Chapter One: Before Dreams Came True
"Ready, set, action.
I take a deep breath before commencing. Tristan's mouth is a straight line; his eyes fixate on me indignantly. I never figured out how he could war an emotion like a mask so easily; I can't say the same for myself.
"Dad you don't get it." I try to add nervousness to my voice, but it sounds so stupid. "He's a good guy, and he's going to college for a Bachelor's degree. He's a very intelligent human being." I'm writing a strongly worded letter to whoever wrote this trash of a script.
"Mary," Tristan says intently, not blinking. "He is not welcome under my roof. And you won't see him again. Understand?"
"But Dad-"
Tristan turns his back before storming into the darkness. I reach out weakly. "Dad, I-"
"Cut!"
The camera shuts, and the lights come back on. The built up mood vanishes, and we're back in the real world.
"Alecia, for the millionth time. You can't reach or speak. It's not part of the scene." Leah, the director, fumes.
Lamely I shrug. "I can't help it. I get into the moment. Anyways, I'm tired. Let's call it a day."
Almost everyone gives me a death glare, especially my costars, Jordan and Layla. But I know they're drained as well; they'll give in.
"Fine," Leah concedes. "But you better have that scene down tomorrow."
"Whatever."
"Don't give me that attitude." Maybe if I push her buttons hard enough, I'll get fired and never have to act again.
"Whatever," I repeat.
I head for my dressing room to get out this dorky costume I'm in. Skinny jeans, t-shirt with sequin heart, sequined headband. Gross.
"I'm writing a strongly worded letter to the costume designer too," I mutter under my breath. I throw the sequin garbage on the floor instead of neatly hanging it up in the closet and change into my own clothes. Chicago Bulls t-shirt, boot cut jeans, army boots, an old leather jacket that makes me think of my dad. Not my adopted dad- no, my biological dad. I don't know who he is or why he dumped me in the foster care system; all I have is a photo of him in what I'm assuming is his classroom.
You can tell a lot about a person based on a photo. Jarringly colorful posters of Shakespeare and all his literary devices frame the background, so he must be an English teacher. I can only see the blackboard. I can only see the blackboard and part of the wall, but it looks like an average classroom. The only unusual thing is the man in front of it. Leather jacket, jeans, sandy beard with glasses. It's funny how I can see all this but not know his name. This bearded English teacher left me on the doorstep of a police station with this photo and a letter, asking the cops to send me to foster care. Why? It's impossible to figure out. But I'll give him the benefit of the doubt; what I wanna know is the heck my mother is.
"Alecia!" Layla and Jordan approach me as soon as I exit my dressing room. I groan inwardly. I'd never date Jordan outside of a movie, where everything's pretend, and I'd run away if someone like Layla was my sister for real.
"What do you want?" I demand.
"You don't need to be so rude," Jordan replies hotly.
"Actually that's what we're here to talk about." Layla inhales heavily before continuing. "I think it's time you dropped the diva act. Nobody likes it; it hinders your performance and makes us feel uncomfortable. So can you please just be polite and cooperate with everyone?"
"Cooperate?" I cackle like a witch before ending this dumb conversation. "Is this a joke? Razzies!" I brush past them to the door. The Chicago wind bites me the minute I escape the warmth of the studio, but I embrace it. Cold, harsh, I love the stark contrast to the sappy romance I'm staring in.
"Taxi!"
000
"I'm home!" I holler when I trudge into the family living room. Unlike the rest of our mansion, this one could actually pass for an average family den. Honey colored wall, beige carpet, aging furniture, a large television. Aside from my bedroom, this is my favorite. I can pretend I'm just Alecia Scott, teenager, not Alecia Scott, disgraced actress.
"How'd it go sweetie?" Rita comes out of the kitchen, her voice laced with fake sweetness.
"Fine" I'm not sitting through another lecture about the virtues of the film industry and how lucky I am to be part of it. I turn on the forty-five inch LG television and insert the disc of the Empire Strikes Back. Rita shrugs and heads for Dad's office to check her e-mails.
