“All right. Should we get started?” He grabs his script. “I haven’t learned my lines yet.”
“We’re an hour away from filming.” I shoot him a confused look.
“I like to get a sense of my scene partner before learning my lines so I don’t get stuck in one register.” He smiles. I cock an eyebrow. That sounds like BS. “Fine, fine. I had other things to do. But this is TV. The guy playing my dad? Earpiece, lines constantly streaming in. And the writers love to tweak things last minute. You’ve got to be ready to course correct.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” I grunt. I mean, he’s not wrong. It’s like being onstage. You can’t always give your audience the same performance. But I’m not feeling the attitude. Or maybe he’s just different from his character. I expected him to be a golden-retriever person.
All right, Sasha, you can do this.
“You must be new around here. Fuck. Sorry. That was your line.” My hands tremble around the pages, and I seem to have forgotten how to speak EnglishandSpanish, both of which my character is supposed to speak.
You’re going to disappoint everyone, says the annoying voice in my head.You’re going to get fired and rumors are going to spread about how incompetent you are.
“Sorry, just give me un segundo, um, a second.” I clear my throat. My brain is filled with static. “Must be the jet lag.”
“Are you nervous?”
“I’m fine.” I gulp. “I’ve shot music videos before, and—”
“This is different,” he says, his expression softening lightly. “Look, I get it. I was nervous the first time I had to be on set, too. I nearly shat myself. Seriously, it was a close call.”
“Didn’t you grow up in the industry?”
“Exactly. Everyone expected me to be as good as my mum, and I didn’t want to disappoint.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
He’s a nepo baby. Even if he did disappoint, it wouldn’t matter. He’s got nothing to lose. He’d still get cast in something else.
“Oh, I did. It was so bad that Stella had me do the spaghetti exercise… in front of the entire crew.” A rueful smile touches his lips. “It was a crying scene, too. Imagine having to play a scene where you’re being taken away from your parents shoutingSpaghetti! Spa… ghe… tti…Trust me, you can’t do worse than that.” A hint of color rises in his cheeks. There’s a certain distance to the way he speaks about himself, like even when he’s sharing something, he’s holding back. “Try again. You’re not doing bad. I mean, you’re not doing great, either, but you’re getting there.”
In some way, I appreciate the bluntness. There’s no trace of judgment in his voice this time, though, and despite his cockiness, something about him feels oddly reassuring. I clear my throat and scramble to my feet, discarding my script and mustering my confidence. I can do this. I’ve sung in front of thousands of people. I can definitely say a few lines in front of a camera.
Asher and I go back to the main stage to familiarize ourselves with the layout of the fake forest. We rehearse until I’m able to say my lines cleanly, and after a few times, I’m even having fun with it.
“Wait, don’t go, there are explosives—” I cut myself short when a whimper cuts through the air, coming from behind one of the fake trees.
Asher’s eyes narrow at something in the back among the shrubbery. Peeking out from the foliage is a girl, no older than five, tears streaming down her face.
“Hey, sweetheart, why are you crying?” I crouch down to meet her eyes.
The girl directs her gaze to the animatronics that look like giant broken toys. “They’re scary.”
“Scary? My friends? Nah, look.” To my surprise, Asher throws himself at one of the animatronics, hugging it like a koala.
“Asher, I swear to God, if you don’t get down from there!” A voice echoes from somewhere on set. I look around, but I can’t spot anyone.
“They’re very cuddly. See?” Asher ignores the voice and wraps the animatronics’ arms around himself, making it seem as if the toy is hugging him back. The girl’s tears turn into hesitant giggles.
“What’s your name?” I ask, taking her hand to pull her from the fake foliage. She’s in costume, her face stained with fake soil and a bow around her ponytail. She must be one of the extras.
“Lily.”
“Lily. That’s a beautiful name,” Asher says warmly. “I’m Asher. Did you get lost? I know there’s a scene with a bunch of kids today. Survivors from the spaceship. Are your parents on set?”
Lily nods, her small hands bunching. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I get lost all the time.” Asher smiles. It feels honest, and, for a moment, I feel like I’m staring at a different person than the Asher from five minutes ago. This Asher is softer, less guarded.
