Under the Lights

“I like him!” I say defensively, even though it’s a sort of a lie. I mean, Zander’s fine, but it’s not like we attend parties and award shows together because we adore each other’s company. He’s just another one of Jade’s suggestions, and at this point, my romantic life is so pathetic that I’m happy to do what she says just because it’s easier than finding my own boyfriend. Not that I would ever in a billion years tell Josh that.

“You sure Jade’s not the one who likes him?” Josh’s smile is so smug I want to punch it off his face.

“Oh, just shut up,” I mutter. “You haven’t done a damn thing but show off your ass in jeans since last summer. Who are you to even talk about anything?”

“Please, like I don’t know all about the dragon lady, especially after everything with Liam last year. How is she, anyway?”

“Ask the bitchy intern she has doing all her dirty work these days,” I mutter. “After we agree on a band for the party. And remember — this is for Ally, not you, so the answer isn’t ‘whoever has the hottest chick on sticks,’ got it?”

“Man, I can’t believe the boys don’t come a-runnin’ for you, K-drama. With all that natural charm and—”

“Here you go,” the shop girl says sunnily, and Josh jumps back into flirt mode as he holds out his wrists to allow her to thread in the cufflinks. A moment later, Ally returns, too, trying to hide the goofy smile on her face following her phone call with Liam.

“Ooh, those are nice,” she says, peering over Josh’s arm. “Yes, he’ll definitely take those.”

I sigh as I watch the three of them get chatty and check my phone again. There’s a new e-mail from Brianna with a list of interviews scheduled for me for this week; a text from Zander, not-so-subtly reminding me of how much the church youth group he volunteers at would love for me to make an appearance; a voicemail from my mother, asking me to pick up ginger; and then a new text from Liam: Get anything planned?

I shove my phone back into my pocket and excuse myself to go look at some cute dresses on my own. Suddenly, I find myself in great need of retail therapy.

* * *

I have Ally leave me there, telling her I want to shop more and Josh’s driver will take me home. She’s so focused on getting to Liam ASAP that she doesn’t argue, and I make Josh sit down with me so we can finally get things done. She’s heading to New York on August twentieth, so we schedule the party for the eighteenth, so her last night can be with her family. As usual, Josh’s focus is on how to top his previous parties, and after his third attempt to convince me that his backyard can totally accommodate sword-eating fire dancers, I tell him we’re done and I need a ride. Now I’m just hoping to beat my parents home.

No such luck.

“Vanessa, you’re finally back.” My mother looks up from the newspaper she’s reading in the den. “Is Ally with you?”

“Nope, just me.” Sorry to disappoint. I swear, if my parents could trade me for my overachieving, straight-A-getting, Ivy League-bound BFF, they’d do it in a hot second. “I’m going up to run some lines. I have a table-read tomorrow.”

“You don’t have time to sit with your mother for a few minutes first?” She folds up The Korea Times—her every-weekday read, without fail — and pats the seat next to her on the couch.

Be nice, I order myself and take a seat. Maybe she’s not calling me over just to talk colleges or what I plan on doing when I’m “done with this acting nonsense.” Maybe—

“I just saw Jinsung’s mother at the bank, and guess what she told me her son is doing when he graduates college.”

Maybe not. “Running for president?”

Mom tsks in annoyance, which is basically her default language with me. “He is going to be an apprentice to an architect. Doesn’t that sound interesting?”

“About a tenth as interesting as starring in a network’s top-rated TV show.” I frown at the slight chip I hadn’t noticed earlier in the mint-green polish on my index finger. “But if Jinsung would like to sit in on a taping so you can show me off, I’m sure I could help arrange it.”

Another tsking. “Yes, your show is doing very well, Vanessa, but do not be arrogant. You are already eighteen. How much longer will you be able to act as a sophomore in high school?”

I know I could drop stats about Bethany Joy Lenz on One Tree Hill—twenty-two when the show started — or Gabrielle Carteris on Beverly Hills, 90210—a whopping twenty-nine — but there’s no point. I’ve had every argument with her before, and nothing ever penetrates the sleek black helmet of hair covering her skull.

“Maybe you could let me actually start failing before you plan for it?” I suggest, trying to keep my voice gentle. “Sometimes, I don’t even understand why you let me audition at all when I was younger. I assumed the fact that you did meant you and Dad would get behind me someday, but you still haven’t. Why?”