“Ass what?” Scout asks.
“Scout,” our mom says, her voice a reprimand.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear what he said.” She holds her hands out by her sides, the picture of innocence.
I chuckle. “It’s the name of the company I started with some friends.”
She crinkles her nose. “It’s a dumb name.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Don’t listen to her—it’s a great name,” my mom says, patting me on the shoulder. “And of course, Briggsy. You need to work on your company, and I’ll keep things afloat here. To be honest, I’ve been a little bored, not having to work as much.”
“I’ll still help out as much as I can,” I say.
She waves my words away with her hand. “We were fine before you came back, and we’ll be just fine again.”
“Ouch,” I say, pretending to be hurt.
“You know what I mean.”
“Well, I won’t be starting until next week, so put me to work,” I tell her.
“Perfect,” she says. “We just need to make room for all the books I ordered.”
We get to work, and for the first time since Presley left, I feel lighter and happy to be here working at the bookshop.
Presley
It’s the first day on the set of Cosmic Fury, it’s hotter than hell, and I’m in full costume, which is stifling futuristic armor and tactical gear, and a blonde wig—the thing that’s causing the most discomfort in this heat—braided tightly away from my face. I stand in front of a fan—they have a bunch around to help stave off the heat—lifting the heavy hair off my neck to try to cool off because I can’t stop sweating.
I’m having a hard time remembering why I like this job as I’ve sat for two hours in makeup (in an air-conditioned trailer, thank goodness), where they added dirt and scratches to my face and arms, making it look like I’ve been through countless battles when I haven’t yet even been through one.
The crew is bustling around, setting up cameras and adjusting the lighting to capture the next shot. Massive rigs and cranes hoist the cameras high above us, with some below, making sure they get every possible angle.
I never know how a movie will turn out until I get to see it from start to finish—since we film scenes out of order, and today we’re at the midway point, about to canoe our way through the swamps of the fictional planet of Ayrndor (which right now is Ocala National Forest, with its crystal-blue water and cypress trees draped with Spanish moss) to sneak attack the Syndarians. Very little will need to be done in postproduction to transform this setting into an alien world teeming with danger and intrigue; it’s pretty perfect looking as is. It would be even more stunning if it didn’t feel like a sauna.
The director, Jason Orson, likes to film things in realistic settings more than on sound stages, and luckily the United States is full of places that can be manipulated to look otherworldly.
I usually love working with directors like this, getting to be out in nature and seeing places I might not otherwise. But today, with the possibility of getting eaten by an alligator in these spring waters, and with sweat dripping down my back, I’m not loving it.
I am, however, in the same state as Briggs. Even if he’s a couple hundred miles and a quick ferry ride away from me. And for some reason, that gives me comfort. I still haven’t told him about Betty, who’s actually Deborah. I’ve picked up my phone countless times, and drafted more texts, and nothing is right. He needs to know, though. I need to tell him.
“All departments, prepare for a take. Actors to their marks, please,” the first assistant director, a guy named Brock, says through a bullhorn.
I walk away from the fan and miss its cooling effect almost immediately. Approaching the director, I find him discussing the scene with Landon West, who’s dressed in similar garb to mine.
“Okay, Presley,” he says when he sees me approach. “You and Landon are going to film your scene right here.” He points to a spot of land near the water. “Your teams will be waiting in the water on the canoes. You’ll say the line, do the kiss, and then you’ll jump into the canoes afterward. Got it?”
That’s right, the first scene we’re filming for Cosmic Fury is the one Briggs and I practiced all those nights ago. I honestly thought the universe was playing a prank on me when I saw it on the call sheet. As if Briggs Dalton isn’t on my mind enough already.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head, the wig feeling heavy and itchy. I’m still not exactly sure I’ll be able to just jump into a canoe, but we did practice it earlier and I think I’ve got it.
“Okay, let’s go, people,” Brock yells through the bullhorn.
I take my spot with Landon and someone from makeup comes over and quickly dabs the sweat off our foreheads. Landon and I are standing across from each other, our crew of misfit aliens in full costume in the canoes on the water just behind him.
Jason approaches us. “Presley, I need you to look like you’re frustrated with Falgon in this scene because he doesn’t trust you. And Landon, I want you to really sell your anger that Callis has been tasked with taking on the team over you, okay?” We both nod, and as Jason walks back to the camera, I try to get into character.
All right, Presley, you can do this. You will not think about Briggs and his green eyes and sandy-blond hair and how it felt to run your fingers . . .
Presley James, stop this right now.
“Action,” yells Brock.
I do what he says, quickly taking on the character of Callis. I’m not a lovesick woman—I’m a freaking warrior.
“How dare you disrespect me, Falgon. I’m the leader of this team, and you will do as I say,” I say to Landon, my words curt, my eyes focused on him, my lips pulled into a straight line.
“But what do you even know of the Syndarians, Callis? They will trample all over us with this plan,” Landon says, his voice gruff and nothing like the one Briggs used when he said the line.
Crap. I’m thinking about Briggs again, and now I’ve forgotten my line.
“Cut,” Brock yells.
The script supervisor, a woman named Dawn, comes over to me. “Do you need the line?”
