Page 13 of Take It Till You Make It
I shake my head. “Who’s your aunt?”
Sally quirks her head and smiles. “Chandra.”
I mean, I knew they were related, but I sort of figured it was some distant cousin’s adopted daughter type of thing. I turn seven shades of red, but hopefully the pound of makeup I’m wearing covers it. “Oh my gosh, no wonder you two look so alike.”
Sally’s laugh is like what I imagine a fairy’s to be. Clear with a sort of tinkling bell tone within it. “You didn’t know that?”
“I was just scolding myself for not doing more research about all of this, but…” How do I explain everything that’s happened in my life recently without totally killing the mood? “Well, let’s just say, things have been hectic.”
She gets a sympathetic look, and I know what’s coming next. I steel myself for it, donning the fake smile before she even speaks. “I saw your post about your dad. I’m so sorry.”
I nod. There is never more to say, and I’m glad when she reaches out and squeezes my hand, then changes the topic. “So, when I’m confused about what instruction I’m being given or something else that might be happening, I make a fist and then scratch my nose with the knuckle of the middle finger. Like this.” She demonstrates, and it’s so silly it makes me laugh.
“Really, that’s it?”
“Yep. No one would ever scratch their nose like that, so it can’t be mistaken for anything else. At the same time, no one would recognize the action as a signal, either.”
“But would your aunt mind me jumping in on your secret signal?”
“Of course I don’t mind.” Chandra steps up beside us. “I already told you we’d help you navigate. I was going to bring you in on the secret myself.”
I practically drop into a curtsy. “Oh, hello, Ms. Miracle.”
She looks unimpressed. “I’ll change that secret signal if you keep acting so formal.”
Scrunching my eyes closed, I nod. “Sorry.” Then I grimace as I cautiously say, “Chandra.”
Her smile takes over her face. “That’s more like it. The secret signal is safe.” She points at me and narrows her eyes. “For now.”
“Okay, everyone, let’s take our marks for scene thirty-five,” the director calls. “We’ll need Lidia, Christa, and Stella. Bring your angry eyes.”
Chandra chuckles while I rest my hand on my stomach, worried I might toss my nonexistent breakfast. I wait for Sally and Chandra to go ahead of me so I can follow their lead. And even though we are directed to our marks and makeup is touched up, and we are ready to go, we end up standing around for another forty minutes while they place extras and give them their instructions. Finally, the director gives us our next direction and we are poised to start.
In the scene we’re filming, I’m mostly a third wheel, following behind my mom and sister as they walk briskly through the retail square. They are arguing while I’m supposed to pretend to be oblivious, jumping over cracks, getting distracted and falling behind, then realizing how far they’ve gotten and racing to catch up. I don’t talk until the very end of the scene when I say the world’s stupidest line ever.
It takes so many takes to get everything right. Mostly, it’s the extras doing something wrong in the background that makes us start over again, but occasionally it’s because Sally or Chandra missed a line, or once, I tripped and fell flat on my face. I think it’s the twelfth take when we finally make it to my line. I run up in between Sally and Chandra, pointing toward a pet store, and say, “When you’re done arguing, can I get a puppy?”
The whole scene makes me feel seven years old instead of thirteen. I think I blushed after I said the line the first time. Fortunately, the director finds something wrong in the playback and makes us start all over again. Another twenty or so times. As I jump onto the ledge of a large planter only to leap off again, for the millionth time, I think how exhausting it is playing an immature new teenager. My poor, skinny thighs are burning. I would take the action out, because honestly, I’ve done something different each time, but the first time I did it, the director said, “Good job, Arabelle,” so now I’m stuck with it. I feel like I should have a unicycle and be balancing spinning plates.
Finally, the director stops, sighs, and crosses his arms over his chest while he regards us. “Something’s not right. I think it’s Stella.”
I jerk like he physically hit me. I am such a non-issue in the scene; how can I be the problem?
“You’re doing a fantastic job in the background, Arabelle, but I’m wondering if you need to change your delivery of your line. Perhaps you can run between them, but keep going, head toward the pet store as you say your line.” He turns to the cameramen. “Can you get a camera in front of her?”
“Can I make a suggestion?” I ask.
It’s like the entire set freezes in time as everybody turns their shocked attention to me.
Chapter Seven
My blood poundsloudly in my ears as I wait for the director to respond. With everyone’s attention on me, I feel like I’m standing on set naked. My nerves twist, and my guts are tight, and I resist the urge to press my palms against my stomach. Who am I to make a suggestion? What was I thinking?
The director narrows his eyes at me as if trying to determine if I’ll become a problem if he lets me talk. Finally, he nods.
“Stella’s line feels a bit immature to me. How about if I ask for an ice cream instead?” I point to the fake ice cream storefront on the set, next to the pet store.
Again, the director squints. The side of his lip arches, and I can tell he doesn’t like the suggestion, but now I feel committed. I rush to assure him. “I can make it work.” Yeah, that sounded way more confident than I feel.
