Page 13 of Isabella and the Slipper

Any word on the audition?

No callbacks yet. Looking good.

What do you hate about acting?

That was a difficult question. He hated a lot of things. For one, standing around forever waiting. Waiting for his scene. Waiting for the lighting crew. Waiting for the right time of day. And then shooting the same scene over and over. It was maddening. Plus, it took up large chunks of his time. He wanted to be hanging out with his friends or tossing a football, not standing on a set waiting for his turn.

He punched in his response.It’s tedious. Also, I don’t want to quit school.

Ah, I see. Why does your mom want you to act?

He almost started typing about how his mother wanted him to become a famous actor because she thought it would save them financially, but he stopped and deleted it. No need to spread that all over school. They lived in a big home. Anyone looking at them would think they had a lot of money. He probably shouldn’t tell them otherwise. Plus, it wasn’t entirely true. Instead, he typed:She wants me to have a good career.

Tell her you want to be a doctor.

He chuckled. Yeah, right.

What do you want to be when you grow up, Five?

While he waited for her answer, he stood and stretched his back. “Time to get to bed, Cora.”

His sister shook her head. “Five more minutes? Please?”

“All right.” He plopped back down on the couch. He was a pushover.

Artist, like my dad.

I want to see what you’ve been painting. Take a pic for me?

Apparently he wasn’t paying enough attention to his sister because she climbed up on his lap and handed him a book. “Read to me.”

He glanced at his phone before he started, wondering if she’d send the picture. When he finished reading the book she still hadn’t sent it. He must have pushed too far.

“Come on, it’s time for pajamas.”

“Okay.” Cora ran to her bedroom and dressed for bed, then brushed her teeth.

After he got her settled, he entered his bedroom and sat down on his bed. The phone chimed, and excitement shot through him. She’d sent it! He pressed on the photo to enlarge it.

Bright-red poppies filled the bottom three quarters, under a blue sky. The way it was painted, he could feel the wind blowing through the flowers. The movement was so apparent in the way the paint was applied. He was shocked that a high schooler could paint like that.

Snap, you’re good. Where did you learn that?

From my father.

Her father? An idea hit him. Maybe he could Google and find out who her father was.

Is he a famous painter?

Silence. Maybe he hit on something.

He opened his Safari app and searched “Famous Painters in Los Angeles.” He found a website that listed a bunch of California artists and showed examples of their work. As he scrolled through, though, he didn’t see anything quite like what Five had done. Maybe her style wasn’t that similar? Or maybe he wasn’t famous?

A text came through.Nice try.

He chuckled.I’m going to find out who you are sooner or later, Five.

Good luck.

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