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“That’s…normal?” I asked.
She nodded. “You remember when I tried out that whole butterfly identity?”
“Definitely.” I snorted at the memory. “You wore those butterfly clips in your hair all the time. And I had to convince you not to get that huge tattoo of wings on your back.”
“And I called myself Flutterbuns.”
“Yes.I almost forgot that, and it’s the best part!”
With a wistful look, Layana said, “Personally, I liked the colorful eyeshadow best.”
“You did rock those orange, pink, and yellow blends.”
“That’s right I did.” She nodded and smiled as she looked off into the distance, like she could picture her past self clearly, and she totally approved.
A tall man with the orangest hair I’d ever seen sidled up to me. He quirked up a brow so orange, it could totally have been a cheese curl.“Hi.”
“Hi,” I said, leaning closer to Layana.
“I’m Chester,” he said.
Oh, no. He was going with a persona of Chester Cheese Curl, wasn’t he? Like some kind of riff off the Cheetos cheetah. He had a weird vibe, and I wasn’t sure if it was all the orange, the distant look in his hooded eyes, or the fact that he’d creeped up on me without making a sound. It was probably some combination of all three.
“Morgan,” I said.
“Layana.” My bestie shot him a wave.
Fortunately, before Chester could tell us whether he lived a cheese curl lifestyle or not, two people joined us, forming a little circle. Neither appeared to be wearing a costume of any sort, which was reassuring. I couldn’t afford to get kicked off the first day due to not properly hamming up my appearance.
The pair were already talking, and Chester slipped right into the conversation. Before I could catch up, or catch the newcomers’ names, Gilbert called mine.
“Montrose.”
I turned around. He hooked a finger and started walking, not waiting to see if I would follow or not.
Layana gave my arm a squeeze of encouragement, then shot me two thumbs up as I scurried after Gilbert.
“You’re the one who said you hate television, then you bludgeoned that poor man with a sledgehammer, right?”
That made me sound horrible. Also, it wasn’t true. I licked my lips trying to find the right words to respond.
“Yes.” He tapped the clipboard. “I see it here.”
“It was a crafting hammer,” I said weakly.
“You’re going to play one of the villains, clearly, so I’m going to need you to pose in front of the green screen there, and put on your bitchiest face.”
“I don’t—”
“Just like that. It’s perfect.” He grabbed my upper arms and backed me where he wanted me. “Right. Over. Here. Yes, scowl like you’re going to tear this place apart with your attitude alone.”
I blinked into the bright lights, with what I felt like was an expression of confusion and remorse, not animosity. Either way, Gilbert seemed to like what he was seeing, as he kept offering words of encouragement as the camera flashed and a video camera panned to get my “villain face” from different angles.
I could do this. Keeping this role meant a place to live and food to eat for not only me, but for Miso and Tristan, too. They were depending on me.
Time went by somehow both in a flood and a trickle.
When everyone seemed satisfied, they brought me past a long table filled with food I felt too sick to eat. I’d have to remember to grab some when the day was done.
