He picked it up with one hand and used his other hand to steady mine while placing the latex onto the top of the pile. When he didn’t let go, I met his eyes. He averted his gaze, dropped his hand, and then stood. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I promised my mom I’d be home earlier tonight.”

I threw my whole handful of scraps into the garbage. “Oh, that’s okay. I wasted all our time.”

“Text me if you get stuck on any of the math.”

“For sure. Thanks.”

I moved in to hug him as he was turning toward the door.

“Oh,” he said, and patted my back awkwardly. “See you.”

“Bye.”

He closed the door behind him, and I sank down to the couch. Why had I turned that weird? What was I doing? I did not like Donavan Lake. He was just a very helpful friend who I felt comfortable around, which was great, because that’s what I needed right now. That’s all I needed.

What I didn’t need was people talking about me to Remy. I took a deep breath, but Donavan was right, it was just on-set gossip. People talked about other people all the time. Remy was probably used to it too. It wouldn’t influence him . . . I hoped.

Dancing Graves

INT. LORD LUCAS’S LAB—LATE NIGHT

LORD LUCAS mixes chemicals and herbs in a glass beaker, measuring each carefully. His large wooden table is a mess of dirty beakers, spilled formula, and scattered ingredients. His eyes are bloodshot. His hair is disheveled and his nerves are on edge. Every noise outside makes him jump. He spills a chemical and it splashes onto his wrist, burning him. He curses and throws the glass beaker across the room, where it shatters against the far wall. BENJAMIN rushes in.

BENJAMIN

Was there a break-in?

LORD LUCAS

No, but I think somebody is tainting my ingredients.

BENJAMIN

Who? Why?

LORD LUCAS

There are some who believe we shouldn’t help the infected. They believe we should eradicate them to stop the spread.

BENJAMIN

Don’t let them influence you. Don’t give up on her.

LORD LUCAS

Death is the only thing that can stop me.

Seventeen

The next morning, after hair and makeup, I had some extra time, so I walked to Amanda’s trailer. “Come in!” she said after a single knock, and I stepped just inside her doorway. She was flipping through some papers, and when she looked up her hand flew to her chest. “You really shouldn’t do stuff like that when you’re in full zombie makeup. You’re going to give a girl a heart attack.”

“Says the girl who hid in my shower yesterday.”

“You’re right. I deserve much more than a casual scaring.” She studied my face for a moment. “Everything okay?”

“Ugh.” I leaned my head back against her door. “Someone here doesn’t like me and shared their feelings with Remy yesterday.”

“And Remy told you this?”

“No, I overheard them talking to him.”

“You seem to attract drama: lights falling, ripped wardrobe, missing kneepads, and now on-set gossip.” She laughed.

I started to laugh too but then stopped and walked farther into her trailer. “Wait, do you think . . . ?”

She waved her hand through the air. “I was kidding. Accidents happen. And people, don’t get me started on people. They talk trash on set all the time. They complain and whine. It’s part of being in a cast. I once worked with a girl who complained about every single person in every single one of her scenes to anyone who would listen. She thought she was the absolute best actress in the universe, and any time there was a mistake it was someone else’s fault. So take this for what it is: someone venting.”

“You’re right.” It’s the conclusion I had come to the day before too, but it felt better to hear her say it.

She held up a remote and pointed it at the television that was behind my head.

I turned to look and saw on the screen a frozen Amanda. “What are you watching?”

“I’m watching my audition. In some of Faith’s notes she mentioned how I performed in the audition, so I wanted to see what she was talking about because I didn’t remember.”

“Ooh, fun. Push play. I want to see your audition.” I sat down on the couch.

She pushed play, and we watched her standing in the room I remembered so well, delivering lines to a table full of people taking notes. It had been an intimidating process.

“What do you think about tomorrow being the day?” Amanda asked while the television version of herself was talking.

“The day for what?”

“Kissing. I’ll swing by your trailer after filming with Grant, you suggest a practice kissing session. I step in to show you how it’s done.”

“Oh yeah. Tomorrow is really the only day, considering we’re filming that scene the day after that.”

“Exactly.”

“Then yes, I think your plan will work.”

“It’s really your plan.”

“True. It’s a good one.” I pointed at the screen. “Does this have everybody’s audition on it or just yours?”

“I think it’s all of them. Want me to find yours?” She started fast-forwarding, her body on the television jerking and moving in fast unnatural movements. After her was a guy I didn’t recognize, obviously someone who didn’t end up making the movie.

“Ooh, look who we could’ve been acting with,” Amanda said, pushing play so we could listen. He had a deep, velvety voice. “He’s cute.”

“He’s okay,” I said. “Kind of old.”

“Not too old for me,” she said. “But speaking of cute guys, if Donavan isn’t your boy, why is he always hanging around?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you he’s my tutor?”

“Really?” she said. “I would’ve done every last bit of my homework if I had a tutor like that. Dark hair, intense eyes, I don’t see why he can’t help you find your chemistry.”

“Stop.”

“What? He’s cute. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

“I’m not going to use him to help with my chemistry.”

“I didn’t say anything about using him. I’m talking about real feelings here, not fake ones.”

Maybe I didn’t know the difference, I’d been acting too long. “I can’t even conjure up feelings for a cat, maybe I’m not built to form attachments to living things.”

She rolled her entire head along with her eyes.

A familiar voice came onto the television, and I looked over to see that a new person was reading lines. A very familiar person. Before I could say anything, Amanda said, “Hey, that’s Faith.”

“Faith auditioned for this movie?” I asked.

“Apparently. Who knew.” She pushed fast-forward again. “Here, let me find yours. Are you one of those people who can watch yourself on television, or do you freak out?”

“I had a great drama teacher in high school who made us record monologues, watch them, and analyze our performances in front of the whole class.” I’d gotten used to seeing myself on a screen as well as using the opportunity of watching myself as a way to improve.