Page 10 of Method Acting

His craft of sitcom acting, mind you—like that was barely one rung higher than reality TV on the ladder of credibility—but still... he was serious about it.

And he was good at it.

He’d make a perfect male lead in a sitcom like Friends or 90210.

He was made for it.

Or blockbuster movie leading roles for the blue-eyed American dreamboat, like the next Brad Pitt or Austin Butler. That’s the kind of actor he was.

I was more of a weird Finn Wolfhard or Keanu Reeves. I could fill the quirky roles like Stranger Things or The Matrix.

Or the serial killer roles like Dexter.

Or yes, James Dean. He was a remarkable actor who never got the chance to explore what he was capable of or show the world his true talent.

And because I’d done a showcase on him, I was labeled a James Dean wannabe. And that wasn’t terrible.

Successful and hot weren’t bad ways to start. Dead at twenty-four, not so much.

Was James Dean ever a barista? Did he need to bus tables at a college coffeehouse and make drinks with a fake customer-service smile?

I highly doubted it.

Though it was good practice for acting. I just had to act like a good barista who liked people.

That’s how I thought of it anyway.

I tied my apron around my waist and ducked in behind the counter, slipping into work mode alongside Mason.

“Hey,” he said. He was a senior like me and he’d worked here for as long as I had. Over two years now. He was the type to have his head down and work and not engage in small talk, which was why I liked him.

Working at the Bean Necessities really wasn’t that bad. It was close to my dorm. I just had to walk across the road, basically. I was luckier than some. Given I didn’t have to commute, I didn’t need a car. There were no crazy late nights. Some early morning starts but they weren’t the worst.

Plus, I got free coffee and sandwiches with a staff discount.

Not too bad at all.

“How was your day?” Mason asked.

“Pretty good so far. How about you?”

He checked his watch. “I finish in five, so it’s getting better every minute.”

I glanced around the kinda quiet shop. “You can clock out now if you want. I got this.”

He brightened. “You sure?”

Just then, four people came in, loud and... familiar.

Because of course he’d come in here today.

“Damn,” Mason mumbled. “Maybe next time.” Then he smiled at the guys who’d just walked in. “Hey, what can I getcha?”

Jimmy was at the front. “I’ll take an iced Americano.”

“I’ll have the same, with a turkey sub,” the second guy replied. His name was Tate, I was pretty sure. They called him Tater Tot, which was awful.

“Chase.” Jimmy gave him a nudge. “Whaddya want?”

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