…
Scheduled for Friday
by Anton M.
9: Plan
…
Monday, January 16 (cont.)
"I'm the worst."
"You are not the worst, sweetie."
"I am," I argued, lying on our couch and pointing a laser at the carpet for Jake to play with. "Were you ever so mean to your best friend that her mother called you?"
"Linda called you?"
"Yup."
"Damn," mom replied, lifting her legs on the coffee table as she put away her laptop. "What did she say?"
"That she's never seen Alice so sad and that she didn't mean it and that I should forgive her."
"And do you?"
"It's not a magic button, mom," I replied. "It always annoyed me in elementary school when teachers made me forgive someone just because they said they were sorry. Feeling bad about what you did is not the same as having learned not to do it again. So I could tell Alice I forgive her without meaning it, is that what you want?"
"I have no stake in the game, honey. Do what you feel is best."
"However the hell I come home, mom, crying or kicking and screaming, please never ever stoop so low that you would call Alice to do anything. I would die. Promise."
"If it makes you feel better."
"It does."
"I promise, then."
"Thank you." I pointed the laser at my feet before Jake jumped on top of me, but he hopped off the moment dad arrived. Dad appeared in his full dirty construction gear, sans helmet, and headed straight for a shower. By the time he returned, our Monday take-out choice, Thai food, had arrived. Dad made mom get up before he sat on the armchair under her, and mom and I both stared at his gauze-covered forearm.
"I thought you were doing swing stage work today?" mom asked.
"Too much wind," dad replied, and when mom raised an eyebrow at his forearm, he shrugged. "Just a scratch."
My dad, a glazier for commercial buildings, often worked on suspension scaffolds high up in the air next to skyscrapers, a much riskier job than you'd think from the 26K a year he earned, but he enjoyed it. A few times a year, he'd arrive home with stitches, almost always a clean cut on his arms or legs from broken glass that fell when he or his coworkers cut them, but this had thankfully never happened on a swing stage.
Jake rubbed himself on dad's socks before I stole his attention with my laser pointer.
"Stitches?" mom asked.
"Will be taken out in a week," he said, kissing mom as he reached for a box of khao pad. "Covered by insurance. Relax."
Mom slumped against him, giving my dad an apologetic smile, not that either of us could judge her for her concern. There was a time not too long ago when she herself wasn't insured and so every little worry had felt like a mountain. We were okay now, but sometimes it took a moment for our brains to catch up to the fact.
I listened to mom and dad's day before mom filled dad in on my whole Alice and Edward debacle. Dad poured mom and himself a glass of wine, offering me some (ew, wine), and corked the bottle.
"Ah, teenagers," dad said, lifting his glass at me. "Teaching the world what real problems are."
I narrowed my eyes at him and made a furious cross with my fingers, flipping him off. My parents laughed.
"Coming up with that little language may be the best thing we ever did."
"What an insulting thing to say," I replied, pretending to be offended. "I thought I was the best thing you ever did."
"Right after you, sweetie," dad corrected, eyes full of joy. "Can't risk being excluded from your Oscar speech."
I stuck out my tongue at him.
I finished my homework and learned my lines before we spent the rest of the evening agreeing on houses and townhouses to tour on Sunday and trying to coordinate what Tuesday would look like. I had work tomorrow, so I had to be on set, but dad had a work meeting in the morning (as well as a full workday), and mom had to be at a company as a live translator at four PM. We settled on dad going to work extra early (eek) and mom staying with me until three PM before dad would take over. Unlike last Wednesday, no special permission had been asked for me to stay late, so we presumed we could at least leave before 8:30 PM.
It was no wonder so many families moved to California for acting. In California, I could've been alone on set starting from when I turned sixteen. Outside of it, SAG-AFTRA rules applied, which meant that my parents were required to be on set with me until I turned eighteen unless I passed the California High School Proficiency Exam prior to that.
It was a shame because I often felt like I had a mark on my back, always reminding everyone how young I was, and being followed by your parents didn't exactly encourage spontaneous camaraderie with your peers, even if the parents in question were as cool as mine.
But at least I got to exchange my Learner's Permit for a Provisional License when I turned sixteen.
