Page 38 of Marisol Acts the Part
“Someone’s not keeping calm and slaying the day,” she responds, pointing to the framed quote on the wall beside the kitchenette with an expression so serious it makes me snort.
“Sorry, I was too busy”—I reach for the pillow behind my head—“ ‘Carpe diem–ing this bitch.’ ”
This time, we both burst into giggles, finally addressing the tacky elephant in the room. It’s impressive, really. How the hell did one person manage to find decor for every single cringe phrase from the last millennium?
While I can’t lie and say I don’t miss the chaos of sharing a trailer with a gaggle of my former castmates, having Jamila as a trailer-mate has made this latest experience significantly more bearable. There’s only so much I can do to adjust to the quick changes Rune is always throwing at us, but the techniques Jamila texted me, along with the line-reading app she recommended I download, have made an enormous difference. So much so that I’m actually starting to think Rune doesn’t completely hate me. Jury’s still out, but I’m definitely not the cast troublemaker anymore.
At least for now.
I pull myself off the couch when someone starts poundingon the door. They must need me back on set sooner than we thought—so much for trying that taco truck. “Coming,” I call out while grabbing one of the various horrific headbands my character wears. Between this and the platinum blond hair, I look like one of those porcelain dolls whose eyes watch you wherever you go.
I throw open the door and walk directly into the very solid and sculpted chest of the PA sent to retrieve me. Since when is one of the PAs jacked?
Except it’s not a PA. I’ve walked directly into my ex-boyfriend’s very solid and sculpted chest, because of course I have.
“Hey.” He’s sturdy, like a brick wall. Even with the full force of my body I hardly moved him. “Jamila here?”
It takes longer than I care to admit for me to be able to put the dots together. Miles. Outside. Jamila. Inside. Memorizing those lines reallydidturn my brain into soup. Thankfully, Jamila comes to my rescue.
“Thanks again,” she says, accepting theNew Yorkertote bag she always carries around from his outstretched hand. She must’ve left it on set after their scene together this morning.
Miles nods in reply, our eyes catching for one too-long, too-charged second before he murmurs goodbye and finally closes the door behind him.
That’s one thing that hasn’t changed in the past two weeks. Me and Miles. Or, rather, the lack of me and Miles.
Again, my goal was never to rekindle the spark between us. If anything, I wanted to prove that I didn’t need him as much as he didn’t need me. And I’m definitely doing that. The nights are lonelier without someone to text random videos toor ask if they’d love me if I was a worm. Especially with Lily and Posie on a round-the-clock shooting schedule in an entirely different time zone. But life without Miles doesn’t feel as lonely as it once did. Especially now that my days are filled with running lines with Jamila or making plans to go shopping with Kevin. Life feels fresh, and exciting, and hopeful.
Suddenly, Jamila clears her throat. I snap back to reality, pushing the trailer door open again and heading out like we originally planned. Jamila follows closely behind me as we head for the taco truck around the block, the silence making my skin prickle.
“Is there, uh…” She clears her throat again, avoiding meeting my gaze. “Something going on between you two?”
“Me and Miles?” I ask, even though, hello, it should be obvious. Jamila nods, something unusual building between the two of us. Tension, or maybe fear. And I’m not sure which is worse.
“We were costars, back onAvalon Grove,” I say, unsure where to begin with our story. Since her sister is a fan of the show, it’s likely Jamila already knows about that part of my and Miles’s past. I’m not sure how much she knows, though, so might as well start at the beginning.
“We dated for a while. But…” I pause, weighing how much I’m willing to tell her. Whether it’s worth pulling open a half-healed wound.
“You’re not together anymore,” Jamila says, finishing that thought for me, and I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement.
I nod stiffly. “It was splashed across every gossip site youcan think of,” I say with a roll of my eyes, not bothering to hide the bitterness in my tone.
Jamila wrinkles her nose. “I don’t pay attention to those,” she says quickly, as if to reassure me. And it does, strangely enough. Knowing that there’s someone who hasn’t seen me at my lowest moment. Who doesn’t think of me as the teeny-bopper actress who got dumped and took her frustration out on paparazzi.
Someone who can know me for me.
“I’m sorry, though,” she adds quietly, shifting as though she’s going to reach out for me, but deciding against it. “Breakups suck.”
I do my best to shrug nonchalantly, but there’s not a nonchalant bone in my body.It was for the bestsits on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. Was our breakup really for the best? It got me here—to this show, to sharing a trailer with Jamila, to this moment. That’s enough, right?
“It’s fine,” I finally settle on. “I’ve moved on. I’m sure he’s moving on too.”
“Nothing’s going on between us,” Jamila adds abruptly, waving her arms as if to clear the air of the idea that he’s moving on withher.
My heart stutters, and I resist the urge to exhale sharply. The thought of Miles and Jamila falling for each other has definitely crossed my mind at least once…. Fine. Multiple times. But you can’t blame me when their chemistry on set is so palpable, half the crew has to fan themselves off whenever we call cut. They’re usually huddled close between scenes, heads pressed together as they watch videos and scroll throughsocial media together. Occasionally, Miles drops a photo of her on his story, and I try to convince myself it doesn’t hurt every time he does.
Clearly, I’ve been doing a terrible job.
“O-oh,” I stammer out, not sure if I’m mortified or relieved by her assurance. “It—it’d be fine if you were, though,” I add quickly. The last thing I want to be is the resident bitter ex. If Miles and Jamila are meant to be, they’re meant to be. And their stunning babies will grace the cover ofVoguebefore they turn one.
