Unscripted Joss Byrd (15 page)

“Pretty sweet.” I try hard to see past tomorrow. I try to imagine the first seconds of diving into the cool ocean.

“Tomorrow we'll be TJ and Norah for Terrance and Peter and our families, but then we can celebrate because everything left is all for
us
. Who knows? Maybe we'll nail this in one take and that'll be that.”

“Right.” That would be impossible.

“How 'bout this?” Chris's voice lightens. “I buy a surfboard for you and you buy one for me.”

I wipe my nose. In the surf shop there's a blue board with yellow flowers on it, a Hawaiian pattern. I've had my eye on it since we got here.

“We'll give 'em to each other at the wrap party.”

I'd like that. I imagine tiki torches at the party. For some reason, I've always wanted to be at a party where there's tiki torches. If only Terrance didn't have to be there. Or my mother. Or Rodney.

“I told off Rodney,” I say.

Chris looks at me like I'm nuts.
“You did?”

“I know I shouldn't have. He's a grown-up, our costar. He'll be even angrier at me now.” I exhale into my hands. “Oh, I don't know…” I wish I knew once and for all if Rodney is bad or good so that I can be sorry or not. “Plus, everyone heard. They probably all think I'm a diva. I was just so mad.”

Chris holds his hands up. “Hey, you don't have to explain it to me.”

“Viva's freaking.”

“She's always freaking. So's Rodney. That's their problem.”

“Hey, Chris?” I ask, remembering something I've been wondering all day. “What's a Bessie? I heard Terrance and Benji call me one.”

“What is wrong with people? Doesn't anyone keep anything to themselves anymore?” Chris pauses with his eyes down before blurting, “It's a prized calf. A cash cow.”

“I'm … a
cow
?” In my mind I see Terrance selling me for magic beans.

“A Bessie is someone who makes her owners lots of money.”

Terrance plants his seeds. Then they grow into a giant beanstalk. He climbs it up through the clouds to his castle in the sky.

“Hey, hey. This is what you do, okay?” Chris touches my arm. “If you're the Bessie, then
be
the Bessie.”

“Huh?”

“Kick ass on camera. The better you are, the bigger Bessie you can be. That means the more demands you can make. Production will have to give you anything you want.”

What would I do with a motorized car? “But I don't want anything.” Except not to do scene 20 to begin with.

“You will. Trust me,” he says, confidently. “Eventually, everybody wants something.”

“I guess.” I pick the script up. We might as well get this over with.

“No. Let's not practice it today.” He takes the rolled-up pages and sets them on the seat beside him. “We'll rehearse tomorrow after the deli scene. That way we'll only have one bad night.”

That sounds all right to me.

“You guys have Jenga?” he asks, eyeing the game in the corner.

“Damon brought it. He thought we'd have tons of free time.”

“Do you have anything else today besides school?” Chris has a glimmer in his eyes.

“Just a bathing suit fitting after lunch.”

“Good.” He gets up to open the trailer door. “Excuse me, Damon? We're gonna need at least an hour,” he says. Then he turns back inside and points to the floor. “Well, go on. Set it up!”

So I pour the game pieces. We crisscross and stack the smooth wooden blocks higher and higher into a perfect column, and then steady as we can, we pull blocks out one by one and replace them carefully on the top. I want to get into the game; it'd be fun on a regular day. But now it's just another thing I can't stop from crashing down.

 

14

“We can climb through the drive-thru window!” Chris says, running full-speed around the Milk-n-Stuff deli.

Me and Jericho are on his tail, kicking up dust as we go like in a cartoon. Out of the corner of my eye I see my mother (what nerve!), standing close to Terrance (on the job!) behind the camera.

Terrance has been directing this morning as if nothing's changed between us. He isn't sorry at all about the talk we had yesterday, which is even worse than going back on a promise. He also isn't the least bit embarrassed by Viva. He's whispering in her ear with his hand on her back when he should be backing away and pointing her toward the monitors where the parents are supposed to be.

Jericho grabs the windowsill. “Lift me through! I'm goin' in!” he yells. “Toss me over!”

