Page 36 of Marisol Acts the Part
“Who are you?!” I shout, pressing my keys between my knuckles and holding them up as a weapon, and a warning.
“Whoa, whoa.” He immediately holds his hands up in surrender, backing away from the boxes until he’s flat against the opposite wall. “Your dad told me to come over because you needed your nails done.”
My brain—already fried from a day of learning Rune’s endless line adjustments—struggles to put the pieces together. Fragments of my last conversation with Dad come back to mind—his promise that my cousin could come over and help me out with my dire nail situation.
“You’re Kevin?” I ask, slowly lowering my key-weapon, but not letting my guard down yet.
The longer I stare at him, the more I can kind of see the family resemblance. His skin and hair are several shades darker than both mine and Dad’s, closer to Jerome’s complexion, but he has the same natural wave to his hair that I’ve had since birth. The same light brown eyes with subtle flecks of gold.Even the same slight gap between his front teeth that I hated so much I begged Mom for braces for my eighth birthday.
“The one and only,” he says with a flourish, resting a hand on his hip now that he’s no longer on his guard. “Andyoumust be the famous cousin.”
I swallow hard. It’s not untrue, but I’m not sure that’s the name I want to make for myself with the family I’m just getting to know. “I’m not really—”
“Don’t try to be humble,” Kevin interrupts with a wave of his hand. “Anyone who has over a million followers is definitely famous.”
I consider explaining that several people I know have bought a couple hundred thousand followers to make themselves seem more popular than they actually are, but that’s gossip for another day. Instead, his nose wrinkles when he catches sight of my hand resting limply at my side, and he crosses the room to take it into his own. My cheeks flush as he examines my chewed-up nails, practically bitten down to the nubs. The hair and makeup departments were able to cover them up with some basic nude press-ons for shooting, but having my bare, unpolished nails bared to the world feels like walking around in my underwear.
“Your dad’s right. Youdoneed my help,” Kevin says before pulling me toward the dining table.
Bruiser follows diligently at my heel, keeping a watchful eye on us as we settle down at Kevin’s makeshift workstation. He definitely came prepared, his supplies laid out across the kitchen table, transforming it into a full-scale salon. As soon as we’re both sitting down, Kevin gets straight to work on pushing back my wrecked cuticles.
“So, I know you probably signed a million NDAs and whatever, but I’m guessing you’re here to film something fancy,” he says without taking his eyes off his work.
I nod. “It’s the second season of this show calledThe Limit.”
While I still have to keep the details under wraps, there’s no harm in telling him what I’m here to film. With the cast announcement going up this week, it’s only a matter of days before the rest of the world knows why I’m here anyway.
Kevin’s brows shoot up and he stalls between my ring finger and pinkie to glance up at me with his lips parted in a comically huge O. “Wait, isn’t that the same show your ex is supposedly on?”
The heat in my cheeks spreads all the way down to my toes. Strangers knowing the intimate details of my life isn’t unusual, but there’s something different about it coming from a family member. I barely know anything about Kevin, yet he already knows I had a disastrous breakup with my ex,andthat I’m on the same show as said ex. Like my life is the TV show everyone’s tuning into every week to see.
“Y-yeah,” I choke out, trying to hide how flustered the question made me by ducking my chin against my chest, hopefully hiding my reddened cheeks.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to be nosy,” Kevin says quickly. “It was so wild to see the breakup on the news and be like, ‘Hey, that’s my cousin!’ Sort of. I mean, not that you’re not my cousin,but—”
“But we’ve never met before. I get it,” I finish for him, giving him a soft smile.
Kevin meets my smile with one of his own before turning back to his work, focusing on buffing and shaping my nails toprepare them for the clear polish he set aside. “So, what’s it like? Filming on a set?”
I shrug, making sure not to move my hands too much. “Kind of like any other job, I guess. It can be really fun, too. Like you’re having a really long sleepover with your friends. Most of the time.”
He peeks up at me with a raised brow. “Most of the time?”
“This show’s not as…fun. But it makes sense as a next step in my career. It’s more intense than the other stuff I’ve done.” I choose my words carefully. The last thing I want is to come off as ungrateful for the opportunities I’ve been lucky enough to have.
“Does that have to do with the fact that your ex is there?”
“No,” I answer quickly, shaking my head to hammer home the sentiment. “I mean, not really. I didn’t join the show to try to get back together with him or anything. It’s just…weird. Seeing him there. Remembering everything he said when we broke up.” I trail off for a moment, shaking off the memories of that night. “Makes it hard to believe in myself sometimes, I guess.”
Kevin sets down the nail file to give me a wide grin, the gap between his front teeth on full, proud display. “Well, youarea Rodriguez. You’ve got star power in your blood.”
“Thanks,” I reply, a new kind of warmth swelling inside of me. The good kind, this time. The same warmth I felt having dinner with Abuela last week, finally filling in the empty branches on my family tree. Not feeling like a stranger to my own life anymore. When I got here, I didn’t feel like much of a Rodriguez. But it’s hard not to now—with people like Abuela and Kevin welcoming me with such open arms.It’s even harder not to wonder how much I’ve been missing outon.
I examine my nails while Kevin starts opening the polish. “You’re really good at this.” Not that I didn’t think he would be, but I’m still pleasantly surprised by how perfectly my nails have been restored, even before the polish. I’m too uncoordinated to paint my own nails, and the few times I’ve asked Mom to do it she’s never been able to stay within the lines, like a toddler learning how to color.
“Remember that the next time you need someone to help you get ready for the red carpet,” Kevin says with a wink.
We remain silent while Kevin concentrates on applying even, smooth layers of polish. Between hands, I catch him glancing over at the boxes crowding the tables—the same ones he was rummaging through when I got here.