Rita's my adopted mom. Six feet tall, with curly light brown hair streaked with blonde highlights and pale skin, she's one of Victoria's Secret's favorite models. Although her thirty-fifth birthday came two months ago, she still all the desired curves in the men's favorite places. Proud, stylish, and thrifty with money, Rita Maria Scott flaunts the family fortune while expecting her children to be prodigies or something. Unless I'm with her, I never call her Mom; she doesn't make a very good mother.
It's kind of funny when you see who she's married to. Tyrone Scott, my adopted dad, is a designer for Victoria's Secret. He's the one who found me at a foster care agency for troubled girls and adopted me, much to Rita's horror. He's talented at his job, but not very good at marketing. Selling designs is a struggle for him, so he's certainly not the breadwinner. Five foot seven, dark skin, and bald save for his mustache, he's pretty cool, down to earth, but he doesn't care for Rita's attitude towards money. Since he rescued me from the foster care, I reward him by calling him Dad.
Then there's my brother, James. Handsome, fourteen years old, and a supermodel for Ralph Lauren, he brings home the largest paycheck. He's my parents' only biological child, which makes Rita very protective of him while leery of me. He has his mother's form, but Dad's dark skin and amiable personality. Out of everyone in the family, James is my favorite.
I think of my other adopted father, Mr. Dean, who locked me in the closet every time I scored lower than an A on tests. He's not the only one who treated me so. Maybe that's why I like watching the Skywalkers so much; I mean, Luke had an evil dad who dumped and abused him, but he still got to be the hero.
I'm lost in thought when Rita storms into the living room, her face flushed scarlet. A sheet of Dad's crisp computer paper, still moist with ink, wrinkles under her iron grip.
"Alecia," she snarls, as if my name is a curse. "What is this?" She thrusts the paper into my hands. I smooth out the wrinkles before scanning the article she printed.
Top 5 Hardest Child Stars to Work With
1. Alecia Scott
"OMG! Alecia Scott is like the worst costar you could ask for. She's sloppy on purpose, says mean things to Jordan and me, and she can't act. She has no talent whatsoever, and she refuses to take directions. I asked her to stop being mean today, but she just insulted me. Once she spilled my drinks all over the camera, but I had to pay for it because it was my pop. I'm never working with her again after this."
Layla Kardish, Actress
2. Clara Baining
"She's spoiled rotten. I don't know why she's in the industry. She shows up late, refuses to learn her lines, and then she's very demeaning toward the rest of us. She had the nerve to call 911 just because the studio's bathroom was locked due to a water leak. I can't believe she gets hired. Sounds a lot like Alecia Scott."
Judith Markett, Producer
3. Hiroshi Kubazkti
"I think he took a lesson or two from Alecia Scott. Bratty, obnoxious, and unspecial. Can't act to save his life. Last week he kicked a camera over because he didn't like the angle we got on him. The only person worse is Alecia, but Layla already covered her. "
Jordan Watts, Actor
4. Marnie Christie Goshen
"Second rate Alecia Scott. Throws tantrums, misses days just to go shopping. If we don't give her what she wants, she refuses to come out of her dressing room. Child actors these days...
Reese Pallas, Casting Agent
5. Chloe Utrill
"Alecia Scott with more talent. She can act, but only if you give her whatever her little heart desires. Manicures, dresses, private jets- and you have to pay for it. Do all these kids hang out together or something?"
- Julia Cassado, Producer
"What?" I gasp. A knot tightens in my stomach. Layla, that sneaky little wasp.
"Hollywood Secrets put this out just now," Rita snaps. "It's all over Internet. Do you know what this could do to your career? Furthermore, I want to know why they are saying this."
Ah my career. The only reason Rita tolerates me. She shunned me when I first came here two years ago, but once she noticed I could lie easily, she dragged me to an audition for a romantic comedy. So this is my life now, lying about myself to a camera.
"I don't know." Rolling my eyes, I wad up the sheet and throw it in the waste basket. "I don't have time for this."
"You think this is some teenage prank." It is for Layla. "But this is real. Actual reporters are putting this out there. I'm not sure if you know how the real world works, but once you get a bad reputation, it'll stick with you all your life."
