Fame, Fate, and the First Kiss(2)

“I need to get some homework done first.” I opened the trailer and stepped inside. He followed me.

“That reminds me—why did you tell Tiffany to stop coming?”

I sat down on the couch and unlaced my boots. “Who?”

“Tiffany. Your tutor.”

“Oh, right. I didn’t tell her to stop coming. She quit.”

“Really?”

She had . . . after having to wait two hours for me for the third day in a row. My daily call sheet may have spelled out my schedule, but sometimes we got behind.

“Yes, really. Besides, Father dearest, I don’t require a tutor,” I said in an English accent. “I can work on homework packets on my own.” My dad had found a school close by to sponsor my home studies. The semester started three weeks ago, before we began filming. When I was done, I would finish out my senior year back home with my mom and friends. That was probably why I wasn’t super invested in the homework or the weekly emails I got from my sponsor teacher.

“You’re right. A tutor wouldn’t be required if you actually finished the packets and turned them in all by yourself too,” he returned in his own English accent. I smiled. My dad was a bit of a nerd, who always dressed in khakis and actually parted his auburn hair to one side, but with a little effort, he could pull off a leading man. He nodded toward my homework on the table. “That’s why I hired you another one. Someone who I will keep updated on your schedule. Even when it changes.”

I dropped the accent. “What? No, Dad. I’ll get to my homework, I promise. I don’t need a babysitter. This is the biggest opportunity of my life. I’m focusing. Channeling my zombie nature. Zombies do not do independent study packets.”

He gestured to my zombified face. “Somehow I don’t think that this is the biggest opportunity life will afford you. And the amazing thing about school is that finishing it makes it so when opportunities get ruined, you have something to fall back on.” He held up my barely started homework packet. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

“He? You hired a man to tutor me? That’s going to be weird hanging out with a strange man in my trailer.”

“He’s not a man. I hired a student this time, from your sponsor school. It will be good for you to hang out with someone your own age.”

“Don’t you think a guy my own age will be more of a distraction?”

“You think of the most creative ways to get out of things. No, I don’t think that. I know how your mind works. Boys will get in the way of your big dreams; I don’t remember the last time you gave one the time of day.”

“I’d give one the time if he asked.”

There was a knock on the trailer door, and Aaron, the director’s fifteen-year-old son, poked his head in. “Can I get you anything, Lacey?”

I smiled. “I could use a cold bottle of water, please?”

“Lacey can get her own water,” Dad said.

“It’s okay. I’m here to help.” Aaron walked to the little fridge in the kitchen area. “I stocked your fridge with drinks this morning.” He pulled one out and handed it to me.

“You’re the sweetest. Thank you!”

He looked down, his cheeks going pink.

My phone buzzed on the table. We weren’t allowed phones on set, so there was a list of notifications from the day. I entered my passcode and quickly looked through my texts. They were mainly from Abby and other friends back home.

“Anything else?” Aaron asked from beside me.

“Oh, no. I’m good.” I held up my water. “Thank you.”

He nodded, then backed out of my trailer, shutting the door.

“When did you get a water fetcher?” Dad tugged on the leaf hanging off the stem of one of the roses my mom had sent over my first day of filming. Seven days later, they were now droopy and wilting. “I thought Faith was your assistant. You need two?”

I unscrewed the cap on my water bottle and took a sip. “Dad, Faith is the assistant director. And that was Remy’s son. Don’t call him a water fetcher. I think he wants to work on movies when he grows up.”

“So he gets your drinks?”

“No, he just kept following me around, asking me how he could help. I tried to tell him I didn’t need anything at first, but he seemed really sad about it. So I ask him for things now and again. It’s easier this way.” I set my water on the table and unlaced some ribbons from my hair, hanging them on a rack of clothes in the corner.

“I see,” Dad said, even though it didn’t seem like he understood at all. “So how did things go today? Do you want to quit yet?”

I scrunched my nose at him. “You will be the first to know if I ever want to quit. Try not to gloat too much if that happens.”

He put his hand on his chest as though deeply offended. “You know I would never gloat.”

“No, you’d just be so happy that your head might explode.”

“You know it’s not about me.”

“I know, I know. It’s about your deep concern for my fragile ego.”

“I just think there’s nothing wrong with being a kid before you have to grow up. This industry can do crazy things to people.”

“Those people don’t have you, Dad.” I wrapped him in a hug. The only one driving me crazy right now was him, but he was my dad, and I was pretty sure that’s what dads were supposed to do, so I’d forgive him for it. Not even my overbearing dad was going to take away the excitement of where I was and what I was doing.