Stars in Your Eyes(21)
“Um, excuse me?” she says immediately, face so close to the camera that I can only see her nostril and cheek.
I laugh. She can be so dramatic sometimes. “What?”
She turns the phone. There’s a blur of light, and then I see she’s zoomed in on her laptop screen. A tabloid site has a photo of me and Gray sitting together at the table from earlier, looking comfortable and friendly. The screen is too bright to read what the blog says, but I catch a few words: speculation, budding romance on set. Wow. That was fast.
Emma turns the phone back around to face her. “What is happening? You’re not dating Logan Gray, are you?”
I hesitate. I really, really hate lying to Emma like this. But I know I can’t risk telling her the truth. As much as I love my little sister, chances are she’ll spill the secret accidentally in a conversation with one of her friends. It’d be damaging if the press found out that this was just a publicity stunt—not only to me, but to Logan and the rest of the cast and everyone involved in this movie.
I try to change the subject. “Got your first week of school outfits picked out yet?”
“Nuh-uh—nope, you’re not avoiding my question.”
“We work together. We’re just getting to know each other. Logan and I barely met a week ago,” I add for good measure.
“Oh, so it’s Logan now?”
“Emma. Come on.”
“Okay, but you have to like him like that, right? If you’re getting dinner, and you’re sneaking flirty smiles with each other?”
I groan and rub a hand over my face. This isn’t the first time Em’s stuck her nose into my love life. I think she wants me to know that she’s a supportive sister and that she doesn’t care if I’m gay. She just takes it a little far sometimes.
But her questioning makes me pause, too. It’s true that Logan hasn’t turned out to be nearly as bad as I thought he would be. He’s more fearful and cautious than I expected, afraid to let anyone in, and a part of me—the part that loves getting to know other people—wants to be given permission to access those hidden sides of him. But we’re only in a fake relationship. He isn’t my real boyfriend. I don’t know why he would ever tell me his secrets if he doesn’t tell anyone else.
“We’re just getting to know each other right now,” I tell her again. “That’s it. Don’t get excited over nothing, okay?”
She’s visibly disappointed. She must think I am a part of the newest reality show that lets her see into the lives of the famous actors in Hollywood.
“I have to go. Tell Mom good night for me.” I pause. “And Dad, too.”
She nods. “Love you, Mattie.”
“Love you, Em.”
I change out of my clothes and pull on jogging shorts before I flop into the bed that has no business being this comfortable. I’m tired, but so grateful to be here. This is the dream, right?
I try to close my eyes and get some sleep, but I hear Gray’s words echoing in my ears. Sure, I character analyzed him tonight, but he analyzed me, too. Is he right? Do I protect myself by saying I’m too busy for a relationship?
He said that I would become a better actor if I figured out how to get in touch with my real emotions—if I was more authentic with myself. It was a shock to realize he’d seen through me. It’s true that I try to be perfect. If I’m not perfect and I’m not loved, then I’d have no choice but to think I might be right about myself—that I deserve this shame inside of me. Sometimes I’m worried that everyone else is right about me, too: my dad and the people at the church I used to attend and the bullies in high school who figured out I was gay. I’m worried that I’m not actually worthy of love, in the end.
This fear is getting in the way of letting my guard down—of me becoming a better actor. And, apparently, I only want to be a better actor because I need to be perfect, so that I can use my career as a wall for protection.
If that isn’t a mindfuck, then I don’t know what is.
I sigh and roll over, closing my eyes. It’s a while before my thoughts start to quiet down and I feel sleep coming.
*
I wake up to the hotel phone ringing. I look around, confused for a second. Pale light filters in through a crack in the heavy curtains. I still expect to be in my bedroom back in Decatur. Then I remember, and I realize what the sound is, and—
“Shit!” I scramble out of bed, almost falling, and grab the phone. “Hello?”
“Mattie?” Dave’s voice grumbles. “You okay?”
I check the time on my cell. It’s nine in the morning. I have a shit ton of missed calls from the second assistant director, but my phone was on silent. I was supposed to be on set thirty minutes ago.
“I’m so sorry, Dave,” I say. “I overslept, and I forgot to turn on my alarm—”
“It’s all right. Breathe.”
How did this even happen? It’s not like I was out all night partying, which I would never do, anyway. The hours on set must’ve caught up with me.
“You think you’re the first actor to be late?” Dave asks. I can still hear the twinge of annoyance in his voice, but it helps that he isn’t yelling at me. “Just get here as quickly as possible. There’re a few shots we can work on without you.”