Page 97 of Cast to be Mine

I lifted the prop phone to my ear and delivered the lines. They came out flat. Lifeless. I knew it before Micah even called cut.

“Again,” he said. No notes this time. Just the word.

We went again. Better but not good. The desperation wasn’t there. I was too busy watching Chantilly in my peripheral vision, her phone raised like she was filming something.

She was probably just scrolling Instagram. Or maybe she was documenting my meltdown for her followers. Either way, I couldn’t focus.

“Let’s take five,” Micah announced. “Grace, can I see you for a second?”

My heart stuttered. We shouldn’t be seen talking privately. Not after this morning. But he was the director, and directors talked to actors all the time. It was normal. Professional.

I walked over to where he stood near the monitors, keeping a careful three feet of distance between us.

“You’re spiraling,” he said quietly. His voice was calm, but I could see the concern in his eyes. “I can see it. You need to let it go.”

“I’m trying.”

“No, you’re not. You’re watching Chantilly like she’s about to detonate a bomb. You’re second-guessing every line. You’re not present.”

“She saw us, Micah. She knows.”

“She doesn’t know anything for certain. And even if she did, she’s not going to say a word.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

He glanced toward where Chantilly was now chatting with one of the costume assistants, her laugh carrying across the beach.

“Because I know people like her,” he said. “She’s not going to give up that spotlight. If she tells anyone, the focus shifts to you. Me. She’s thrilled with the bump of publicity right now. Trust me, she’d rather push you in front of a bus than share that spotlight.”

He was right.

I nodded. “Okay. I’ll get it together.”

“You’re doing fine, but you can make it better.”

I offered a smile. “I can. I will.”

“Good.”

By the time we wrapped for the day, I was exhausted. My brain felt like it had been through a blender.

The van ride back to the hotel was quiet. I sat in the back, staring out the window at the passing scenery without really seeing it. Patty sat beside me, mercifully silent. She’d stopped asking if I was okay around hour five. Now she just handed me water bottles and protein bars and made sure I didn’t collapse.

Back at the hotel, I went straight to my room. I needed to decompress. Needed to get my head right for tomorrow.

Tomorrow was our last day in Hawaii. I couldn’t afford to be distracted. I couldn’t afford to give anything less than my absolute best.

I ordered room service and ran through tomorrow’s scenes in my head, trying to visualize the movements, the emotions, the beats I needed to hit. I wasn’t thinking about the trainwreck I could see coming from a mile away.

32

MICAH

The morning interview was supposed to be a softball. Puff piece stuff. The kind of press where you smile, say the right things about how amazing the cast and crew are, and move on with your day. I’d done a hundred of these. They were practically scripted.

Half the battle with any production was the hype. We had to get the audience excited. The buzz before the movie ever hit post was what got us across the finish line. It decided how many theaters we opened in. Merchandise. Advertising.

So, I had to sit for these silly interviews.