The slippery part of turning sixteen was that the restrictions for how long I was allowed work would loosen from four hours to eight. Having a full workday on top of a full schoolday would suddenly be a real risk. I couldn't know yet how likely days like that would be, but the fact that they were theoretically possible was scary.
Having to coordinate my days like this with my parents was also one of the reasons I felt like they should've been taking a cut of my salary. It was annoying. It was annoying to me, their kid, but I bet it was a real splinter in their day to have to arrange their days around a fifteen-year-old daughter, and I really just wished I could've done something for them that showed how grateful I was that they supported me in this insanity throughout my childhood (and beyond, clearly).
In the evening, I sent Alice a gif of two hugging bears, to which she reacted with a heart and her own cutesy gif. I still felt betrayed that she'd out my crush to a guy she'd known for two days, but I also knew that, had I made the same mistake and received the speech I gave her, I would've been just as destroyed as she seemed. We'd be okay, I think. I just hoped she knew that when I said those two other secrets were okay to share, I was emphasizing my point, not suggesting that she do that.
I'd probably have to tell her that in person, though, once we talked, but I already felt better having plans in place. I'd sorted out how tomorrow would work, I'd outsourced my need for a first kiss (which I was now determined to follow through on, whoever Edward found for me), and I'd figured out how I wanted to approach Alice.
At eleven PM, strangely early, as I was lying in bed with Jake on my stomach catching up with my social media, I saw that masen650 had followed me on TikTok.
Edward.
His black-and-white profile picture was an actual profile, one side of his face, his sharp jaw set, his eyes intense, his metallic barbell glistening in the photo. Intimidating, but… damn if I didn't want him to step out of the photo, press himself against me and look at my lips like I was the answer to all his questions.
He had no videos but I followed him back anyway, and my heart skipped a beat when I realized he must've seen my silly videos. My TikTok channel was called Mr. Bahati (referring to Jake and the middle name I was born with), and I exclusively posted videos of Jake sleeping and living his life with my voiceover where I made him sound like a psychopath who only wished death and destruction on humanity. It may have been stupid but it made me happy, and I held my breath as I scrolled down my notifications to see what Edward had seen.
He'd liked a few of my most recent videos and commented on one from a week ago.
'This is the funniest shit I've seen all year. If your acting gig doesn't work out, please do this full-time.'
I think my heart burst into flames.
Who needs to be the object of his crush when you could float away in the knowledge that you made him laugh?
I'd prefer both, to be fair, but I chose not to linger on the crush part.
His little comment lifted me up for the entire Tuesday, which was much needed because Tuesday's busyness was only matched by its chaos. One rehearsal after another, Vince kept changing our lines (even if we were only reshooting, or maybe that's why we were reshooting in the first place), a camera lens was broken, Rose sprained her ankle, and our second second AD Timothy vomited all over Mike's shoes before lunch (which, admittedly, was much too funny not to get a photo of Mike's disgusted-aghast-amused face).
By the time five PM arrived and I needed to stay in my trailer for our hairstylist Lachelle to undo my semi-permanent braid and wrap it into a different updo for Friday, I was all too relieved to be out of the way of Chaos Lords to enjoy her doing her magic on my hair. It was quite the perk to have a professional handle my 3c hair on a regular basis, and while I learned a lot about how to take care of my hair (never comb, squeeze dry, bury in oil), it saved me a lot of time that someone else handled it. Lachelle took multiple pictures and a video to recreate the look later, and the hairdo she settled on, a one-sided braid that ended by hiding my curls within themselves in the back of my neck made me look older, more sophisticated, and even a little bit… sexy.
Lachelle was hoping the hairdo would age into an ethereal nature-child after I'd worn it for a few days but its purpose wasn't actually that it would keep until Friday—it was to agree on the hairdo in the first place with the make-up artist Thiago, costume designer Keith, and even Tanya. The foursome politely ignored my dad's soft snoring on the couch as they crammed themselves into my trailer and (re)adjusted my curls, agreeing with the look, and I refused to let Lachelle take it apart because—after so many years of not knowing how to handle my hair—the hairdo made me feel beautiful.
Before we left, dad wanted to talk to our Child Labor Coordinator James Whitfield, a tall, thin, bespectacled man who was technically responsible for all minors on set, and so Mike caught me across the hallway from them.
