Bounce (15 page)

Parker pulls out his cell phone. “Give me your number,” he says. “I'll call you for lunch this week.”

I do, and he thumbs it into his phone.

Garrett picks up his glass and proposes a toast. “To Skyler, and her first Hollywood lunch.”

I laugh, but he gets a serious look on his face.

“Seriously, get ready for liftoff, girl. You're going to do great things.”

“To Skyler,” Brooks says, giving me a look that sends warmth through me. “And to all the great things we'll do—together.”

  
Chapter 17
  

Grey

S
o, Blackwood gave me his little brother for the duration of the shoot.”

“I'm your assistant, Garrett,” I say. I don't like sounding like I'm a present.

We're in Garrett's trailer on Monday morning, on the first official day of production.
Yayyy
. I'm in the movie business.

Garrett turns on the illuminated mirror. “Same thing, pretty much!” His reflection smiles at me. “I'm
so
happy about this. I asked for you, you know. We didn't have much chance to talk Saturday night, but I'm a great judge of character and I like you, Grey Blackwood.”

“Huh,” I say, because it's early, I slept like shit on the Titanic, and I don't know how else to react to that. Until I earn enough to pay Adam back, I'll be stuck driving Garrett around and basically being at his every beck and call. I already had no desire to be down here at the studio. But now with this new assistant position, and now that my mom—shit,
Madeleine
—is going to be here, it's going to be agony.

Garrett shuts his mirror off and turns to me. His skin is so pale and his eyes so blue, he looks like he could be one of those deep-sea creatures that've never seen a day of sunlight. Except instead of weird tentacles and rows of sharp teeth, he looks like he's been sculpted by Michelangelo.

“You don't look anything like Adam.” Garrett looks me up and down.

“Different moms.”
Very
different moms.

Garrett blinks. “Ah, I see. And how old did you say you are?”

“I didn't. Nineteen.”

His jaw literally drops. “Youngster!” he says, though he's only five years older than me. “You seem older because you're so . . . ​big. I'll be kind, don't worry. Well, time to get working! We start in half an hour, and I haven't had a drop of caffeine yet. Could you wrangle some for me?”

I'm going to kill Adam. I'm going to kill him for making me do this. I haven't seen him since yesterday morning when I left his place, but I did hear from him last night by text.

His message was:
You're Garrett's assistant for the shoot. Try and back out of this.

I shake my head. I'm not backing out. How can I, when he accused me of always running out on things? He could be right, but it doesn't matter. Proving him wrong is my top priority. I am
not
quitting this job.

Then it hits me . . . ​If I got
fired
, then it wouldn't exactly be like I
quit
. Adam couldn't blame me if Garrett and I just didn't get along.

Yes.
That could work!

A brand-new Keurig coffee machine sits on the small kitchen area in the trailer.

“Sure, Garrett. I'll make you a coffee.” I step toward the machine, already thinking of the chemistry experiment I'm going to put together.

“No, no, no,” Garrett says, laughing at me. “Not
that
coffee, Greyson von Blackwood. That coffee isn't edible.”

Here we go, Grey. Roll out your weapons.

“Edible is something you eat. I'm pretty sure you mean potable.”

I cross my arms and wait for him to tell me I'm being a superior smartass.

Garrett stands and faces me, beaming. “What a smarty-pants! I love it! Okay, I want a
potable
triple macchiato, extra whip, extra caramel, extra hot.”

“Sorry, dude. I don't think they have that over at craft services.”

Garrett play-punches me on the shoulder. “Well,
dude,
you'll just have to go get it! I'm sure there's a Starbucks around here somewhere.”

I play-punch him back, except with less playing. “Are you sure you want that kind of coffee, Garrett?”

“What do you mean, am I sure? That's my drink! I have it every morning and sometimes in the afternoon.”

“Obviously.”

Garrett's eyes go wide and his hand comes to his chest. “You're saying what, exactly?”

I cross my arms. “I'm just saying that I wouldn't drink that sugary shit if I were you. If the camera adds ten pounds, you could lose about twenty. I'd do straight black coffee if I were in your shoes.” I look him up and down. “Yeah. I'd even skip adding milk. No offense, Garrettson, but you really can't afford it.”

Garrett's narrow shoulders press back and he draws a huge breath. He's about to go ballistic on me, and I am ready for it. Bring it, Allen. Fire me. Toss my disrespectful ass out of the trailer.

He steps forward, and next thing I know, his hand is on the back of my neck pulling me toward him, bringing our foreheads together.

Our heads are bowed, like we're praying together.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for your honesty.”

What. The. Hell?

I can't speak, but he doesn't need me. He keeps going.

“I'm a stress drinker. But not alcohol. Not anymore. Sweet drinks. Milk shakes. Macchiatos. Smoothies. It's the sugar I need. I'm worse than a hummingbird with it. I mean I have the best diet, but the sugar . . . ​It's my Kryptonite.”

