Fame, Fate, and the First Kiss(18)

“Not really.” I offered him my best smile.

He seemed disappointed in my lack of motivation. But I had just done ninety minutes’ worth of homework. That had to count for something.

I sighed. “Fine. Maybe. If this plan doesn’t work out. Follow me.”

Surprisingly, he did. I led him through the large parking lot where the set was being packed away into vans and trailers. The sun was on its way down and had turned the clouds that streaked the sky pink and orange like paints on a canvas.

We stopped by Amanda’s trailer first. She answered the door.

“Hey, want to go on a trip with us?” I asked.

“Who is us?” She looked Donavan up and down.

“This is Donavan. Donavan, Amanda,” I said.

They exchanged hellos.

“Already working on the assignment I gave you?” she said with a smirk. “You’re fast.”

“What?” I returned, genuinely confused. Then, all at once, I remembered her telling me that in order to have chemistry on set I needed to imagine someone I liked off set.

“No! Really. No.” Even if I had been trying to form a connection with someone (which I wasn’t), it wouldn’t be with Donavan. He was too uptight and serious and . . . boring.

Amanda just shrugged, then held up some pages. “I can’t go anywhere, I have to work on my scene for tomorrow, I’m not ready. Faith gave me some notes.”

“Faith gave you notes? Like actual, handwritten notes? She never gives me notes.” She only ever brought me dialogue changes.

“Because you’re already perfect.”

“Ha. Yeah, right.”

“You have your phone on you?”

“Um . . . yes, why?” I asked.

She held out her hand. I unlocked it and placed my phone in her upturned palm. She typed something into it, then handed it back. I looked at the screen. She had entered her phone number under the name Amanda the beautiful one Roth.

“That’s for a report later. You two have fun,” she said with a look like this was more than it was. “And you’re welcome.”

I just sighed as she shut the door.

“What was that all about?” Donavan asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “Absolutely nothing.” I led him toward Grant’s trailer.

Donavan looked out over the cemetery. “Is it scary to sleep here at night?”

“I don’t sleep here. I have to go home every night.”

“Why?”

“I’m under eighteen. I could sleep here if my dad stayed with me, or signed the waiver, but . . . he won’t.”

“You actually want to sleep here?” He was still taking in the expanse of the headstones.

“Absolutely.”

In the distance behind a chain-link fence I could see Grant’s fans still holding big signs. I wondered if one of those sign holders was the one who had taken my makeup-less picture and labeled me as undead.

“No Lacey Barnes signs today?” Donavan said, noticing them as well.

“You can come be my fanboy tomorrow. Bring a bright-colored sign. Or maybe a big cutout of my head. That seems more productive than this homework stuff,” I said.

“Don’t tempt me.”

A new set of security guards stood at the barricades to Grant’s trailer. “Hi,” I said, stopping in front of them. “Where are Duncan and Phil?”

“Their shift starts at eight.”

“Oh. I . . . we . . . need to see Grant.”

“I told you I didn’t need to meet him,” Donavan mumbled beside me. I lowered my brow. He had been serious about that? He really didn’t want to meet Grant? Apparently he wasn’t swayed by fame at all. That was new. And interesting.

“He asked not to be disturbed,” one of the guards said.

“But he didn’t mean me,” I said.

“He meant everyone, Ms. Barnes.”

“Okay . . . fine. Can you at least give him a message for me?”

“Sure.”

“Will you tell him that I need to go on an outing with him to look for my muse.”

The guard leveled me with a hard stare as if I had just spoken a foreign language and he was waiting for me to translate.

“That’s all,” I said. “He’ll get it.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and tell him I’ll be in my trailer.” I started to back away. “No, actually, give him my cell number.” I patted my pockets and then looked around on the ground as if a piece of paper would magically materialize because I wished for it.

Donavan held one out for me.

“Ah, a true Boy Scout,” I said, taking it. “Thanks.”

Then he handed me a pen.

I wrote down my cell and gave it to the security guard. “Because I won’t be in my dressing room.”

“Got it,” he said.

“Where will you be?” Donavan asked as we walked away.

“Finding my muse.” I met his eyes. I couldn’t do this alone. I had to have someone with me to play off of. “With you, apparently.”

“We have to find a place I’ve never been before,” I said, after we walked back through the parking lot, past another set of security guards at the entrance to the cemetery, and to a car parked on the street. Donavan stopped beside it, which I assumed meant it was his. Several long strips of black duct tape were holding the bumper on.