The Real Real by Emma McLaughlin, Nicola Kraus Page A

page where she left off. “I don’t get why they refuse their makeup for these ‘just like us’ shots. . . . I mean, you’re having your picture taken for a magazine—get it together.”
    “I know,” I murmur, my thoughts drifting to posing in parking lots, my eyes drifting closed before the minty lubing has even begun.
    At dawn I find myself back in Mom’s boots, slumped against the van with Nico and Melanie. We stare across the snow at the whip-fast dismantling of our “Saturday at the spa” just as Saturday actually begins.
    Kara emerges from the well-choreographed frenzy, trudging up to us with her headset around her neck.
    “Great work tonight, guys. Great, great work. Fletch is going to be psyched .” She sounds so palpably relieved I want to give her a hug. “Okay, so here’re your cells.” She reaches into the pockets of her down vest and peels blue tape off each one before passing them back. We extend our fingertips from the warmth of our sleeves to take back the devices, each of us flipping them open. Six twenty-two a.m. I immediately hit Caitlyn’s number on the speed dial, waiting to get a signal.
    “So, Melanie.” Kara squints through her glasses. “You can head home with your mom; you’re wrapped. Nico, we’re going to do some exteriors with you at your house, and Jesse, we need you to stick around, okay? You can wait in the trailer.”

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    Wha?
    Melanie blanches. “Did I do something wrong?”
    “What? No! No, you were great.” Kara lays one hand on Melanie’s arm. “There’ll be plenty of screen time for everyone, okay? We’re really happy with what you shot tonight, Mel.”
    At that her face relaxes. “Great! It’s all great. I had fun. Later, Nic.” She pulls Nico in for a quick hug. “Bye, Jesse.”
    I wave halfheartedly as I listen to Caitlyn’s voice mail inform me that my broken promises have filled her inbox and it cannot take my message at this time.
    The sound of a door slamming outside startles me awake from where I was apparently forgotten on one of the trailer’s white benches. Stretching up in the bright light washing in through blind slats, I look around and register that the makeup station is bare, all signs of Tandy and Diane and their team of magic, gone. I shuffle to the door and push it open, blinking in the sun, struck that no amount of movie lamps could truly replicate this.
    “Sorry, have you seen Kara?” I ask the teamster winding up what looks to be the last cable in a now empty lot.
    “Over at the other location,” he grunts.
    “She left? When?”
    “Dunno.”
    “Well, do you know if they still need me?”
    “I’m the only one here, and I don’t.” He hoists the 89

    thick roll onto his shoulder. “Listen, anyone else in the trailer? I got to get it over there.”
    I stick my head back into the darkened interior. “Hello?”
    I call. Nothing. “Nope.” I pull the door closed behind me and zip up my coat in the bracing air. “So, um . . . if Kara asks, can you tell her I went home? Because no one ever came and got me. So . . . ” I watch as he peels up gaffer’s tape from the pavement. “Great, then. Bye!”
    I head down the steps and through the mess of crispy boot prints to skirt around to the front of the spa where melting ice tinkles from the trees.
    I tilt my sweatshirt hood to shield my eyes from the snow glare and zip my coat to my chin in preparation for the long walk home. Home. As soon as I finish giving everything I have of value to Caitlyn in a desperate attempt to win her forgiveness, I will pull on my holey sweats, crawl into Mom and Dad’s bed, fire up the TV, and hunker down with marshmallow-packed cocoa . . .
    ooh . . . or maybe a hot bath . . . maybe get the little TV
    in the kitchen set up on the toilet seat and bring the cocoa in there . . . maybe rig the DVD . . .
    Suddenly a black SUV with tinted windows pulls past me into the driveway. It stops, and the back passenger window slides sleekly down. “Give me