Page 1 of Take It Till You Make It
Prologue
Dear BellyLaughs community,
So many of you have reached out to ask where I’ve been and why I haven’t posted any videos lately. I’ve been afraid to share this news as if saying it here will make it truer. Unfortunately, I’m living it every day, so it can’t get any more real than this. Two weeks ago, a policewoman knocked on our front door and told my mom and me that my dad had been involved in an accident, and though medical professionals tried, they were unable to revive him. I am struggling to process this news. My world revolved around my dad, and now that he’s gone, it’s spinning out of control. Sometimes it takes me forty-five minutes to find a reason to get out of bed. Usually, it turns out that needing to use the bathroom is motivating enough. It hurts to see the world continue as if nothing has changed when my entire life has been redefined, and nobody bothered to consult me. After rescripting countless scenes from movies these past couple of years, it feels like the ultimate betrayal to have my own life rescripted like this. I hope to find my way back, but for now, I need time. This video is Dad and me, when I was four, acting out one of my favorite animated movies, Peter and the Wolf.
Much love,
Arabelle
Edited to add:Thanks for the outpouring of love. I spend hours reading and re-reading all your messages. Well, the kind ones. Not the haters. The care you show means so much to me. Thank you for giving me my reasons to get out of bed.
Chapter One
Two monthslater
At this moment,I feel almost normal again. The sun feels good on my face. My pores open to hungrily soak in the warmth and lap up the vitamin D. A light breeze plays in my hair and with the ruffles of my top, making me believe there may be a day when I’ll feel happy and flirty again.
If it wasn’t for that little, tiny ache, which reminds me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, that life sucks rotten eggs. Okay, the never-ending ache is far from tiny or little, which I realize is redundant, but sometimes when I’m distracted enough or caught up in something, the ache seems to shrink to a more manageable size. It’s better than last month, at least. Another thing that gives me a glimmer of hope.
“Ari, look at that bird!”
I glance to where my bestie points and bark out a laugh. “Poor thing looks like it has the mange.”
Glory leans forward in her chair, knocking into the little café table between us and causing our drinks to slosh in their cups. “Wait. Are you saying he doesn’t?”
“No, dork. He just has strange coloring. He’s a spotted pigeon.” I say the last bit in my best and most proper English accent.
“Wait. Is that a thing? Is he really a spotted pigeon?” Her phone is already in her hand so that she can look it up.
“I mean, he’s a pigeon. With spots.” My phone vibrates and I frown at it. “Weird. Someone’s calling me.”
Glory pauses her search to look aghast. “Like a real phone call?”
“Yeah.” I continue to stare. The display says Gorman Talent Agency.
“It’s probably spam.” Glory continues her search for spotted pigeons on her phone. “They want to sell you auto insurance for the car you don’t have.”
I hold up a finger and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Oh, wow,” a female voice responds. “Someone answered. That’s so rare these days.”
I like this woman’s candor and decide to return it. “Well, the words 'Talent Agency' got my attention.”
Glory’s head snaps up with an exaggerated quizzical look morphing her features.
The woman laughs. “Oh, good. My name is Carly Shapiro, and I’m looking for Arabella Quill, please.”
“It’s Arabelle, and this is she.”
“I’m so sorry. I even thought how unusual it was for you not to have the “a” at the end, and I put it on anyway.”
“I’m used to it.”
“Arabelle, as you saw, I’m calling from the Gorman Talent Agency. We are tasked with the responsibility of filling the open roles on an upcoming movie production. A couple of the main players have already been cast, and we’re looking for someone to play the younger daughter role. I think you would be perfect.”
I hold the phone away from my face to check the display again. I don’t know what I expect. For it to now read, “You’ve been punked.” Or for the image of a diabolical laughing clown face to be silently laughing at me. However, it still reads Gorman Talent Agency. I hear a distant, “Hello? Arabelle?”
I smoosh my phone to my ear again. “I’m sorry, you caught me off guard. How exactly did you conclude that I would be good for this role?”