Mike was 5'10''. His hair and eyebrows had been dyed brown for the series, and his recent blockbuster success, obsession with exercising and all-American charm had earned him the title of this year's sexiest man alive (given by people who clearly didn't know that he turned into the Master of Whiners whenever he was tired or plans were changed).
"Oh la la," Mike said. "Growing up, are we. You look—" he stopped himself, glancing at my dad. My grin widened. He was going to say hot, but he couldn't not be painfully aware that I was fifteen and he was geriatric. I mean, twenty four.
"Ready for your first kiss?" he asked instead, smirking down at me as he crossed his arms.
"What makes you think it's my first?"
"Aww." Mike gave me his best puppy-dog eyes. "You just broke millions of hearts around the world. You didn't think to save your first kiss for the sexiest man alive?"
"Nope."
"But what about Mathys and Nala, the biggest interracial ship since Zoe and Wash? How will you sit on the couch on Saturday Night Live and tell our fans that the sexiest man alive wasn't your first kiss?"
"Happily, I think."
"You wound me so," he exaggerated, smirking. "So you don't want to practice—" His eyes landed on our second second AD Timothy, who'd turned away from our PA Sheena across the set to throw up on Mike's jacket.
"Fucking hell, Tim," Mike excused himself and walked away. "Really?! My favorite Brunello Cucinelli? Do you have a personal vendetta against me today?"
"Filho duma égua!" (Son of a mare!) Tanya cursed, approaching the scene of the crime and urging Mike to not explore the damage to his jacket. "Didn't I tell you to go home, Tim? Are you intent on giving us all whatever beautiful virus is causing damage to your intestines?"
Sheena reassured Mike that the dry cleaner would take care of his precious jacket while Tanya urged the remaining crew to go home, and my dad and I happily followed her instructions. Because Tanya also needed me in Alec's Recording Studio on 11th Street on Wednesday, dad had to sign a document for permitting it (being on set on three schooldays went directly against my contract), but Wednesday was perhaps one of the quietest days I'd experienced so far. I did not, thankfully, catch whatever it was Tim was spreading, my mom was with me, and I got a lot of studying done with my tutor Mrs. Haisley between recording my voiceovers.
I messaged Edward to meet up with me in the parking lot before school and Alice on the second floor hallway after the first class.
By the time I actually made it to school on Thursday, January 19, I felt so overwhelmed by the events of the week I felt like a lifetime had passed since Monday. I felt like my week itself had fit a week within it, and it was surreal to be back in the buzz of hundreds of students passing me by on the sunny morning. It was cold with a clear sky, and I'd barely sat on the bench near Jasper's motorcycle when Edward parked his Yamaha next to it. He wore black jeans and a jacket over his grey hoodie, well-fitting on his broad shoulders but ragged as ever.
He didn't smile, but something about the slight frown and the focus in his eyes made me curious. What kind of morning did he come to school from? Did he live with his father? Did he have any siblings? What was it about Lauren that kept his interest?
And how stupid was it that, even knowing that he did not return my crush, I still wished I could watch him laugh at my jokes as he pulled me close? Why couldn't I just shut it off?
It made no sense, and yet here I was, about to hear which stranger I was going to kiss today from the very guy I wished could've done it.
Remembering our last parking lot meeting, I approached him slowly.
His mouth fell ever-so-slightly open when he looked up, and his eyes scanned over my body almost in slow motion, from my legs to my neck and face, a simmering intensity in them saying things nobody had ever told me before, and it took everything in me not to show that his gaze made an avalanche of goosebumps rise on the back of my neck.
I'd never felt more beautiful than when he looked at me like that, even if he meant nothing by it.
"Bella," Edward said, a bit breathless, as if he hadn't understood it was me. He pushed himself away from his bike.
I smiled. "Hi."
I wore white sneakers and black tights, a dark red, high-waist leather skirt, and a black long-sleeved T-shirt under a beautiful white coat—my only splurge for celebrating my role as Nala, totally impractical but all the more delightful for it.
"You look…" Edward pocketed his phone, his eyes still lingering on my hair. "Really nice."
Really nice, ugh.
Whatever, I'll take it. I only made an effort today because I didn't want whatever poor guy had agreed to kiss me to regret their decision, and if Edward understood the reason, then so be it.
He stepped closer, bit his lower lip, and hesitated.
