Page 47 of Take 2
“That’s a good thing. It would be a pain in the ass to change it back. And a divorce is required on your resume around here. You got it out of the way early. You’re such an overachiever!”
I don’t know if I’d survive still living out here if it weren’t for James. “I am so glad you’re the only person at CalArts crazy enough to approach a crying stranger.”
“Some might say it’s because I’m attracted to drama, but I’m glad it worked out.” He squeezes my hand. “Now, since all the Oscars rules seem to be going out the window, I think betting should be back on the table.”
“Fuck it. Why not? What are we betting on?”
“All of it! Every award. Lock in your guess before the envelope is opened. If you’re wrong, you drink.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“I should warn you I am terrible at guessing these things,” he says.
“So am I.”
He hops up to his feet with a smile. “I’ll get the bottle then.”
All I know is that Neil Patrick Harris is a gift to the planet,Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)can’t possibly fit on the damn trophies, “Everything is Awesome” is a fortuitous song for us to dance like idiots to, and by the end of the night, I cannot even pronounce “eighty-seventh Academy Awards.”
Chapter Nineteen
WhatwouldIdoif everything else was the same, but it wasn’t Preston?
I grab my phone and figure out a plan. Then I open my messages to text him, but—Seriously?I knock on the connecting door as if the door has wronged me.
He opens it and says, “Are you really still angry at me for your dip in the water?”
“No!” I shove my phone screen in his face. “When did you change your name in here?”
His laughter does nothing to quell my aggravation. “I didn’t do that. But I like it.”
The addition of‘I Wish I Was’to the beginning of‘Fucking Preston Greene’can only have been done by him. “Obviously, you did!”
“I didn’t. Maybe you did it last night.”
“I … No. No, I wouldn’t have done that.”
“Well, it was definitely a thought you had last night.” He fails miserably at containing a smile.
I let out a long breath. “Okay, I’m not drinking that much ever again. What I was going to tell you was, be ready at five. We’re going out.” Which was meant to be nice but now comes out like a threat.
His eyes brighten. “All right.”
“And I’m fixing this.” I wave my phone.
“Whatever you say.”
“Also, after watching a day of filming, I decided I will take you up on the offer to read the screenplay.”
He smiles and turns into his room. Moments later, he returns with a binder-clipped ream of paper and drops it into my hands.
“Thank you. And for retrieving my writing gloves.” Again: words are nice, delivery is harsh.
“You’re welcome.”
I close the door between us and set my self-assigned guilt homework on the dresser before going in for a shower.
“How much of this was you feeling guilty?” Preston asks before taking a sip of wine.
