Not in the Script (42 page)

McGregor leads us to Emma's dressing room, opens the door, and extends his arm. “After you,” he says. Emma steps in first, and I follow, but McGregor stays in the hallway. “You have exactly eighteen minutes to work this out, or you'll both find your characters taking a nosedive off a steep cliff. Understand?” He closes the door.

We spend at least three of our allotted minutes in brutal silence while Emma plays with her tape, and I mindlessly kick a metal leg on her chair. She finally looks right at me and says, “This is absurd, Jake. Stop pretending like you flipped a switch and shut your feelings off.”

“I guess that's what happens when someone cheats on you. Right?” Emma squints her eyes at me like she doesn't know what I'm talking about, so I add, “Oh, I see—I'm overreacting. You
sure
there wasn't any kissing involved? Because it looked pretty darn real to me.”

“Did you even listen to the messages I left?” she says. “I explained
everything
.”

I fold my arms. “Let me guess, you were rehearsing a future scene?”

“We were just talking, and then he caught me off guard!”

“How could you say that? I told you
months
ago that Brett liked you—and McGregor told you too. And you want to know something even more interesting? Brett has been telling
me
for months that
you
liked him, that you were practically begging for a relationship.”

“What?” she says. “There's no way he could've thought that.”

“The only thing I
can't
sort out,” I say, “is when you were acting and when you weren't. That seems to be a very fine line with you.”

Emma pushes past me. “How stupid of me to think you were the only guy who ever knew the difference.”

She leaves the room and slams the heavy door behind her. My heart is hammering so hard it feels like my ribs might crack. I sit in Emma's dressing room for another ten minutes, trying not to look at anything that belongs to her. McGregor finally comes to get me.

“That went well,” he says. “Emma's flooding the ladies' room with tears, and judging by the look on your face, special effects had better hide the explosives.”

“Funny you say that,” I tell him. “I was just thinking about dynamite.”

McGregor's face twists into pure fury. “There's not one bloody joke to be made about this!” he says, but
he
made the first joke, not me. Or at least I'd thought he was joking. “We have over a hundred employees working on this production, most with families to support, and we're all at the mercy of a childish love spat!” He continues to release heaves of breath until he finally drops his head. “My apologies. I'm rather volatile when my studio is in disarray.”

Maybe I'm the one who needs to talk to special effects.

I'm back on set before Emma is, and I find Brett prowling around, hours before he's supposed to be here. It isn't the first time I've seen him this week, but it's the first time I've wanted to say something. And I have
plenty
to get off my chest.

My target must be obvious because McGregor blocks my path. “Jake, when I hired you, I hoped you'd bring a much-needed maturity to this group. Please don't prove me wrong.”

I shake the tension from my arms. “Since when did right or wrong matter in this business?” I ask. “As Emma just informed me, I can hardly tell the difference anymore.”

“Then we've given you a proper welcome to Hollywood.” McGregor turns back to our audience and shoots a stabbing glare directly at Brett. “This is a closed set. If you're not in this shot or have a radio on your hip, get out!”

The fact that only one chemistry flask has gone crashing to the floor today is nothing short of divine intervention. Jake and I have barely made it through filming the first half of the lab scene—it took us over two hours—when Brett and Kimmi arrive on set, and we're stuck with them for at least two hours longer.

Even on a good day, those guys can't be in front of the same camera without a SWAT team of crew members distracting them from killing each other. And now that I'm fighting with Jake, and Jake isn't speaking to Brett, and Brett is being all sulky with me, McGregor is acting like he would rather shut down the whole production than deal with us.

And maybe it would be better that way. We're only wrapping episode six, with sixteen episodes to go in the first season. Then there are three more years on our contracts after that … which makes eighty-two additional episodes to film … with eight to ten
workdays for each. This means spending at least
seven thousand
more hours together.

I want out.

I was a minor when I agreed to do this series, so I should just plead teenage insanity, pack up, and hit the road. My lawyers can take care of the rest. I would rather walk away, ruin my career, and lose all of my money in a lawsuit with the studio, than wake up every morning and try to convince myself that I hate the guy I just spent the entire night dreaming of. And
then
come to work and have to be all flirty with him for the camera.

I can't do it.

“Last looks!” The shout rattles my head.

Kimmi is close by, complaining about her flat sneakers. “They make my ankles look fat.”

“And don't forget that the camera adds ten pounds,” Brett says from the other side of her. “Even to your ankles.”

I would have told Brett to leave Kimmi alone, but we've hardly spoken to each other since the premiere. According to “someone close” to us, however, we “skipped off to San Diego last Saturday.” I'm dying to call the tabloids and ask a few questions about our invented trip, such as:
Did we eat at a cozy restaurant? Did we buy a house together with a white picket fence? Or was it a beach villa, where I can splash in the waves while Brett surfs?

As part of the curious public, don't I have the right to know this stuff?

“Martini's up!” Tyler calls. “First team, back to one! Then we're off for two weeks!”

