Emily

Now that I’ve committed to the switch survival guide, my list of accomplishments is growing. Of course, I haven’t undergone a complete personality transplant, so those accomplishments are neatly recorded in my journal, but technicalities aside, I have plenty to be proud of. What started as a way to blend into the California crowds has somehow become much more important—a way to transform my life into something less rigid, more carefree. The more I try to break my control-freak habits, the more I realize just how ordered I need everything to be, and that’s not a good thing. I’m eighteen years old; surely I shouldn’t be so set in my ways?

Balancing my PowerBook on my knees, I block out Ryan’s monologue about dramatic climax and write another quick email to Natasha running down the small victories that make up my new self.

I emphasize that last statistic with mixed pride. In addition to the boy at the Jared Jameson show, I also hooked up (to use native parlance) with somebody else at a frat party over the weekend. Although it was fun, my initial reckless thrill is fading. I can see what Carla and Morgan like about this type of casual dating culture, but I’m not sure it’s for me. Without the buzz of risk, there’s nothing but a strange boy’s tongue in my mouth and a faint sense of unease, as if my heart knows I shouldn’t be kissing just random strangers.

I hit Send as Ryan yells “Action!” and the actors come to life. Peter wanders carefully over to the park bench where Lulu waits.

“I was looking everywhere for you.” Peter tilts his head just right, looking at Lulu as if she’s the center of his universe.

“So?” Lulu sighs, heavy and tired. “Haven’t you said enough?”

They play the scene just perfectly, the exact mix of jaded hope I was aiming to get across. I’ve rewritten my first draft of the script a dozen times by now. Professor Lowell warned us that a script is never finished until the final edit is over; until then, it’s a work in progress. I didn’t believe him at first, determined to get it perfect straightaway, but the words end up sounding so different when they’re spoken out loud. I’ve been constantly making tiny alterations to fit as we go on, but instead of getting tired of all the changes, I relish them: falling deeper into the characters and story with every correction.

“You’re not listening.” Lulu stares fiercely at her clenched hands, and I feel a shiver of pride. This was supposed to be a fight scene—full of rage and shouting—but two nights ago, I woke up at 3:00 AM with the words dancing around my head, and I realized it didn’t need to be so loud at all. The emotion, the intensity, it would all be more dramatic if they played it quiet and tense. I was right.

“And…cut! Let’s run that again, this time from the second angle.” Ryan doesn’t look up from his screen the entire time, preferring to watch the digital version to the flesh and blood in front of him. I’ve learned by now that it doesn’t matter to him what real life looks like, only what comes across on the display.

We don’t have time scheduled to capture the scene from a different angle, but I let him take it, just the same. I may have put my foot down in the beginning, but I know now that there’s no point standing in his way. Yes, he’s stubborn and argumentative, but more than that, he’s got vision. Ryan sees this film in a way I never could. To me, it’s linear, the narrative weaving smoothly through shots and scenes. Beginning, middle, end. But to him, it’s a multidimensional entity. His dark eyes see angles and panoramas, subtext and symbolism.

“Got it.” With a curt nod, Ryan reviews the scene again and finally stands back from the monitor. Taking a deep breath, he runs his hands over his head and blinks.

“Take a break,” I urge him, walking over while the cast members unwind. In rumpled jeans and a faded gray shirt, he looks as if he hasn’t slept for days.

“We’ve got tons left to do.”

“And there’s time,” I assure him. “You really think I’d let you run over?”

Ryan musters a weak smile. “Maybe not.”

“Exactly. Besides,” I add, in case he thinks I’m getting soft, “if you have a nervous breakdown now, we’ll never get the editing done.”

“Good point.”

I push him gently over to the bench and retrieve the Mountain Dew/Twinkie combination that seems to be his only fuel. “Eat. Drink. Breathe.”

Ryan nods listlessly, and I can tell he’s still analyzing the previous scene from a dozen angles.

“It’s never going to be perfect,” I remind him, perching on the edge of the seat. “We just don’t have the time for that—or the resources.”

