Page 14 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

I’ve dreamed of this moment since the tenth grade, when I starred in Paradise’s production ofHairspray.I didn’t necessarily want to be an actress, but I liked performing. I wanted to be famous. But in a lowkey, I’m-still-a-regular-person kind of way. Like the female version of Keanu Reeves.

With the first house to be renovated behind me, the film crew in front of me, and Zach and Stella on either side, I feel like I’m on the cusp of realizing my dream.I can do this.

Then a truck pulls up, gravel crunching under its tires, music blasting. Even though I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back in Paradise, I know exactly who it is. My chest tightens with anticipation as the truck comes to a stop and the music goes quiet. I glance at the film crew, hoping they’re not rolling.

Unfortunately, Nick pans the camera toward the newest arrival, and Gracyn—almost as tall as Nick—swings her mic in the same direction as Sebastian steps out of his truck.

“Hey, Ham!” he calls.

I put on my practiced smile, ready to be hugged by him. I’ll hug him back, of course. That’s not the part I mind at all. I’ve always liked Seb, despite the fact he hasn’t called me by my real name in over a decade.

But before Seb reaches me, Zach intercepts him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You don’t need to be here, and don’t call her that name.” He turns Seb around and, with a gentle push, sends him back toward his truck.

Seb tries to turn, but he’s no match against Zach. The whole scene is Newton’s first law of motion in action: an object will not change its path unless a force acts on it. Zach is that force. With little effort, he guides Seb toward his truck.

On his way, he calls over his shoulder to the film crew, “Strike that tape, or whatever it is you do, if you filmed that.”

I stare at him. Good thing it’s too cold for bugs to survive, otherwise I’d have a mouth full of gnats. Zach has never stopped anyone from calling me Ham.

“We weren’t rolling, but hold up!” Ike turns to me. “Who is that?”

“Sebastian Sparks, our electrician,” I answer. “Not sure why he showed up four weeks early.”

“An electrician with the last name Sparks?” Ike raises the Sam Elliot a laYellowstonemustache that passes for his eyebrows. “He’s a friend of yours?”

I nod reluctantly.

“We need him, especially with that name.”

I open my mouth to protest, but it’s too late.

“Let’s do that again!” Ike yells before Zach can force Seb into his truck, then he turns back to me. “We need shots of you greeting hometown friends. If he’s going to be working on the house, all the better. Fewer consent and release forms to deal with.”

I’m about to remind Ike about the clause in my contract that prohibits any film of people calling me Ham, but Zach beats me to it.

“Call her Georgia this time,” he orders Seb, loud enough for everyone to hear, then lets him go. “No one on set is allowed to call her by that name you used. And no one off-camera should.”

If my mouth was wide open before, it’s taken things to a whole new level now. My chin is somewhere near the ground. I don’t even remember telling Zach I asked for that clause.

After Seb slides back into his truck, Ike walks to Stella and hands her the clapper board. “Do you mind doing this part when I tell you?”

Her eyes go wide, and she snatches it from his hands. “OMG. I’ve always wanted one of these things.” Without waiting, she lifts the arm and claps it down. “ACTION!”

Ike sighs. “Wait for my cue, please. We need to actually have the camera ready to go.”

“Okay, sorry! I got excited.” Stella bounces from one foot to the other, waiting for Ike’s cue. “This is seriously already the best job ever,” she says to me.

I return her smile. Not just because I’m happy she’s excited, but also because, if he can keep Seb from calling me Ham, maybe Zach can keep everyone else from doing it too.

Ike gives Stella the cue, she calls out “Action” again, and the clap of the board is followed by the slam of Sebastian’s truck door.

“Georgia Rose!” he yells with his arms up. “Is that you?”

Then he runs to me, putting on a show like he’s been on camera a million times. He scoops me in his arms, lifting me off the ground and squeezing tight enough to cut off my circulation. “It’s good to have you home!”

This he says loud enough for the mic, but as he sets me down, he whispers in my ear, “Sorry about that first take. Can I still call you Ham off camera?”

I almost say yes. It’s still such a reflex to blow off my own hurt in order to make other people happy. But I stop myself and shake my head. “Not anymore.”

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