"So listen, there's nobody—"
My heart left my chest with the vapor in the cold when I slapped my hand on his mouth. Taken aback, he blinked. So did I, more to blink back my tears than surprise. It was a masochistic quest I'd sent him on, cruel against myself, and to hear from my crush's mouth that nobody wanted to kiss me was more than even I could take.
"Don't—It's okay that you found nobody but… I don't think I can handle the end of that sentence today, okay?"
Just stab me already.
To hear him tell me that he wasn't into me was one thing, but for him to know that nobody in the entire school wanted to kiss me? Not that he could find, anyway.
Desperately ignoring the lump in my throat, I lowered my hand (and my eyes).
"Thanks for trying," I said, quietly, keeping my voice steady as I gave him a tight smile and turned to leave, swallowing back the tightness in my throat.
Edward gripped my wrist and pulled me back. His warm breath blew over my forehead as he spoke.
"I'll do it," he whispered.
Let's twist the knife, shall we. Nice and tight, to really draw it home that all you're worth is a pity kiss from a guy who doesn't want you.
I could've handled the shortest, most acne-ridden ninth-grader. I could've handled Tyler. I could've handled an eighty-year-old nun from a monastery. But of all the people for Edward to offer to kiss me because nobody else wanted to, it made me want to die.
I shut my eyes and let out the slowest breath in the universe. God, it was cold today.
"I'll see you around, okay?"
He didn't let go.
"I thought you didn't care who it was," Edward said quietly. "You don't want it to be me?"
"Not like this," I whispered, blinking rapidly before I decided, fuck it, he'll survive my shimmering eyes. "Not out of pity. Not because nobody, nobody else wants to. It's fine, anyway. It's okay that it happens tomorrow. My co-star is not that bad."
"Bella…" He tilted my chin up. He had the most expressive eyes, apologetic and searching and ever-so-green. "Bella, I didn't ask anyone. You know there'd be a line all the way up to downtown if I'd left the floor for open for takers."
"I… I'm sorry, what?"
He gave me a careful smile before deciding that I wasn't about to run away. He let go of my wrist. "I figured, two things. Well, three, actually. First, running around and announcing that you need to kiss someone before a certain date draws a lot of attention, and even if you say you have an NDA I bet half the school knowing about it will only make it harder for you to keep its contents secret. Even if you never intend to say a word about what's in it, suddenly you have a hundred guys digging around for information."
I swallowed, properly, happy that my lump was disappearing. "Go on."
"Second." Edward's smile was embarrassed. "Lauren always gives me the most attention whenever you're around, and it's been brought to my attention that she prefers guys who are… players. I can be that."
It's official, everyone. Lauren is stupid.
"So you intend to become one to win her over?"
"No." Edward grinned. "I'm hoping one girl's enough. I don't have a grand plan after you."
"Okay," I replied, relieved. I could've asked him if he really wanted a girl who only wanted him when someone else also wanted him but I kept my mouth shut. "And third?"
"And third." Edward's smile turned wicked. "Well, frankly, I don't think any of the dimwits here would do a good job of it, and I do think your first kiss should be special. Special and memorable. I'm nothing special to you but at least I can do a good job of it and you won't have to cringe when you look back at your high school days. Hopefully, anyway."
"What a rational man you are."
"I'm nothing if not rational." Standing so close he could've reached out and touched me, Edward carefully assessed my face, and I pointedly ignored how my heart grew wings when he focused all of his attention on my lips.
"So tell me, flaws in my plan."
"Are you sure you're okay with this? I know you're…" I cleared my throat. "What if it doesn't work out? I mean, doesn't have the desired effect, with… you know, Lauren?"
"I'll figure something out," he replied. "It would be insane of me to hold it against you given that I'm the one proposing the plan."
I attempted to ignore how his gaze made my stomach feel the wildest things, and fisted my hands in my pockets to warm them. Students flocked to the front door of the school, talking and laughing, and Skylar, Kate, Jane and Alice shouted my name before waving at me (and whispering among themselves). I waved back.
"So… what's your verdict?"
Kissing my crush to help him get together with the girl he's into?
A terrible idea.
"I'm in."
…
A/N: Love, love, love your thoughts. Adore them. Thanks a lot for reading!