“I know.” He munches the snack slowly. “I just want it to be…as near to perfect as possible.”

It strikes me as something of a role reversal: me preaching “good enough” while he strives for flawless. “There are just too many variables,” I agree, watching the cast and crew kick back. “If we were able to handpick the team…”

“So I didn’t have to direct and be cameraman.” Ryan sighs.

“And I didn’t have to produce, as well as write. Although,” I add, “I think I’d probably produce regardless. You know I couldn’t stand around and watch someone else in charge.” Ryan laughs, and for a moment we’re united: us against the forces trying to hold our baby film back. I sneak a look over at him, shoulders hunched, and wish I could say something to set his mind at ease—to reassure him that the film will work out wonderfully, that Morgan was an utter fool to cheat on him, that he’s worth so much more than—’

I gulp. What on earth am I thinking?

“Well, we don’t—have the time and equipment, I mean.” Forcing my voice to stay even, I finish upbeat and positive. “So it’ll just have to be what it is.”

Turning to me, Ryan pauses. “Do you, do you think it’ll be good?”

The uncertainty in his voice surprises me. “Good? It’s going to be amazing!” He lets out a breath. “Can’t you see it?” I ask.

A shrug. “I guess, I just…I get so wrapped up in a project from the inside, I can’t get an objective look.”

“Trust me,” I say forcefully. “I’m more than objective, and I know it’s going to be great.”

I know that you’re great, I add silently, despite my brain flashing a vivid red warning sign.

He smiles at me again, this time with a little more spark in his eyes, and I can’t help but feel a swell of pride. I managed to make him feel better.

“OK. You’re the boss.”

“Damn right, I am.” I shift under his gaze and leap up. “Now back to work, you lazy boy.”

“Yes sir!” With a mock salute, Ryan lopes back to the camera, and I wonder if he’s still hurt over what happened with Morgan. He hasn’t said a word about it since my demi-apology, but for all I know, his exhaustion is from pining after her.

It’s pointless of me to even care, but I hope not.

Morgan, unfortunately, hasn’t forgotten about her ex. We’re at the beach later that afternoon, ostensibly to relax and do some reading, but I soon discover that Morgan is anything but relaxed.

“What’s up?”

I barely have time to close my eyes and feel the late-afternoon sun seep into my bones before she nudges me.

“Nothing much.” I trace idle circles in the sand. “It was a rather hectic day.”

“Oh yeah?” Morgan flicks another textbook page over. Lexi and Brooke are in class for a change, so it’s just the two of us. “Isn’t that supposed to be done already?”

“Two days ago,” I agree. But all my other advances must be having some effect, because instead of getting stressed about missed deadlines and contingency plans, I feel relatively calm. As far as study is concerned.

“So how is he?” Morgan regards me over her shades.

“Ryan? Fine, I suppose.” I try to keep my voice even. I really don’t want to be talking about him with her.

“C’mon, you must know something. Is he seeing anyone?” Morgan’s voice is far too interested for somebody who claims to be so unconcerned. “Lulu said she saw him getting coffee with Maura.”

“I don’t know anything about that.” I feel a sharp dig at the thought of them together.

“But has he said anything about me?”

“Not that I heard.”

“You must have seen them together, on the movie.” Morgan keeps pushing. “Did it look like there’s something going on? Were they touching a lot or making eye contact, ‘cause—”

“Morgan!” For somebody who has slept with at least four different boys since her breakup, she’s awfully curious about “the loser ex.” “I don’t know anything. I’m the last person he’d talk to about that sort of thing.”

“Whatever.” She rolls over. “It’s not like I care.”

“Right.”

After another hour on the sand, we get back into Morgan’s car and go to meet Brooke and Lexi at the Psi Delt house. After what happened the last time I set foot on their property, I’m none too keen to return, but Morgan insists.

“No choice, Em.” Turning into the driveway, she checks her hair in the mirror and reapplies lip gloss. “Brooke says Louis has been, like, pulling away from her. She totes needs our support.”

“Fine.” I sigh, pulling myself out of the car. “But I can’t stay long.”

