“Like I said, I’m observant. You’ve done pretty much everything to not be involved here at school, and I’ve seen you push away people who’ve tried to recruit you before. But you’re still talking to me.”
I shake my head. “Why do you notice things like that?”
“It’s just the way I am,” she says. “And I think you’re cute. But really, I’ve been the new kid at school, and I know it sucks. I try to keep tabs on the new kids, just to make sure that they’re doing okay. If they’re not, then I do something.”
My brain is stuck on the fact that she thinks I’m cute. “You think I’m cute?”
A blush colors her cheeks and it’s brighter because we’re both surrounded by snow. “I do. Something you should know about me, I’m very blunt. So yes, I think you’re cute, but I also think you’re not doing so well here. I think Drama could be good for you. We don’t bite, I promise.”
“What would you do if I still said no, after all that?”
Amber tilts her head to the side, and I follow the way her hair falls with my eyes, watch the snowflakes that get caught in the strands. “I’d accept it, but I’d be disappointed.”
That settles it, then. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you,” I say with a grin. “Lead the way. I’ll give it a shot at least.”
Her face lights up with smile that shines out of her eyes. “Perfect.”
I follow her through the snow and back into the school, pulling out my phone to text my aunt that I’ll be home later than normal, and why.
We pass the science hallway and make our way toward the auditorium. I follow Amber through the back doors, and find a group of people relaxing in chairs. It’s more people than I expected, though honestly they look the way I imagined.
As we enter, everyone turns around to look, and I freeze. Amber doesn’t. The teacher raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering where you were.”
“I had my eye on someone,” Amber says, grinning back at me. “This is Peter.”
I give a small wave, and the teacher steps forward to shake my hand. “I’m Mr. Davidson. I teach music and drama, but I haven’t had you yet?”
“Transfer student,” I say.
“Ah, well you’re just in time. Today is audition day! Let’s get started, gang.” He makes a grand, un-ironic gesture that would probably be embarrassing coming from anyone else, but it works for him.
People grab their stuff and start migrating to the front of the auditorium, and I glance over at Amber, wondering what in the hell I just got myself into.
3
Peter
Present
I walk into the studio, still shaking off the encounter at the coffee shop. Not exactly the way I was hoping to start my day. I sign in, and make my way through to the set. I love the sets, everyone there has a specific job that they’re doing and running around trying to do it in record time.
I should head over to wardrobe and make-up, but first I want to say hello to the director. Clay Markham is a Hollywood legend, and the fact that he was directing was what interested me in the project originally. Even before I read the script and saw how good it was.
A few of the crew nod to me as I pass. Another thing about sets, there aren’t—generally—any people who are star struck here. Occasionally I’ve worked with extras that had a bit of shine in their eyes, but on the whole, I’ve been lucky to work with people who have been very professional.
I take a minute to look at the set. If I hadn’t just walked in from a bright and sunny L.A. day, I would swear that we were three thousand miles away in New York City. The production department nailed the gritty atmosphere of a NYC Police Precinct, and it’s fantastic. Actors can and should be able to act in any environment, but to be placed in a setting like this makes it so much easier.
I’m blinded by the lights, and I step out of them and head back toward the cameras only to be stopped in my tracks. Clay Markham isn’t sitting in the director’s chair. Instead it’s a woman, long red hair pinned up into a bun, and she’s smiling at a PA, completely oblivious to the fact that the floor has just dropped from under my feet. Amber Dwyer. My Amber. The Amber I never thought I would see again, is sitting in the director’s chair. She hasn’t noticed me, but that’s okay. I can take this moment just to look at her.
She looks amazing. Still gorgeous, still perfect, even if I don’t know what she’s doing here.
“Peter!” A voice calls from behind her, and she looks up directly at me. She smiles at me, a small, professional smile, and waves before continuing her conversation with the PA. She doesn’t recognize me. I try to ignore the stab of pain that accompanies that realization as my agent Michael strides up to me, barely glancing up from his phone. “Glad to see you’re on time. You look great. You look ready.”