Page 22 of One Happy Summer

“We did a play—Anne of Green Gables. I played Anne, and my teacher, Mr. Davis, called a talent scout friend of his to come watch it, specifically to see me. I got signed to an agency pretty quickly after that and was filming my first movie that summer.”

“So you were thirteen? Fourteen?”

“I’d just turned fourteen. My mom moved us to LA, and that was the start of it.”

Then my mom made my career her entire personality, but no need to bring that up. Or think about it.

“Is that unusual? To be discovered like that?” he asks.

I shrug. “I guess.”

“Are you being modest right now?” The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk.

“Maybe,” I say. “It’s not uncommon to be discovered like that.”

“But it isn’t all that common, is it?”

I don’t answer him. I just give him a little shrug in response. He obviously knows. Because yes, it’s not how things are usually done. It’s the dream, to not have to struggle or keep going from audition to audition, experiencing rejection after rejection, while dealing with overdraft fees from your bank because your only source of income is waiting tables at The Cheesecake Factory.

It’s not that this career has been handed to me on a silver platter. It was at first. It felt so easy, and I was too young to truly comprehend it—to really appreciate it. But I’ve worked hard to get where I am now. I’ve taken classes and studied with world-renowned coaches. I take my job seriously.

Funny how easily all that hard work can be ruined in an instant. Or not funny, actually.

“So, what’s next for you? I mean after this summer of hiding . . . or not hiding,” he says, giving me another smirk.

“After tonight you’ll never see me again.”

He twists his lips to the side, doubt in his expression. “Should we bet money on that?”

“I need that pillow back so I can throw it at you again,” I say, holding out a hand.

“No way,” he says, hugging the pillow close to him, petting the top of it like it’s a beloved pet.

The man is adorable.

I sigh. “Fine. After the summer—the one where I’ll be hiding in my room, thank you very much,” I eye him dubiously. “I start filming a new movie . . . That’s the plan right now, at least.”

“Could it change?”

“Things change all the time in Hollywood. But this time there’s a small chance they might release me from my contract.”

This makes me sad to consider. I worked hard to land this role. A lot of the movies I’ve done in the past have been pretty much handed to me, some even written with me in mind. But this one . . . It’s an epic fantasy, an adaptation of a beloved book, with a lead that on the character breakdown looked nothing like me—Callis, a futuristic warrior who’s tall with long blonde hair. But I waltzed into the audition with platform boots on my short legs and a wig over my dark-brown hair and . . . I nailed it. It was a proud moment in my career.

And then, not long after, I had a very not-so-proud moment. Bleh.

Because of that not-so-proud moment, the script for the movie is sitting in my suitcase untouched, even though I should be running lines. But what if I do and it turns out to be a waste of time?

“What happens if they release you from the contract?” he asks, his eyebrows peeking out over the top of his frames.

“I don’t know,” I tell him truthfully, feelings of unease swimming around in my stomach. I’ve already been released from at least one role in the fallout. “I guess I’ll quit working and live out my days on this island.”

“That serious?”

“Probably not,” I say. “At some point the gossip will move on and I’ll start getting work again. People forget.”

Probably. Hopefully. Please, oh please, oh please.

“Of all the places in the world, why would you pick Sunset Harbor?” he asks.

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