“No. I don't trust you in there.” Chris pulls me in front of him. I nearly stumble over my own feet. “We're sending Norah in.”

“Yes! Yes!” I jump up and down. “I can do it! Let me!” I'm saying the words but am too distracted to feel them because my mother and Terrance are out in the open daylight, looking very cozy, as if they're a couple. A couple of backstabbers is what they are.

“What do you guys want? Cookies? Apple caramels?” I look from Chris to Jericho.

“Cut!” Terrance yells. “Joss, you said apple caramels instead of caramel apples.”

“No, I didn't,” I say. At least, I'm pretty sure I didn't.

“No worries.” Terrance lifts his hand. “Just watch your lines. It has to be exactly right.”

“I know the lines. I know every single one.” What a laugh this is: after recording the dialogue on my phone and memorizing it the way me and Damon planned, I finally do know all the words, but now I can't concentrate.

“Don't talk back, Joss.” Viva steps forward in her platform sandals. “He didn't say you didn't
know
them. He said
watch
them.”

She should be minding her own business. It's bad enough they've teamed up against me. Do they have to do it in front of everybody?

“We'll go again, okay?” Terrance says. “From Joss's ‘Yes, yes.'”

While Jericho peers through the drive-thru window, I mumble under my breath to Chris. “I can't take them anymore, I mean it. If my mother pokes her nose in scene twenty tonight, I'll never be able to do it.”

“Don't think about tonight,” Chris whispers. “This is all we're doing right now, so keep your head in it, okay?”

“Hey! There are Mallomars in there! I haven't had those since, like, second grade!” Jericho says.

The Milk-n-Stuff is like a junk-food pit stop on the way to heaven. It would normally be my new favorite place. But today, before the worse scene ever, this set is just sweet and fake, like everything else on
The Locals
.

“Grab me a box of those when you get in there, will you, Joss?” Jericho asks. “I love it when we get to eat the props.”

Is that the only thing missing in Jericho's charmed life?
Mallomars?

“Get 'em yourself,” I grumble.

“Roll sound! Rolling!” Terrance calls, with his hands resting on top of his head. “And … action!”

“Yes! Yes!” I clap and hop on the balls of my feet. “I can do it! Let me! What do you guys want? Cookies? Caramel apples? I'll even get you those gross jerky things!”

Did I say it right?

“Why her?” Jericho asks. Suddenly I can't remember what he's talking about, and I have to tell myself to listen, feel, react.

“Because she'll stay out of the cash register and the dirty magazines,” Chris says, reminding me where we are.

Jericho groans. “Okay.” He sticks his finger in my face while I try to figure out how to react. “But you'd better get me some hot dogs or I'm going in after you.”

Now my mother is holding her phone up to the monitor, probably to show me later how bad I was. Taking video during shooting probably isn't allowed. There's got to be a rule somewhere. But who's gonna say no to Viva when she's partners in crime with Terrance?

“I will. Now, boost me!” I face the drive-thru and grip the ledge. I'm glad to turn my back on Terrance and my mother.

When Chris links his fingers together to make a step, I put my foot in and push myself up by balancing on Jericho's shoulder.

“Be careful on the other side,” Chris says.

“I got it, I got it. Hold your horses.”

The ledge has been padded so that I won't skin myself as I wriggle my belly over it. I spot a thick gymnastics mat on the deli floor, swing my left leg up, and climb over.

“Cut!” Terrance laughs.

I land softly on the mat and bounce.

“Good, kids. Really good.”

Compliments from Terrance irritate me now because: 1) the scene wasn't any good at all, so he must be blind; 2) I don't want to impress him anymore; 3) LIAR!!!

“Let's get a few more,” I hear Terrance say as I walk through the store. I spot the Mallomars on the shelf and leave them there. “More energy for the next one, all right? Remember you're supposed to be hungry, and this is a store full of goodies! Let's reset.”

As soon as I step out of the door, Viva bursts out laughing as if she was holding it in the whole scene. “Do you think you can do that just a little bit more gracefully, Joss?” She holds her phone up to show me. “You have to see this video. It's hilarious—your butt hanging over the edge in those shorts!”

