sunglasses threatening to fly off the top of her head, and I realize she wasn’t talking to me at all. Everything about Dee’s stiff posture screams that she’s ready to go toe to toe with the producer standing in front of her, who’s preparing to get rid of her, but Jillian defuses her in an instant. “Sorry, honey, but you’re way too pretty. You’re taking attention away from Hailey. I need you somewhere else.”
Jillian snaps her fingers, and a few staff workers rush over to show Dee where to go.
“Are you sure you don’t want her to be the star?” I ask, looking over Dee’s shoulder at Jillian when Dee wraps me in a hug. Jillian waves dismissively at me as she walks away, and Dee whispers in my ear.
“This is your moment, Hailey. Trust me, this is meant to be your moment. Show them what you’re made of.” She pulls away, smiles at me, and adds one more piece of super helpful advice. “Make my dress look good!”
She leaves me. Quite happily, she lets herself be escorted away, and then I’m just standing there literally shaking in my boots.
“Okay, everyone back in position!” Paul the director shouts, and everyone around me starts moving back into the trees. I follow their lead, shrinking under the spotlight. “Eyes toward the pond. Slow and steady. Backs straight. Aaand three, two—”
The clapboard slaps shut, and we start walking again. We do one take, two takes, five takes, nine takes. On the tenth take, Paul starts walking up to me, and I don’t know whether to be ashamed that I let everyone down or relieved that they’ve finally realized I’m no star.
He’s a skinny guy in skinny jeans, gray at his temples and long in his chin. “Hey, Red, listen . . . What’s your name?”
Everyone is staring at me—the extras at my sides, the staff on the grass, the band out on the pond, Dee somewhere that is extremely not helpful to me. My voice is tiny and shy when I answer, “Hailey.”
“Hailey,” Paul repeats softly, smiling at me. “What’s your last name, Hailey?”
“Harper.”
“Hailey Harper.” Still smiling, he places his hands on my shoulders. “You’re my star, Hailey Harper. Jillian was a genius casting you. We love everything about you. Your dress, your hair, your walk. You’ve got this really sweet, really sexy vibe going, and we love it . . . but we need to work on your face.”
“My face . . .”
“It’s gorgeous. Your big amber eyes and your long eyelashes. I love that you went with a nude shimmer for your lips. Really, beautiful.” He squeezes my shoulder. “But Hailey, you look scared to death.”
An embarrassed blush stains my cheeks, and I struggle to swallow.
“Let’s talk about your motivation, okay?”
“My motivation . . .”
Paul smiles and nods. “Have you ever had your heart broken?”
I think about it a moment, and then I shake my head.
Frowning, he asks, “Really? Not even once?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, and after a moment, a light chuckle escapes him.
“No, a pretty girl like you, I guess not. Okay, well, can you pretend? Can you think of a time you were really sad or depressed?”