“That’s so creepy,” I said. Shoshanna laughed. Minor mission accomplished.
Julian leaned in. “See? She’s not a nerd, Shosh. She’s with us.”
• • •
The rest of the evening got loud and blurry. And I learned a lot.
For one, Shoshanna had not been in that boat beneath the cliff. That was Jessica, her stunt double. Also, Shoshanna was going to murder Julian if he didn’t quit calling her “Shosh.” Most importantly, the Elementia fanaticism was keeping these two actors isolated—something I could relate to. Apparently the crew was made up of hardcore Thornians, working at minimum wage for the experience. Even after two months of soundstage filming back on the Vantage lot, Julian and Shoshanna still had no idea why everyone was nuts about Elementia.
So I told them ridiculous Thornian anecdotes. I even recycled the mishap with my in-flight boyfriend and his torso map. They didn’t believe me when I said he’d asked to take me out for my birthday, so I slapped his card on the table.
“Fame leeches. Such a-holes.” Shoshanna dropped the card in her empty whiskey glass. She quirked a smile at Julian before adding, “Julian’s much nicer about his fans.”
He leaned back, clasping his hands behind his beautiful head of dark hair. “My fans keep me working. I appreciate them.” He was being so earnest, and I actually imagined Oscar Wilde sitting up in his grave to do a slow clap.
The cast and crew left the restaurant in a large group, and call it jet lag or being plain fed up with caring for an eight-year-old, but I sort of forgot about Ryder until we arrived at a circle of small production trailers. Ryder and I had been assigned to one, which wasn’t the greatest news, except that we were right next to Julian’s.
“Your brother is inside,” Eamon said, pointing toward my door. “He’s a bit homesick.”
“Okay.” I trudged up the steps. Julian had disappeared a few moments earlier, tucking his phone to his ear and speaking in a hushed voice. He hadn’t even said good night.
“Missing something, Iris?” Eamon called out. I looked back, and he held up Annie.
“Oh my God, thank you!” I rushed forward and took it, shocked that I’d forgotten about her. Was it the star power of Julian and Shoshanna, or was I that far out of my element?
“I’m sorry I was slagging you back in the pub,” he said. “It’s odd, you being in the middle of all this and not caring for any of it.”
I looked at Eamon for real. Past the fake ears and scrappy hair. He had no idea how to talk to girls, and I don’t know where it had come from, but he was now wearing a backpack like he was waiting for a ride to school. How in the world was he supposed to blend in on-screen with his costars? Maybe I felt sorry for him. Maybe I related.
“I’m here for Ryder. This means the world to him. Up until about a year ago, he thought he was part elf.” That was hardly the entire story, but there was no need to drag out Ryder’s history with Elementia’s rabid fans.
Eamon scrubbed his messy hair. “Why aren’t your parents here then?”
I laughed. He waited, and I finally added, “Let’s say they have other priorities.”
Turning to go inside, his voice stopped me. “I’m in that caravan over there with about five crew guys. If you need anything, knock.”
“Ah, thanks.” I glanced over his head at the light inside Julian’s trailer.
“Nice meeting you, Iris.”
“Sure.” Even Julian’s pacing profile had star quality.
“Don’t forget to breathe, Iris.” Eamon walked away.
Who was Julian on the phone with? His agent? His mom? I’d looked him up on IMDb about forty times since we met on the Vantage lot. Acting since he was fifteen, star of half a dozen films—three blockbusters, including Alien Army—and best of all, no current girlfriend. I remembered the way he’d grabbed my hand in the restaurant, and my fingers tingled.
Cliché, Iris, my dad’s voice chipped in.
I looked down at my hands. “But I’m tingly. Literally.”
Stepping inside, the trailer was claustrophobic and covered with sterile white plastic, but it smelled okay. There was a small sink and bathroom, a tiny sitting area, and in the back, two narrow beds. One contained a whimpering Ryder. Eamon was right; my brother was a sleepy, emotional mess. I didn’t even try to get him in his pajamas.
“I feel weird,” he whined, his eyes tightly shut. “I’m going to throw up.”
“No, you’re not. You’re fine. Sleep.” I kissed his forehead and collapsed on the other bed. I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes, and I’d check on him. This was programming left over from when he was a year old. Sleep training, his doctor called it. I had been ten, old enough to know that my parents were not following instructions. They kept picking him up, which made him cry even harder and for longer. So I piled my pillows outside his door and set the kitchen timer on my knee. “You can’t go in,” I told my dad when he sleep-stumbled toward Ryder’s door. “He has to cry for fifteen minutes. Then we check on him, but we don’t pick him up. Then we set the timer again.” He looked at me like I was nuts. “I was at his doctor’s appointment too.”
It had felt brilliant to care for my little brother that night. Like love and family done right. But it’d felt significantly less than brilliant to keep doing it for the next seven years.
Ryder quieted down, and I took out my phone and sent my father a message, not caring how much the roaming charges would be. He’d want to know that we made it. Most likely.
Sleep wouldn’t come, and I felt deeply disconnected from reality. I was trying to sleep on an island off the coast of Ireland while my friends were getting home from school. Tomorrow they’d be
