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‘We’re ready,’ I say emphatically.
‘Some of them are stupid,’ Nur adds.
‘Guys, we’re ready,’ I repeat.
‘OK, but seriously, some of them are downright –’ Gibitah begins.
‘Just ask the questions!’ Zayan loudly interrupts.
‘Fine, fine,’ David laughs. ‘Someone’s cranky. So, Zayan Amin, tell us, are you more a boxers or briefs kind of guy?’
‘David.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When I first entered the Entertainment Daily studio, I’ll admit, I was entranced by what I saw. Everyone moved with such speed, with such purpose. I enjoyed watching the chaos while sitting in the make-up chair, being doted upon by the make-up artist. I even liked changing into the outfit Pierre demanded I wear for today – a lavender-crêpe sharara suit with a peplum-flared kurti and capped sleeves, patterned with an array of pastel flowers. I liked pretending that I was the star that everyone was orbiting round today.
But now, as I’m being led to the main area, my anxiety is rearing its head again.
I seek out Zayan like a bee finding nectar, and I feel even more relief at the sight of him standing by the craft-service table. He looks blush-inducingly good in his perfectly cut dark-grey suit and light-grey turtleneck.
‘I think I might throw up,’ I say as a greeting.
Zayan’s attention is focused on the iced bun in front of him, and he responds distractedly. ‘Try not to aim in my direction, please.’
I swat his arm. ‘I’m being serious, Zayan.’
He sighs and looks away from the baked treat, clearly ready to say something, but the words die on his tongue. He just stares at me unabashedly, lips parted, for longer than a couple of seconds.
‘I think Pierre might be trying to kill me,’ he murmurs.
My face must be redder than a tomato. Friends compliment each other all the time; it’s just going to take me some getting used to hearing it from him.
‘I think this interview may kill me,’ I reply, diverting the topic.
Zayan regains his composure. ‘You have nothing to be afraid of. Pierre has already briefed the interviewer on what they can and cannot ask. We just have to prove that our chemistry trumps the LSDCATS, as does our play. Which we already know is true. Plus there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, the LSDCATS could say that we aren’t prepared for after what we endured on Desi Night.’
I bite the inside of my cheek, nodding with everything Zayan says. He’s right. We answered so many questions that night, from Why do you deserve to be here? to If you had to save one person from a burning building, your mum or your significant other, who would you pick?
We’re ready for anything.
I survey the studio with an analytical stare to find that the actor and actress from the LSDCATS are here. No Henry – instant relief hits me.
But it’s short-lived when my eyes settle on the LSDCATS leads. The actors look impeccable together. I’ve already stalked them online – the guy playing Romeo, Rowan Kent, is from Scotland and has reddish curls, a brush of freckles across his nose and a smile that makes you think of jumping off cliffs with him – of the rush of danger, the thrill. Mary Whitter, playing Juliet, is anything but the classic girl next door – she exudes allure with her heart-shaped lips, her soft brown hair piled up into a high ponytail and the little beauty mark on her cheek. They mesh perfectly. They’re definitely going to give Zayan and me a run for our money in the chemistry department.
‘We’ve got this,’ Zayan says, pulling my attention away from them and back to him. He’s confident, easily so. I would do anything to have a fraction of his self-belief.
‘Right. We’ve got this,’ I echo back, only half believing it.
‘So, let’s just break the ice here. You two come from opposing theatre groups. There must be some animosity, right?’ asks Leona Harris, our interviewer, with a megawatt smile shining our way. Her question sounds like it’s for all of us, but her eyes are trained on Zayan.
He is, of course, the star.
I wait for Zayan to speak, because that’s the instruction I’ve been given by Pierre. Let Zayan take the lead; he’ll cue you in when you need to speak. But before Zayan can say anything, Rowan cuts in.
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Rowan’s voice is like sand between your toes. ‘I rarely like to be on the bad side of beautiful women.’
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about me, and I force a laugh past my lips as Leona practically dissolves into hysterics.