We all return to our marks behind adjacent lab tables. An entire classroom of extras has just left. McGregor explains that this shot will be tight—only on the principal cast. The camera is closest to
Jake and will show our adjacent tables from the side. The angle is to capture a brief exchange between Brett and me, where he answers my question about our experiment.

All day long I've felt Jake next to me, been haunted by his familiar voice. And now to my right, just a few feet away, is the guy who somehow came between us. But how?

Production calls are made, and McGregor sits behind his monitor. “And action!”

“You
know
it was all real,” I whisper to Jake, right over Brett's first line. Brett is the only one with a mic. “Deep down, Jake, you have to know that.”

“Emma …” I hear him say, and his tone has changed. It's soft. Sad.

Probably my imagination.

“Cut!” McGregor says. “You missed your cue, lass. Let's go again, from the top.” I try to focus, but there's a metronome inside me, making me
think, think, think
everything through. “And action!”

Brett leans back from his table. “What did you say, Eden?”

I turn my head, on cue this time. “What's the next step?” is my actual line, but I don't have to say it for this shot. The camera only has to catch my hair swishing from one shoulder to the other; Eden is nothing but a prop right now. A silent temptress.

But what am I?

A few lines later, McGregor calls “Cut!” again.

“Back to one!”

We're about to start over when a sound guy shouts, “We're picking up background noise!” And we all freeze, listening. There's a distant roar of military jets.

McGregor flies into a rage. “I built my studio in the middle of
the Sonoran Desert, and …” He curses and commands us all to stay exactly where we are. Then he leaves the set for who knows what—to call the Pentagon?

My heart is throbbing, my eyes stinging. I turn to Brett, unable to hold back any longer. “Did you know?” I ask. “Did you kiss me
knowing
that I liked Jake?”

The crew scampers around and chats loudly, but I can still hear Jake breathing to the side of me. Brett looks over with a stunned, hurt look on his face, and for the first time, I realize he's faking it. “You like
Jake
?” he asks.

“Oh please!” Kimmi says, coming around Brett. “Of course he knew. I told you that forever ago. And he also knew there was a camera outside the atrium.”

“Whatever,” Brett tells her. “You're such a liar.”

Jake stirs behind me, but my focus stays on Brett.

Kimmi steps closer. “Brett followed Payton and me into the atrium at the party, and then they started arguing because Brett doesn't want us getting back together—but I am
sooo
over Payton, anyway. Then Brett did a double take at the window and said, ‘Chill, dude, someone's in the hedges with a camera.' So we all left.”

The part about Brett chasing after them is for sure true. And if that's true, and Brett has been feeding
Jake
lies about me liking him, then … everything at last makes sense.

Brett laughs. “Think about it, Emma. Kimmi would say anything to make me look bad.”

“You set me up,” I reply. “You were coming into the ballroom to find me when we happened to pass. Then you lured me into the atrium, planning to kiss me and
knowing
it would all be caught on camera.”

“Oh, come on! Why would—”

I slam my hands into Brett's chest. “I'll tell you
why
!” The set falls silent, and all heads flip toward us, but I can't rein in my emotions. “Even if I would've pushed you away after you kissed me, you still could've played it up in the tabloids and claimed that I'd broken your heart! And it's really no big deal that I've figured you out now, is it? Not when you can
still
say that I cheated on you with Jake. So either way, you win!”

Brett holds up his hands. “That … that isn't true.”

“You've tipped off the press all along! Starting with the motocross.”

Kimmi eases away. “Actually, that was me.”

“See, just like we thought,” Brett says. “So how can you—”

“It doesn't matter,” I reply. “Our trips to L.A. didn't have anything to do with promoting the show. The publicity was all for
you
.”

The veins in Brett's neck are purple and angry. “You're crazy.”

“Yeah, I must be,” I snap, “because I fell for every lie and sob story you told me. Well, bravo! Great performance.”

“Really?” Brett says. “You want to talk about
lies
? Where'd you and Jake go for Labor Day, huh? When you were supposed to be with
me
in Tahoe? Or how about that scam of setting each other up with your best friends? That was a good one!”

Jake's voice is right by my ear. “Back off, Brett.”

“You know, Jake, I thought we were tight.” Brett takes a step forward, and someone shouts for security. “But do you really think I'm stupid enough to believe you
dropped
Emma's phone in the back of my truck? Not that I doubt furniture was involved at some point.”

“I'm serious,” Jake says. “Back off!”

“Please, Jake,” I tell him. “Stay out of this.”

“No,” he says, sliding his arm around my back, strong and protective. My breath catches, but only for a second. “This changes everything.”

I step away from him. “Is that what you needed?
Proof
?”

“Emma, I'm sorry. I—”

“Just leave your apology on my voice mail, all right?” I say, cutting Jake off as I walk backward, off the set. “Maybe when I'm in a better mood, I'll listen to it.” I shrug. “Then again, maybe not.” I look between Jake and Brett. “Why don't you two do me a massive favor and beat each other up? I'd hate to break a nail on one of your big heads.”