"Ma, it's just a stupid gossip site." I stride down the hall to my room.
"What will the casting agents think?"
"I don't care." I wish I said good. I never want to go on set again. I will not be her puppet, her pet on display for the world. A world built on myths of glamour, trendy clothes, and manufactured emotions. One I wish I never stepped into.
"Alecia!" I ignore and storm into my room. She won't follow me; she doesn't care about me that much.
"You left the TV on!" James's crystal clear voice rings across the house. "Mom, what's up with Alecia?" A tendril of gratitude sprouts for my brother, who cares. But I want to be alone.
"Never mind." Rita's footsteps grow dimmer. "I'm looking to see if there's anything else online."
"OK. Hey it's Star Wars. Sis you wanna come see?"
"Alecia's not watching TV today. I just got an e-mail from her director about her behavior."
"Shut up!" I scream, sick of her lecture. "I don't care!" I kick my door, which slams with a satisfying thud.
"I hope you enjoy staying in there all day!"
Yay I think. For me, being grounded is like a free vacation. No work, no lectures, no forced family. Just an evening of watching YouTube videos on my laptop or Star Wars on my personal television.
000
"I'll think I'll Face Time Leonardo," I decide after milling around on the Internet for three hours. "That dude hasn't contacted me in ages."
See, Leonardo, or Leo as I occasionally call him, got this tradition of Face Timing each other once a day, especially since he moved to Minnesota three weeks ago. Three weeks. It doesn't feel like less than a month. How can you expect a girl to "get over it" (as Rita so eloquently put it) when someone like Leonardo is pulled out of your life. I haven't found a person, much less a boy, who will climb the fire escape at two in the morning just to listen to my bad jokes and complaints about my "improved" life. Whenever my performances got panned (which happens with every movie), he'd whisper comforting words into my ears while I sobbed. When James wound up in the hospital due to an accident involving a golf club slamming against his head, Leonardo sat beside me in the waiting room. How can you expect anyone to "get over" losing a guy like him?
Lately I haven't heard much from him. He's normally very reliable with me, but I guess his rich mother's been keeping him busy. LaShandra Calvary, CEO of Calvary Records Co., expects her son to inherit the company as soon as he turns eighteen. He used to whine about all the work she made him do, but now he accepts it.
"Leonardo? You there?" I count the number of rings. "Come on, come on- oh hey Leo!"
His cheery face pop us on the screen. Curly black locks, hazel eyes sepia skin, and round Harry Potter glasses (he always preferred Harry Potter to Star Wars). All that's missing his boyish grin.
"Oh hey Alli." Only he calls me Alli.
"How's it going? It's been forever."
"Oh, it's nice in Minnesota. Lots of snow, lakes, all that good stuff."
"Sounds cool." I want him to be happy, but I'd rather he miss the old life as much as I do. Is that selfish?
"What else is going on?"
"Not much." His lips purse.
"Leo, what's wrong?" His lips are pursing. He's always worried whenever he does that.
"Nothing."
"Leonardo, you can't lie to me. I can always tell."
"Well, I don't-"
"Just tell me what's wrong."
"Alecia, are you sure you want to know? You're going to hate me."
"TELL ME!"
"OK, I- I ran away." Silence. It's just us looking through each other's screens. My mouth hangs open, unable to utter a sound for once. Leonardo just pleads with me, using his chocolate colored eyes to beg. Most girls, including his rich, doting mother (who spoils him whenever he's not working), would give into his every wish and command the way his eyes radiate a puppyish charm. But I can do better.
"Leonardo, I don't believe it."
"I know it's surprising but- I gotta go." He glances over his shoulder. The background is dark and blurry, but I hear an ominous rumbling, like an engine. "You've been great to me, and I've always liked you, but I can't talk."
"Leo, wait, why-"
"I just want you to know that I- I love you." The rumbling gets louder; it's definitely a car. But what kind?
"Leo, I-" I never finish; the screen goes black, and my Leonardo, having just declared his love for me, is gone again.
000
Hello readers, this is my first fanfiction story, so please don't judge it too hard. Also this is a collaboration between band10hut and me. You should visit band10hut, she is a great writer.