The Forget-Me-Not Summer (3 page)

“O
h, Zinnia,” Ronald P. Harp said, his voice breathy with lament as he sat in his director's chair and shook his head.

Zinnie had just finished performing a scene from
Alice in Wonderland,
in which she'd finally been allowed to play Alice rather than a boy's part. (Girls outnumbered boys by two to one in the class, and Zinnie often had to play the boy. Or the mom. Or an animal.) She knew she'd been distracted. How could she not be after she'd listened in on her dad's phone conversation about a separation? Her family was on the verge of falling apart, but unless she'd wanted to make a big scene in front of her mother, who might not have even known about her dad's talk with the lawyer, she'd had no choice but to go to acting class as if everything were normal. As difficult as it was,
Zinnie was determined not to panic until she was able to discuss the whole situation with Marigold.

“Oh, Zinnia,” Ronald repeated, removing his glasses and massaging his temples. While it was true that she'd messed up some of her lines in the scene, Zinnie didn't think she'd been
that
bad. Ronald was squinting like she'd given him a headache, and it wasn't the first time he'd made this face.

The weird thing was this wasn't one of the classes that her parents made her take, like piano or chorus. She'd really wanted to take this class, figuring that if Marigold loved acting so much, so would she. Her parents agreed to let her sign up as long as she also gave piano lessons another shot. Marigold was annoyed that they'd let Zinnie enroll without much of a fuss when she'd had to beg and plead. “You have no idea how easy you have it!” Marigold had said. “Older sisters have to do all the hard work around here!”

Zinnie hoped the two of them could be acting sisters. She wanted them to go to parties together and be interviewed as a duo. If Zinnie had her way, the
Seasons
people would even write a part for her. She would play Marigold's character's forgotten sister. She would have escaped from an orphanage, traveled cross-country by train, and arrived on the doorstep of the
Seasons
house in tattered clothes with patches on them.

This class was the key to that dream, but it was turning out to be harder than she'd imagined. Zinnie
had always thought that if she tried her hardest at something, eventually she'd get good at it. That was what teachers always said. But it was becoming more obvious with every class that acting didn't work like that. In fact, trying harder only seemed to make it worse. Still, she wasn't ready to give up. She took a deep breath and listened as Ronald spoke.

“You're thinking from up here,” Ronald said, gesturing to his forehead. Then he clutched his chest. “Instead of from here.”

“Huh?” Zinnie asked. Her brain was in her head, so of course that was where she was thinking from! As usual, Zinnie didn't get it.

“I don't really understand what you mean,” Zinnie said.

“What do I mean? What do I mean?” Ronald ran a long-fingered hand over his goatee. He looked tired. Tired of Zinnie. This was her second time taking Acting for Beginners, and she hadn't made any progress. “Can anyone in here explain what I mean?”

“She has no emotional connection,” Samantha Wise said. Samantha had been in a commercial last year, and everyone knew she was up for a part in a TV show as a beautiful deaf girl. “But it's not just her words,” Samantha continued, pulling her long, spiderlike legs into her chest and resting her chin on her kneecaps. “Her facial expressions are so huge that they're . . .
like a clown's.” Her butt-length hair draped around her shoulders like a curtain.

Get a haircut
, Zinnie thought meanly. She made a mental note to ask her mom to figure out a new car-pool situation as soon as possible.

“What do we call that, class?” Ronald asked.

“Pulling faces,” they answered. Zinnie wanted to melt into the sofa, just become part of the fabric, and wear away with time. Pulling faces was a mortal sin at the Ronald P. Harp Acting Studio.

“You must find your way into the character. First, I think you must find your way into Zinnia Silver. Who is the real Zinnia? Where is she?”

Zinnie had no idea how to answer these questions, and yet Ronald was looking at her like she should. She'd bet he never asked Marigold these questions. She was probably just perfect from the beginning. It didn't seem fair. Zinnie felt like crying, but she didn't. She swallowed hard.

“Don't bury your feelings, Zinnia,” Ronald said. “Let them live. Let them breathe! Wake up and bloom, Zinnia! Bloom!”

At the end of the class Ronald pulled her aside and told her she would not be allowed to continue at his acting studio. He was nicer to her in that moment than he had ever been, which was confusing. “Acting isn't for you, Zinnia,” he said. Zinnie nodded and
smiled and held her breath. He put a hand on her shoulder and added, “But that doesn't mean you don't belong in the theater. Just think of all the jobs that need to get done backstage. Why, you could even be a stage manager one day!”

T
he lobby at the Jill Dreyfus Agency for Young Performers was large and sunny, with big windows and a balcony that had a view of the Hollywood sign. A girl was talking on a cell phone out there. She was in a blue sundress, and as a breeze blew, her long dark hair fanned out against the green-brown hills in the distance. As Mom talked to the receptionist, Marigold scanned the framed movie posters on the walls. They featured Jill Dreyfus's most famous clients. There was Max Jordan riding a bicycle into the wind in
Race to the Top
. There was Tamika Garcia driving a school bus in
Field Trip Fiasco.
And there was Amanda Mills making a face at herself in the mirror in
Double Trouble
.

