Page 78 of First Impressions of You

When I get comfortable, she asks, “What happened?”

I don’t know what I plan to tell her, but next thing I know, I’m telling her everything. About being cast, about what I heard from the girls backstage, but also about my parents and my past. And finally, I tell her about the poster and my fight with Olivia.

“Look, I get it, okay?” she says, her eyes holding mine in a comforting way. “I understand how you feel. I can’t say I’ve been through exactly the same, but trust me, I know what you mean.”

“Exactly. You wouldn’t—”

“Now,” she cuts me, her voice taking a slightly different tone, “that doesn’t mean I necessarily agree with you.”

“What?” Instinctively, I sit up straighter.

“You seem to have this belief that you’re not enough. Maybe because your parents didn’t support your dreams, or maybe there’s something else. Whatever it is, you hold that close to your heart. And now it seems like this is the only truth you know. I don’t think it matters if you were hired because of your talent or because you’re Latina, Luiza. And believe me when I say it was because your talent. It had nothing to do with where you’re from. But I don’t think that’s the problem. I think that no matter what, you’d find a way to tell yourself that you don’t deserve this. Because you believe you’re not enough.”

“That’s…” She raises a hand, quieting me again.

“Being Movieland’s first Latina princess isn’t something to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m not!” I jump in.

“Aren’t you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “What did you think when you first saw that on the poster?”

“That people would think I was only hired because I was Latina,” I answer honestly. “Not that I’m ashamed.”

“You want people to know you were hired because of your talent.” I nod in agreement. “But where in that poster does it say you’re not? Yes, you’re Latina. But that’s not all you are. What got you cast was your talent. Yes, it sucks that diversity still needs to be advertised like that, but think about all the other girls who will now know that they, too, can be a Movieland princess. Or a spy or a pirate or whatever. Someone has to be the first. And I’m damn happy that it was you and proud that I get to direct you.”

“I just…” I sigh. “I didn’t want it to be a thing, you know?”

“Yeah, I do. But it is, and it’ll keep on being until it isn’t anymore. So use this opportunity. Grab it and spin it in your favor. Maybe one day people will stop othering every character that isn’t white, able-bodied, cis, and straight. But until then…” She gives me a reassuring smile. “Until then, we do our best with what we got.”

After I leave Emily’s office, I spend the day at the park like a tourist, going on the rides, taking pictures of the shops and places, and watching the shows. I’m in line for the four p.m. session of Unearthed, the last showing of the day, when the strangest thing happens.

A family of three preteen girls and their parents stand behind me in line, and I keep hearing them whispering and giggling. I don’t know what makes me turn my head in their direction, but when I do, they immediately stop. I become uncomfortably self-conscious then because it’s clear that whatever they were whispering, it was about me.

“Excuse me,” the mother calls as soon as I turn my back to them again. I’m not sure she’s talking to me, so I pretend not to hear it. But then, she gently taps on my shoulder and says again, “Excuse me?”

“Yes?” I answer, now turning fully toward them.

“Mom, it’s her,” the girl in pink says. The three of them look so much alike, I wonder if they’re triplets.

“It isn’t,” the girl in green argues.

The one in yellow just roll her eyes at her sisters, clearly not having it. “Just ask her.”

The mom beckons the girl in pink to talk to me. The girl’s cheeks turn the color of her outfit.

“I’m sorry,” I say, making sure to give them a polite smile, “but who is it you think I am?”

“Princess Melina,” the girl in yellow says impatiently. “She thinks you’re Princess Melina.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. The mother takes my surprise in the wrong way, thinking I’m lost on what they’re talking about.

“I’m sorry. The girls are obsessed with Movieland. Every year, they wait for the winter play with more enthusiasm than they wait for Christmas morning. They just saw the poster this morning, and they thought you looked like the new princess.”

“Oh,” I repeat. Then I force my brain to form words. “Well, yeah, I am.” The way their faces glow when I confirm their suspicion is almost blinding. “I’m Melina. Princess Melina.”

I hold my hand out, and they take turns shaking it, a starstruck look in their eyes I never thought I’d see directed at me. It feels surreal. Like I’m watching this scene unfold from afar. It just doesn’t seem possible that this is happening.

“Can they get a picture?” the mom asks because apparently the girls have lost their ability to form words.

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