What's there to laugh at? Eating too much and growing too tall and zits and training bras and my butt aren't things to joke about. Definitely not in front of my cast and my crew. I'm so mad I can understand how Oscar Coombs could smash a camera.

Chris shakes his head and mouths at me to stay focused.

I shuffle the gravel on my way toward Damon. “Did you
hear
her?” I ask him.

“I heard it,” Damon says. “I saw the whole thing.”

“I need some air,” I say, which might sound stupid because we're already outside, but it's true. “I have to take a walk or something. They're resetting the camera.”

“Sure. Let's power walk, burn off some steam. That'll be good.” He motions to Benji where we're going.

We take a wide lap around the deli. It's more peaceful on the woodsy side where there isn't any crew, but our porta potty smack-dab between the trees ruins the view.

I pump my arms faster when we turn the corner and my mother is back in sight. “I hate her, Damon.”

“Don't say that. She's still your mom,” he says, lifting imaginary dumbbells.

Copying him, I pretend to lift dumbbells, too. We should count this as PE for school. “No. I do. I really do hate her.”

“Stop. You don't mean that. Plus, your mic might still be on,” he reminds me.

I touch the mic pack that's clipped inside the back of my shorts. If Viva heard me, then so what? If she wants me to love her she should be more lovable. And if the crew heard me, and they're surprised to learn that America's sweetheart hates her mother, they'll get over it. Believe me: images get shattered every day.

Damon checks over his shoulder. “Let's keep walking until they call you back. Break a sweat. It's healthy for you. And do yourself a favor. Try to think about something positive for a few minutes.”

*   *   *

“Is this real marble?” I ask, sitting on the cool bathroom counter.

“I think so.” Viva dusts over my eyelids with a tiny makeup brush. “But if it isn't, we could demand that the manager bring us some more chocolate-covered strawberries.”

“It's so clean.” I slide my palms across the sparkly white surface. “How do they chip marble into sculptures with nothing but a screwdriver thingy and that little hammer?”

“Oh, gosh, how would I know? I can barely use the self-serve frozen yogurt machine.”

I giggle as I bite into my sixth strawberry. Usually it's gross to eat in a bathroom. But in a Hollywood hotel on Oscar night when your movie is nominated for Best Picture, it's considered fancy.

“There, all set. You. Look. Gorge.” My mother bounces the blush brush on my nose. She looks pretty, too. Her hair is wavy like she's in a movie from the Golden Age. “Now, for the best part—our shoes!” She claps and hurries into the bedroom. “Joss! Come quick! Look! Look what's on!” she calls. I hop off the counter and run after her, carrying the silver tray with the rest of the strawberries.

Live from the Red Carpet
is on the TV, and the host is talking about
Buy One, Get One
.

“This quiet, sleeper hit costarring the little powerhouse, America's darling, Joss Byrd…” Suddenly my picture, a still photo from
Buy One, Get One
,
flashes on the screen.

“Powerhouse!” we squeal. “America's darling!” I set the strawberries on the dresser. Then we jump up and down on the bed, designer dresses and all.

*   *   *

I'm a little out of breath by the time we're ready to roll again. This is what happens when you miss months of gym class. Back at the drive-thru, I curl my fingers over the windowsill to get my mind back into the scene.

“You all right?” Chris asks, taking his mark beside me. “You're all sweaty.”

“Yeah, I'm all right.” I roll my shoulders and wait for my pulse to slow down. “You know how you said that eventually everybody wants something?” I ask.

“Yeah…” He lowers his face, curious.

“Well, I know what I want now.” I lift my chin confidently. “And it's not a motorized car.”

 

15

Benji stocked my trailer with microwave popcorn, fizzy lemonade in glass bottles, and candy from the shop down the road—handmade local fudge. He called them “delectables.” It's so obvious that these freebies are supposed to keep me happy—happy enough to do a scene I don't want to do. I'd get anything I asked for right now, like an ice-cream sundae or a chocolate croissant from the bakery in town. Since the only thing I really want is to scrap this scene altogether and that's impossible, I at least want to get through it without worrying about what my mother will do or say or think of me. In order to get that I need to do as Chris said: be the Bessie.