Under the Lights

She sighs. “When you were a child, yes, okay, it was a nice hobby and built a solid work ethic. But now? Now you should be in college. Like Jinsung. Like Ally. Your grandparents did not move their families to America so you could play pretend forever. At some point, you must become an adult. This show lets you think you are sixteen forever. That is not the way life is.”

“But you want me to go to college so I can get a job, right? So I can learn, and make money?” I press. “That’s what I’m already doing. Why can’t you appreciate that? I’m like the picture-perfect American dream right here.” I gesture at my designer clothes, my expertly done pedicure, my newest clothing purchases bought with my own earnings. “Maybe your friends’ kids should be more like me. Maybe they should stop aiming to be doctors and lawyers instead of doing something cool and creative.” I tap the copy of The Korea Times she just laid down on the coffee table. “How many of your friends have been in this paper? Because I have. At least three times.”

But it’s clear from the expression on her face that my mother just feels sad for me. Poor Vanessa, who’s deluded herself into thinking she’s important. Poor Vanessa, who’s on the verge of failure, even as she’s succeeding. Poor Vanessa, whose being in the paper is overshadowed by the fact that she can barely read it.

And poor her, for having only been able to have one child, who turned out to be such an unintellectual disappointment.

I stand up from the couch before this conversation can veer any further into the same familiar territory, my feet moving toward the stairs as if they’ve got minds of their own. “I’m going up to read.”

She doesn’t say anything as I head up, and I can hear the flick of her newspaper as she picks it back up, as if I were never there.

* * *

Once upstairs, I change into shorts and a sports bra, grab my sides, and get on the treadmill to run lines while I walk. But even in my zone, and even though my parents have been pulling this kind of unsupportive crap for years, my mother’s words continue to penetrate my brain. Because a big part of me knows she’s right. Not about the age thing — I look young enough that I’ll probably be able to pull off playing high school well into my twenties — but about the fact that I can’t guarantee there’ll be another role for an Asian-American actress when Daylight Falls ends.

Even this past summer, while my costars (e.g. Liam) were starring in career-making roles, I was stuck playing yet another science nerd, this time in a stupid slasher movie. The fact that I actually suck at science only rubbed salt in the gaping wound of my career.

The only person who gets it — like, really gets it — is my costar Jamal. Where I get roles like “science nerd” and “med student,” he gets “guy on the basketball team” and “token black friend who bites it first in every horror movie.” We’re practically our own freaking drinking game.

We both know we’re lucky to be on a show with two people of color in the main cast, but just the fact that it is lucky feels crappy. Even with good reviews on the show, I still get people thinking I’m only on it to fill some sort of racial quota — as if the role of Bailey Summers hadn’t actually been written for a blonde and given to me because I was just better than everyone else.

Whatever.

I read through all my lines a few times, trying some different tones and affects until I feel Bailey fully inhabit my body again, and then I grab my phone. I need to get out of this house. I’m not really in the mood to see Zander, but he did ask me what I was up to tonight in his text earlier, and it’s not like Ally’s free. I reply to his earlier text with, Having dinner w/u?

After five minutes of waiting for a response, I give up and go take a shower. When I get out, though, I see I have a reply text.

Sounds good

Zander’s really big on smiley faces. He signs his freaking autographs with them. My “nice girl” rep is nothing compared to his “nice boy” one.

We agree on a Jade-approved place — height of trendy, lots of exposure — and then I text Ally. Need u to pick me a hot outfit ASAP.

She’s always slower to respond when she’s with Liam, and I get to work on drying my hair and carefully applying my eyeliner while I wait. When there’s still no response and I know I’m cutting it close, I huff out a breath and pull on a pair of black leather shorts and a sheer-ish, sleeveless polka-dot blouse I immediately see makes it clear I haven’t logged enough time in the sun this summer. I trade the blouse for a fuchsia one that looks way better against my skin and make a mental note to book a spray-tan appointment — something Ally used to do for me once upon a time without my even having to tell her it was time for another one. It’s kind of sucked, watching her be someone else’s assistant, but not as much as it’ll suck watching her leave.