June
Chapter OneUnited States
Stories sell. People think of directors and screenwriters as the ultimate storytellers—human gods shaping real life into fables. But really it’s me, the camera. A documentary is where metalworkers become heroes and empty store shelves become plot. Veterans in vacant fields, tiny pageant queens, real life made better. Documentarians can’t promise our subject matter will stay neat and pretty after the credits roll; after all, happily ever after doesn’t exist in real life.
But for a moment there, at the end of a documentary? My movies can trick you into thinking that the world makes sense.
Andthat’sa story people want to buy.
“Hey, it’s me again. I managed to find a cab, so now I’m standing out front of this… building.” I blow a strand of hair from my face and squint at the intimidatingly large locked gate. “Can you text me the code to get in? I can’t find it in the email.”
I end the voicemail to my boyfriend, Max Black. Then I wait. And wait. He must be busy—like me, he can get distracted—so I swallow my pride and press the call button to the front office. “Lilah Graywood from Black & Graywood here,” I tell the intercom. “Do you mind letting me in the front door? It’s a little hot outside.”
The intercom crackles ominously. Then a voice slithers out. “The schedule says you should’ve signed in at eight a.m. with your business partner?”
“Sorry. My flight was delayed.” And mybusiness partnerrefused to skip the morning meeting to pick me up from the airport after I moved from Washington, D.C. to Glory Run, Texas for him. And all the rideshares were booked until tomorrow morning, making me spend cash I didn’t have on a cab I didn’t want to take. And—you get the gist. Bad day, busy boyfriend, new job.
The door buzzes as it unlocks. “The documentary crew is in the pool training room. Go down the water aerobics hallway, then left, then right, then right, then slightly straight before another left.”
“Sorry, that was left and then…?”
No reply.
I love my job. I love my life. I love this world I’ve built myself.I repeat my words of affirmation as I wander through the brightly lit hallways of Ignition Energy Drink Racing’s Formula 1 training facility. Yup. Formula 1. After graduating from film school, starting my own documentary company with my then-best-friend, now-boyfriend, and winning the Rising Documentary Director Award for our film about a congressman’s campaign-trail sex scandal—total luck, right place at the right time with the right questions—Max had decided we’re trading politics for motorsports.
Because, as he put it,Formula 1 is cool and it’ll make us fuck-you money.
Weirdly, I don’t feel cool as I navigate the glossy orange-and-white hallways, still in my wrinkled plane clothes and completely alone. I feel like my creative life partner has gone off the deep end. But it’s fine. This whole building smells like fluorescent light bulbs and citrus Clorox, and it wants to impress the same fear of God inme as an ancient gothic cathedral while looking like aClockwork Orangeset, and I may be contributing to the death of the ozone layer by even stepping foot in here, but it’s fine.
Max is still my best friend.
I can still talk him out of making this movie.
As I open a door blissfully labeled POOL in huge block letters, I sneak in a gulp of what I hope will be meditative, centering air. Instead, the sharp smell of chlorine kicks me in the teeth. And the sunshine. Suddenly I’m standing in a giant glass-topped room, with an Olympic-sized pool rippling in the center of it. I blink, disoriented. I’ve never been able to tell how much cash has been poured into a company from the size of apool, but yeah, this isn’t the Kentucky public parks system.
This is a whole new world.
I spot a lanky, brown-haired man next to a petite blonde woman, and my heart somersaults with relief. I’d know Max anywhere. Even if every facet of this sports facility makes me uncanny-valley levels of uncomfortable, Max is here, so I’m okay. “Hey!” I say as loudly as I can emotionally muster.
Everyone turns to look at me. Max with his adorable surprise, the blonde with her high bouncing ponytail, and all the important-looking people in matching neon orange athleisure at the end of the pool, helping a tan man with golden hair stretch out his calves. Mission critical work, I’m sure.
My face heats all the way through from the attention. “Sorry,” I stage-whisper, scuttling over.
“Lilah, hey, I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show.” Max’s dark eyes shift between me and the blonde.
“My plane was late, but I’m here now.” I hold out my hand, determined to prove to this new person that I am, in fact, a consummateprofessional documentarian and not only a woman who yells excitedly when she finds her boyfriend. Not that she would know that Max and I are dating. We keep our relationship on the down-low; people are likelier to invest in us if they aren’t worried we’re about to break up. His idea.
The woman takes my hand with a fluorescent smile. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you. I’m Sarah, marketing manager here at Ignition and who Max has been emailing with since last… gosh, how long has it been now? December?” She looks at him with an equally cheery grin, almost conspiratorial, like they had to email their life stories back and forth to arrange for this production. “Our team principal, Holmes Bianco, adores your documentary about the congressman. The one who cheated on his wife? He couldn’t stop raving about how great you made him look!”
Naturally. The big boss man of a sports team would enjoy an accidental image scrub. “I, um, didn’t realize people would be that sympathetic toward him after watching it.”
“Youmadehim human. You have a gift. If you ever want to get away from this guy and into marketing”—Sarah winks—“we’d love having you as a videographer.”
I force a smile. She’s being nice. She doesn’t know that to me, filming expensive race cars and the problematic men who drive them feels like a personal failing. “Hey, no poaching my camera girl,” Max laughs, and now my smile is real. It’s one of our inside jokes: He’s the heart of Black & Graywood, the handsome and funny people person, and I’m the head. Analytical and quiet, with an encyclopedic understanding of camera angles and cinema verité. We’re a package deal.
And after a childhood of bouncing around the foster system until my parents adopted me, I have to hand it to this whole not-being-alone thing.
Being part of a package? Way better than the alternative.
