In other words, let’s get this over with.
Mallory must hear the unspoken command same as I do. “Right,” she says. “So on page seventeen—”
“Do you know why I want this cold, Neevah?” Canon interrupts.
I look up from the script in my hands to find his dark, disconcerting gaze trained on my face.
Is this a trick question? If so, it’s working.
“Um, I guess—”
“Let me just tell you because again, I’m short on time. When I do a documentary, it’s with real-life subjects—people with true stories to tell. You don’t know anything about this movie, but it’s a true story. It’s a life story, and though I’ll take some creative license, I’m looking for someone true. In a documentary, the subject usually doesn’t rehearse to be on camera because it’s about honesty and about instinct and immediacy. There usually aren’t takes. You’ve never read what’s on page seventeen, so I’m not judging if you trip over words or anything like that. I’m looking for truth—who you really are as an artist and as a person. That’s more important to me than if you can memorize lines for an audition and polish up real good to impress us for ten minutes.”
That’s the most words he’s ever spoken to me and I’m trying to absorb them. Trying to use what he just gave me to do my best. To show him who I actually am and to tell the truth.
“Okay,” he says. “Now in the script, turn to page seventeen.”