Imposter by Antony John Page B

ask. “Do they know about Kris and Tamara?”
    â€œMaybe. But you don’t make money by revealing gossip on Twitter. You make it in an exposé—something with good sources, so you’re safe if anyone sues for defamation or slander.” Does she memorize this stuff, or is it the kind of thing you learn from a life spent in Hollywood? “Anyway, they’re safe for now.”
    Safe
seems an odd choice of word, but I don’t ask her about it. We’re almost to the back of the building, and the crowd has thinned out. Even the official photographer seems reluctant to follow. Presumably he likes to stay where the action is.
    â€œI thought we’d be having our rehearsals here,” says Sabrina.
    â€œIn this room?”
    â€œNo, in one of the rooms next door. It’s where Kris and I had read-throughs. But Ryder wants a closed shop. Says it’ll be easier to keep the dailies under wraps if we’re in our own building.”
    We round a corner and are completely alone. The corridor is narrow and poorly lit. I think I prefer Ryder and Brian’s office to this place.
    â€œI wasn’t sure you were coming tonight,” I say.
    â€œThink I’d miss a chance to see what outfit Ryder laid out for you?” She obviously means it to sound funny, and her smile flattens out when she sees my reaction. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. Although,” she adds, “you’ve looked pretty uncomfortable ever since you got here.”
    â€œSo it was you who sent the texts, huh?”
    â€œWhat texts?” The question sounds sincere. But of course it would—Sabrina’s an actress.
    She breaks eye contact. Famous or not, she looks shy, demure as she bites her lip. “Forget what I said just now. The clothes look fantastic on you.
You
look fantastic. That dimple on your left cheek, the way you smile with your eyes and try to tame that cowlick—it’s all just so . . .
real
.”
    At the beach yesterday, she could hardly lift her eyes from the ground. Now they rove, taking in every part of me. In the whole crowded building, Sabrina has found the most private place to talk. It’s impossible not to wonder why.
    My body is rigid, but my thoughts race. Why does she like me when she hardly knows me? Am I a rebound? A way to get back at Kris? What if we’re photographed? I don’t ask any of these questions, though. As long as I’m face-to-face with Sabrina, I can live without answers.
    She leans forward, lips almost touching my ear. “I need to use the ladies’ room, but you’ll wait for me.” Her voice rises at the end, but I’m not fooled—it’s a statement, not a question.
    She’s absolutely right too.
    Sabrina rakes her fingers across my chest as she disappears around the corner.
    I wait for several minutes, rooted to the spot. Servers pass me, carrying trays of empty glasses. They cast suspicious looks. Without Sabrina beside me, I feel conspicuously alone.
    My phone chimes again:
She’s playing you.
    The words jolt me. Sabrina would never send this text. But then, who did?
    I turn the corner and survey the room.
    Annaleigh rushes over. “Where have you been?”
    â€œI was talking to Sabrina.” I look past Annaleigh, but there are so many people, and so many phones.
    â€œYou needed some privacy, huh?” She doesn’t sound amused.
    â€œWe were just talking. What’s going on?”
    â€œMaggie’s here. Remember Maggie? From the office? We had an interesting chat. Ryder sent her because he’s busy rewriting the script.”
    â€œFor Sabrina?”
    â€œNo, Seth. Not Sabrina. Turns out we’ve got another new cast member. Brian and Tracie are working on the contract right now.”
    I try to stay cool, but I can see in her eyes that this is big. “Who is it?”
    â€œRyder seems to think I need a best friend too. Says it’ll provide