“Awesome.” She shoots me a smile and skips up the front steps. “In and out, I promise.”

We find them on the back porch with a group of the frat brothers and a stack of empty beer cans. Lexi is perched on the swing seat looking supremely bored, while Brooke watches intently as Louis plays a game of pool.

“Hey, girl!” Morgan sashays over and loudly kisses Brooke on both cheeks. She’s glowing from the sun and dressed in a swinging short white skirt under her UC sweatshirt, so I’m not surprised to see all the boys look over. I am, however, surprised to see Louis drag his attention away from the game and give Morgan a long, lingering hug. I edge over to Lexi.

“Did you see that?” she asks in a hushed tone. “This is gonna get in-ter-est-ing.”

I settle beside her, unnerved by the glee in her tone. I hope she’s wrong. Out of all the girls, Brooke seems to be the most genuinely sweet; watching her heart get ripped apart is not my idea of a spectator sport.

“So, what’s happening, guys?” Morgan drapes herself across the pool table. Even as I watch, Brooke seems to fade into the background. Alone, she’s pretty, but Morgan just has a way of effortlessly dazzling that makes all other girls seem washed out and ordinary. It’s no wonder Louis is showing off for her, trying to make a difficult shot.

“Way to go!” Squealing, Morgan presses herself against him in a celebratory hug, and I wonder for the first time if her show is quite so effortless. If it were anybody else, I’d say they were out to steal Louis. But this is Morgan—she wouldn’t try that with her best friend’s boy.

Would she?

Half an hour later, I’m amazed at my own naïveté. Morgan isn’t just trying to take Louis; she’s succeeding. Easily. Cheerleading every point of the game, Morgan ingratiates herself with Louis, until soon he’s showing her how to take shots herself: leaning over with his hands on her waist and whispered jokes in her ear. Brooke has long since given up trying to hold her ground; she now slumps on a spare seat by the doorway, watching them with a resigned expression that makes me think perhaps she’s seen this all before.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, babe!” Ultimately victorious in the superhuman match of wit and skill, Louis picks Morgan up and swings her in a wide circle, her skirt flaring up to reveal bright pink knickers. Brooke slips inside, invisible. I follow.

“Having fun?” Her voice is edged with bitterness. She stands by the kitchen sink and runs cold water.

“I…I’m sorry.” I don’t know what to say to her. It seems like we’re both stuck with Morgan, whether we like it or not.

Brooke shrugs, pulling her sweatshirt cuff down. “Not your fault.”

“Yes, but…it’s not right.”

She laughs. “I don’t know why I expected it to be different this time. Morgan’s just…Morgan. This is what she does.”

“Why do you put up with it?” I hop onto a counter and drum my heels against the cabinet. “Can’t you say something?”

“And then what? It would make no difference.” Brooke looks out of the back window. “I’d just feel worse for bringing it up.”

“So she’s done it before?” Morgan’s account of her hookup code certainly didn’t include boy stealing and betraying her friends.

“Oh, yeah, tons of times.” She sighs. “It’s just how it is with her. Like, always a competition.” Brooke’s face twists slightly. “She and Tasha were always up against each other, before…You know about Tyler, right?” I nod. “Anyway, sometimes she doesn’t like them all that much—she just wants to be the one to win them. Prove she’s the best.”

“That’s terrible,” I say honestly.

Brooke just shrugs again. “It’s like with Ryan, she wanted him because he usually dates smart girls, you know?” I raise my eyebrows. “She wanted to show she could get anyone. And sure, she liked him, but not enough to, you know…”

“Be faithful,” I finish for her.

“Right.” Brooke gives me a weak smile. “You learn to live with it. She just can’t help herself.”

It seems to me that keeping your hands off somebody else’s boyfriend is a rather simple thing to manage, but for whatever reason, Brooke is standing by her. “If you say so.”

Finally placing her water glass down, Brooke sends one last look to the backyard. “Want to get out of here?”

I nod. The whole afternoon has been nothing but tension, small betrayals, and inevitable awkwardness. I’m more than ready to leave. “You just lead the way.”