Maybe one day I'll be on this wall
, Marigold thought, and the idea sent a shiver from her head to her toes,
which were already tingling with anticipation. Actually, her feet were sweating so much she was slipping a little in her wedges. All the relaxation exercises from this morning had worn off.

Marigold was imagining what her movie poster would look like when the girl on the balcony turned around. Marigold gasped and grabbed Mom's hand when she saw that it was the real Amanda Mills. Marigold looked from the poster back to Amanda just to be sure. It was the same girl!

Amanda Mills wasn't just any actress. She was also a pop star who had been discovered on
America Sings
when she was only ten and now, at thirteen, had a hit album and her own TV show and was rumored to have landed the lead in the movie version of
Night Sprites
.

“OMG, Mom, that's Amanda Mills!” Marigold said as they took a seat on a big white sofa. “I wish I could talk to her.”

“Go and say hi,” Mom said.

“But I don't know her,” Marigold said.

“Well, introduce yourself,” Mom said. “She's not talking to anyone.” It was true. Amanda had hung up the phone and was just standing there, leaning against the railing, as the traffic whizzed by on Sunset Boulevard. “We have a few minutes. The receptionist said Jill is running late. I'll be right back. I'm going to find the ladies' room. It must be down that hall.”

Before she could think too much about it, Marigold took a deep breath, smoothed out her dress, and walked up to Amanda, who was now staring at her cell phone as if willing it to ring.

“Hi,” Marigold said. In addition to her feet, her palms were sweating now, too. “You're Amanda, right?”

“Yup,” Amanda said. “That's me.” Marigold couldn't believe it. She sounded exactly like she did on TV!

“Nice to meet you. My name is Marigold Silver.”

“Cool name,” Amanda said. She placed a hand on her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun, looked right at Marigold, and smiled. Marigold beamed back. Without all her makeup on, Amanda looked like a regular girl instead of an international megastar.

“So I just have to ask, is it true that you're going to be playing Seraphina in the
Night Sprites
movie?” Marigold asked.

“Yeah,” Amanda said. “I just signed the contract.”

“I love those books! I've read them all like five times. Which one is your favorite?” Marigold asked, still amazed that this conversation was actually happening. “Let me guess!
Whispers of Winter
? Or no, wait,
Dares of Dawn
?”

“Oh, I haven't read them,” Amanda said.

“Really?” Marigold had to summon up all her acting skills in order to hide her shock. She didn't know of a single person her age who hadn't read the books. Even her dad had read the first one. “They're awesome.”

Amanda nodded and then checked her cell phone again.

“Waiting for a call?” Marigold asked, rocking on her heels in hopes that some air might sneak into her wedges and cool off the bottoms of her perspiring feet.

“My mom was supposed to pick me up, and she's late,” Amanda said.

“I'm sure she'll be here soon,” Marigold said.

“Yeah, right,” Amanda said, her face full of shadows. “She always does this.”

“Well, I think it's epic that you're going to be Seraphina,” Marigold said, switching the subject to something positive. “I would do anything to be in that movie.”

“I think they're doing more casting in July,” Amanda said, “but they're probably just looking for stars, you know?”

“Oh,” Marigold said, feeling a little sizzle of pain like a prick of hot oil from Berta's griddle. She wasn't a star.

“I mean, unless you wanted to be an extra,” Amanda said. “But who would want that? I always feel bad for them. The other day one of them was following me everywhere. It was so weird.”

“I'd never want to be an extra,” Marigold said, even though she knew that just seconds ago she would've jumped at the chance, especially for the
Night Sprites
movie.

“Um, I think I'd better go inside,” Amanda said. “I'm getting a sunburn.”

“Me, too,” Marigold said. She trailed Amanda back into the lobby, wondering if she should ask Jill Dreyfus about auditioning for
Night Sprites
before or after she performed her monologue. Marigold was now more determined than ever to try out even if she wasn't a star—yet. As Amanda approached the receptionist's desk, Marigold took a seat on the big white sofa. She didn't want to be following Amanda around like that extra.

“Did you get ahold of my mom?” Amanda asked the receptionist.

“We can't reach her,” the receptionist said, “but I'm going to keep trying.”

“She was supposed to be here an hour ago,” Amanda said.

“I know, hon. I ordered you some sushi. It's in the kitchen, okay?”

“Fine,” Amanda said. “Whatever.”

“See you later,” Marigold said as Amanda walked away.

“Yeah, see ya,” Amanda said.

Speaking of moms, Marigold was wondering where hers was. She wasn't in the lobby, and she wasn't on the balcony. She headed toward the hallway to see if she was still in the bathroom. Marigold was starting to think that maybe not being able to locate
her mother would give her something else to talk to Amanda about when she spotted her, standing in an empty conference room, speaking into her cell phone.

“To tell you the truth,” Marigold overheard Mom say, “I think a change from L.A. will be refreshing. I don't care if it's the middle of nowhere Canada. The apartment sounds great. I'm sure we'll settle right in and make a home of it.”

They were leaving L.A.? For
Canada
? Now? Right when all her dreams were about to come true? Marigold felt her very center erode, as if her home, this edge of the world called California, had suddenly broken off and slipped into the sea.

“Marigold,” the receptionist said. “There you are. Jill will see you now. Are you ready?”