The only first-generation kids I know are acquaintances and aren’t from Europe, but I don’t mention that. He can probably already tell that I have no idea what I’m talking about.
“Yeah, a little bit,” he says. “We spoke French at home and everything. I didn’t learn English until school. Other than that, it wasn’t exactly exceptional. Manhattan isn’t a bad place to be different, you know?”
I nod, hurrying to jot down notes: Manhattan theater scene??? French parents, but not outcasts because of foreignness.
“Everyone is different somehow,” he continues. “And they’re the only parents I’ve ever had. I’m not sure what it would be like to grow up any other way.”
“Sure,” I say, nodding. “I guess it’s interesting because there’s something so romantic about French, just like you said there’s something romantic about movies.”
“Yeah. Actually, you’re right.” He leans forward, runs a hand through his curls. I force myself to look away. “Do you speak French?”
“Uh.” I bite my lip. “I can do all of Lafayette’s parts from the Hamilton soundtrack.”
He laughs. This is where he seems more like a guy from school. The noise is harsh, loud, like he isn’t worried about who might hear. I guess that’s something only I worry about. But at the same time, it’s different. His laugh doesn’t feel like a punch.
I force myself to look at my notebook. “What are you working on next? I couldn’t find anything online.”
“Oh.” He blinks. “That’s because I’m not really supposed to talk about it. I’m working with Roy Lennox.”
“Wow.” I shake my head. “He— They’re doing a documentary series on ABC in honor of his twentieth year as a director. That’s amazing.”
From an indie movie to working with one of the best directors in Hollywood. Before seeing his performance, I would’ve doubted it. Now? I’m sure Marius Canet would slay any role he wanted. Part of me wishes it weren’t a part in a Lennox movie—he always has all-white casts, so he must be branching out now—but it’s a milestone most actors spend years working toward.
“Yeah.” He nods, leaning back again. “Kinda nerve-racking, though, you know? But I feel like I can’t say that. It’s cool enough that it’s even happening.”
“I don’t think you should feel bad about it.” I click my pen, allowing myself to look up at him. For the first time, his expression is shy, guarded. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel. I don’t think you should have to lie about it. Things can be great and scary at the same time.”
“I guess.” His voice is soft. “Maybe.”
I want to press more. I want to tell him about how I feel guilty about my anxiety when I don’t have much to worry about, not with my nice house and laptop and married parents who let me travel the country to do interviews. Almost as soon as I consider it, I shove the thought down. I don’t even talk to my family about this. I can’t have Marius thinking there’s something wrong with me.
Then his phone starts ringing. If we were having a moment, it’s gone now.
“Oh, man.” Marius frowns down at his screen. “I’m so sorry. I have a meeting with my agent—I totally forgot. Can we pick this up again another time? Maybe in Austin?”
I bite my lip. His publicist should’ve told him that an interview would take more than twenty minutes—or he could’ve let his agent know about this. He really is new to this. I should be irritated, but there’s just a nervous fluttering in my stomach.
“Yeah.” I suck a breath. “Yeah, we’re scheduled to talk at your fitting on Tuesday, anyway. I’ll keep asking questions until I’m done.”
“Good.” He grins, momentarily blinding me. “I’m all yours.”
@JosieTheJournalist: hahahahahaha people are terrifying
“Stop it.”
I peer up. Alice isn’t even looking at me, has barely glanced at me since we got back to the hotel a few hours ago, even though we’re lounging on the same bed.
“What?” I say. I’m actually confused. “I’m not doing anything annoying.”
Alice thinks a lot of things I do are annoying, like playing music out loud instead of using my earbuds or talking to myself when I’m working. I’ve spent most of the evening Googling other actors from the movie so I can figure out what to ask them about Marius.
“No.” Alice rolls her eyes. “I mean stop thinking about him. You have a goofy look on your face.”
“I have to think about him,” I say, turning back to my screen. “I’m writing a profile. And I should be working on it all the time, so I don’t know what you want me to do. It’s not my fault if you don’t like—”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” She kisses her teeth, reaching for her scarf to wrap her hair. “You always get your heart set on these little pretty boys. That’s why you can’t find anyone, you know. It’s not because you’re not pretty or smart or whatever you’re always going on about.”
“Oh my God.” I snap my head up. “Screw you, Alice.”
I regret ever talking to her about the crushes I’ve had. Honestly, I never really thought she was listening. There was Savion, a Black guy with a gorgeous Afro, who in ninth grade told me no one wanted my “fat, nappy-headed ass, anyway” after I refused to help him cheat on a test. There was Sohail, a boy who kissed me three times sophomore year before telling me his strict Pakistani parents would never approve of me. And then there was Tasha, my sorta-kinda girlfriend last year, who didn’t tell me she was moving away until she was gone. I don’t always get my heart set on pretty boys. Lately, I’ve learned not to let my heart get set on anyone at all.
Maybe it’s a me thing. Since I’m fat, I should probably just take whatever
