Page 21 of A Little Bit Extra

“And your mom?”

“She just follows the lead of my dad. We don’t have much of a relationship.”

“Oh.” There’s sadness in her voice. If anyone knows what it’s like to have a dream that feels so close, yet so far away, it’s Cassie. Her dream of acting has been at her fingertips, but out of grasp.

“It’s okay though. I enjoy acting, I do.” I try to sound convincing, but the way she’s looking at me, I know she sees through my lie. “Do you, um, want to read some of my writing?”

She nods so enthusiastically that I worry she’s going to fall out of her chair.

“Okay, okay, don’t get too excited.” I laugh with her. “I don’t show many people this, only my core group of friends. This means you’re included in that, so if you want to read this, promise not to sell my secrets to the media.” I glance at her over my shoulder as I make my way down the hallway.

She takes her hand and pretends to draw an ‘x’ over her heart. “Promise.”

6

Cassie

Emmett guides me down the hallway to his office. I'm shocked at how quickly our friendship has developed. I still won't go past that line with him, but that doesn't mean I don't want to.

It helps that he is nothing like any other actor I’ve ever met. Sure, he’s proud of his successes, but he doesn’t weave his awards and movies into every conversation. That happened most of the time on dates with other actors. It was like they were always trying to one-up me.

Instead, Emmett has dreams like I do. It shouldn’t be surprising, but it’s hard to not be jealous of someone who has what I want. Who doesn’t have to work for what I want. I would say that some people are born lucky in life, but there’s always something you don’t know.

Emmett feels like he can’t chase his dream. He feels stuck, and he’s having to live up to his family’s expectations, even though he doesn’t even seem to like them that much.

I get it though. I rarely talk to my mom now that I’ve moved here. It’s not that we don’t like each other, she just doesn’t support me, and it’s hard to love someone when they aren’t rooting for you.

“Here.” Emmett hands me a stack of papers held together by a paperclip. “You can read this. It’s one of my favorite short stories.”

I stand in the doorway and look around to find a place to sit. This is my first time seeing this room. When I was here yesterday, I only came down the hallway to use the bathroom.

Bookshelves line the left wall, and they are overflowing. There are books on every shelf, in front of the books on the shelves, and in piles on the floor. There is a desk against the far wall. While his bookshelf is messy, his desk is pristine. A laptop sits in the middle with a notebook and single pen to its right. That’s it. To my right is a couch. I walk over and have a seat.

Emmett’s still standing by the door.

“I’m going to make us some tea. It’s going to take you a moment to read through that,” he says.

“Okay, that sounds great.”

I grab a blanket off the back of the couch, drape it over my legs, and begin reading.

A few minutes later, Emmett brings me a mug of tea and sets it on the end table next to me. Smells of cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg fill the room. Chai, my favorite. It’s the same tea he made me last night.

I take a sip and watch Emmett walk over to the bookshelf. He stares for a moment at the shelves, looking around like he can’t find what he’s searching for. I take the small time I have to appreciate the view. His hair appears effortless, falling perfectly around his face. He’s dressed casually tonight, just a simple shirt and jeans, yet it accentuates all the right places and it’s hard to tear my eyes away.

When he finds what he was looking for, he turns back around and sits next to me on the couch. His gaze meets mine and his lips turn up in a soft smile.

“Let me know when you’re done. I’m curious to hear your thoughts.”

I let him know I will, but I’m not sure I’ll know how to put my thoughts into words.

I take the next 30 minutes to read through his short story. The narrative tells the story of a man who was forced to move every year. He’d make friends and then say goodbye to them. Some years he tried to maintain a long-distance friendship, but it was never reciprocated. Over time, he stopped trying. Until one day, someone took a chance on him. The story ends with the man saying yes to hang out with someone new. It was about friendship, both lost and found, and it was beautiful.

I look up from the pages when I’m done to find Emmett staring at me. He has his elbow on the back of the couch, propping up his head on his hand.

“I hope your silence means you liked it,” he says. I can see he’s trying to be confident but is fearful to hear my thoughts.

“I did.” I add a pause for dramatic flair. Emmett knows it. He’s fidgeting with the tea packet while waiting for me to respond. “I thought it was a beautiful story, and I can see you in it. I get why you act, but I could picture you writing full time if you wanted to. This story was heart-wrenching but in the best way. I felt for the characters, and I liked that although there was a loss of friendship, the main character found themselves by the end. I even liked the small cliffhanger, where you think they made a new friend, but you’re not sure. It was wonderful, Emmett. Thank you for sharing it with me. I know it’s difficult.”

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