“Wow.”

“I know.” He nods, and my head goes up and down, too. “I know. It gets worse right before I start a shoot. I can't stop myself. It's the stress . . . ​it ruins my regime.”

“That sucks, Garrett. But you need to let me go.”

“I'm almost done. I really do like you, Greyson.”

“My name's not Greyson—”

“That's okay. You know I mean you. As I was saying, you're honest. We're going to make a great team.” He takes a deep breath. Then he kisses my forehead and steps back. “Black coffee.” He claps his hands together. “Let's do it!”

I flee for craft services, trying to shake off what just happened. I feel so confused. That did not go the way I thought it would. Not even close.

As I step out of the trailer, I see Adam and Madeleine, my Not Mother, standing in front of the next trailer over. Freakin' perfect. My body goes cold, and I freeze.

Mom looks like an old-fashioned movie star, with her fitted blazer and skirt. Red lips, her blond hair in neat waves. They're clearly having a tense conversation, which is probably definitely about me. And then they both look at me, and their matching expressions of surprise and concern confirm it.

“Grey,” Mom says.

The feeling of betrayal is like fire moving through me, thawing me. I can't believe my brother did this. Let her come here. I pretend I didn't hear her. I turn and walk away.

“Give him time, Mom,” Adam says behind me.

“Just give me some fucking
space,
” I mutter.

I'm so rattled, I can't remember what I'm supposed to be doing. I just keep walking. And then I'm walking past a trailer and catching a glimpse of Skyler, Mia, and Beth, sitting at the small booth inside. I only see them for a fraction of a second, but Beth looks over and sees me. In that second, I feel a sort of connection with her.

Garrett told me earlier that Skyler got the part of Emma. Beth got some kind of consolation friend role. Maybe nothing's actually going on with Skyler and Brooks. I mean, I'm assuming a lot. Though I
did
catch them in bed together. Hah, funny. But I definitely don't feel like I'm getting the starring role with her.

Jesus. I can't even get my head around what these next few weeks will be like. It's easier to count the people I
don't
need to avoid. Saul, the sound guy. Bernadette and Kaitlin, from wardrobe. That's about it.

When I get back to the trailer with coffee, Garrett is talking to Bernadette about wardrobe. They're looking at photos on Bernadette's iPad, so I sit on the trailer's steps to await my next orders. This is a risky place to be. I want to see Skyler and I don't want to see her. I want to see Mom, and I don't want to see her.

The whir of generators surrounds me. I don't know why we had to be here so early. It seems like no one's actually
working
.

“This coffee tastes like shit, Greyson!” Garrett calls from inside.

I laugh, despite myself. “You'll get used to it.”

“If you say so!”

I shake my head. Maybe I can work with the guy after all.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out and see a text from Titus.

Vogelson/Revel just emailed Rez back. He liked our demo. Call me!!

I read it twenty more times. I'm still sitting there, staring at my phone, as Bernadette slips past me.

Over and over, I think this is it. This is it. I've always felt like all we need is a chance and now we have it. If Vogelson likes the demo, we're ninety percent there. I can perform the shit out of our songs. I can get better, too. I'm only a few months into performing. With a producer and more experience, we'll only improve.

I want to sprint to Adam, to Mom. I want to tell them what I've done, me and the band. What I've achieved, what I'm going to achieve, on my own merit. Without their money or support. I did this, I want to say.

I want to grab Skyler and tell her, too, because she'd understand. This is happening to her, too.

But I don't move.

I don't move.

I want to tell someone, but there's no one I can tell.

“Greyson,” Garrett says from inside. “I'm not very fond of alone-time. You should probably know that up front. Part of your job is going to be keeping me—”

Garrett takes one look at me as I enter the trailer, and his smile disappears. He pats the table, indicating the seat next to him. I guess I have no poker face.

“I'm listening,” he says simply, his blue eyes unblinking.

“I'm going to be a rock star.”

“Of course you are.”

That surprises me. It makes me laugh. And then I can't seem to make myself stop.

Garrett sits back in his chair, smiling as I laugh until my stomach cramps and my eyes sting. And when I finally settle the hell down, I tell him about the band and Vogelson, and Titus's text.

Garrett listens quietly, his eyes sparkling. I bet he knows tons of famous people who've starred in huge movies and maybe even filled arenas, but he's grinning like it's his big moment as much as it is mine.

When I'm done, he stands and goes to the kitchen area and pulls a bottle out of the mini-fridge. “This calls for some potable champagne, Greyson. How incredible and wonderful,” he says, and I know he means it. His smile takes on a wicked tilt. “But don't think I'm letting you go anywhere until this shoot is done.”

  
Chapter 18