Page 39 of Marisol Acts the Part
Jamila snorts—which is definitely not the response I expected. “That won’t be happening anytime soon.” She ducks her head bashfully when I quirk a brow. “I’m a lesbian.”
Oh.
Well, that was unexpected.
Not in a bad way, though. Not in a bad way at all.
“That’s cool,” I respond like the most uncool person on the planet. Jesus, I sound like a secretly homophobic mom who’s hoping her kid is going through a “phase.” “I…get it,” I tack on, as if that vague mess of a reply will make any difference. If anything, it’s giving “Don’t worry, I’m an ally!” vibes instead of “Pretty women make me sweat,” like I was going for.
This time, it’s Jamila’s turn to raise an eyebrow at me. She seems taken aback, hopefully with surprise at my potential queerness as opposed to potential homophobia. “Are you sapphic?”
“No, I’m Puerto Rican,” I reply because my brain is incapable of forming a coherent reply before blurting out the first thought that comes to mind.
What is it about this girl that makes my brain short-circuit every time we have a conversation that lasts more than five minutes?
“I mean, yes,” I choke out. “I’m bi, so, yes. I definitely like girls.”
Jamila does me the grace of stifling her laugh, biting down on her lip, and I can’t help but marvel at how her teeth sparkle like freshly polished diamonds. Before meeting her, I didn’t even think it was possible to have teeth that white. And that’s coming from someone who regularly works with people who have veneers.
“Cool,” Jamila responds, but it soundsactuallycool coming from her.
I’m saved from embarrassing myself yet again as we finally reach the row of trucks down the block from where we’re shooting. Jamila insists that she doesn’t want anything, but I order an extra vegetarian taco for her anyway. She grins as I hand her the red-and-white-checkered plastic basket.
“Making good progress on your bucket list,” she says as we clink our tacos together in a toast.
My mouth is too full for me to respond, the intense flavors of roasted veggies and cilantro and the perfect avocado crema overwhelming me. I let out a quiet moan that I can’t even be embarrassed about because the food is that damn good. Other A-listers might insist that high-quality food can never come from a truck, but this single bite would prove all of them wrong.
“At this rate I’m going to stay in the city just for the food,” I muse before helping myself to another hearty bite.
Jamila beams, chewing her own taco far more delicatelythan I’m chewing mine. She opens her mouth to respond but cuts herself off to pull her phone out of her pocket, her nose wrinkling at whatever the notification is.
“This is normal, right?” she asks, holding up her phone toward me to reveal a flurry of notifications coming in, making her phone buzz like it’s an EDM beat. They’re from the same account, going through and liking her posts and leaving multiple all-caps or all-emoji comments calling Jamila everything from “queen” to “mother.”
“I have no idea who this person is,” she explains as the notifications come to a brief halt, only to start back up again.
“Very normal,” I reassure her. “You’ll want to switch off your notifications.” If I kept mine on, I’d never be able to get anything done. Especially after the cast announcement earlier this week. Even with my notifications off, I haven’t been able to scroll my socials without getting smacked with hundreds of comments either congratulating me on my new role, or asking if this is some ploy to win Miles back.
Jamila shudders and sets her phone to Do Not Disturb. A wise choice. “This is so weird.”
“Welcome to being a professional actor.” I shrug, and we start heading back toward set.
“I didn’t think it came with…extra stuff. Plus, now my agent’s been pressuring me to go to this premiere on Friday to try to network.” She pretends to gag, earning a soft giggle from me.
I haven’t gotten as many premiere invites since I got to the city, but Delia did just forward me one earlier this week. “Is it for that indie movie about the guy who accidentally marries a martian?”
“Yeah?”
“I got invited to that one too!” I quickly open up my phone and scroll through my emails until I find the one Delia forwarded me. Her message readsassume you won’t want to go but passing along jic.They must’ve invited the whole cast after the announcement went up. “Premieres are easy,” I assure Jamila with a wave of my hand. “You do the red carpet for a few minutes, mingle, then if you’re lucky the director doesn’t give a huge speech at the end and you can head straight home afterward. Sometimes there’s an after-party, but those are always weird. Definitely pass.”
It’s like going to a house party thrown by someone you barely know. The cast is their own clique, and everyone else is left in small-talk limbo. It’s probably not as unbearable when you can actually drink to pass the time, but for a teenager, it’s basically hell.
Jamila audibly gulps. “That…sounds like a lot.”
“We could go together, if that’ll help?” I offer tentatively, doing my best to keep my voice light and casual. The movie really doesn’t sound like my kind of thing, but hey, if it helps Jamila adjust to her newfound celebrity, it’ll be worth it. For cast bonding. And because I do admittedly love a good red-carpet moment. I desperately need to air out some of the dressier pieces I brought that are currently collecting dust in a bin shoved into the hall closet. As in the closet thatisn’tmy bedroom.
“That’d be amazing,” Jamila says with a beaming smile that falters just as quickly as it appeared. “I mean, don’t change your plans or anything.” She trails off, now peering down at her fingers.
Instead of replying, I open my phone again and shoot a message to Delia.
