The Caliphate by André Gallo (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

to do it. It’s risky—she would kill me if she found out—but it’s for her own good.

“I didn’t have enough money for the aloe because I bought this stupid magazine,” I say. “Can I have some money to go back to the store?”

“Sure. Grab a twenty out of my wallet.”

“Thanks, Iris.” I pocket the cash and give her a hug. “Have a nice night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She kisses my forehead. “Love you, little bird.”

“Love you.”

Leaving her in the bedroom, I quickly grab a bottle of water and a protein bar from the kitchen and roll a blanket from the couch under my arm before bolting out the door. I hurry down the stairs to her beat-up hatchback, which she always leaves unlocked. She’d rather they steal whatever old towels and T-shirts she has in the trunk than smash the window trying to break in again. I lie down in the way back, arrange the blanket on top of me, and wait for her to get in the driver’s seat.

Stella

Wednesday, June 19

I’m pregnant.” I tried to remember my next line without looking at the sides. “I know this isn’t what we planned; it’ll turn our lives upside down and probably ruin my career, but it’s what I want.”

Our script supervisor, Kara, held my gaze expectantly. She was of Japanese descent, with exquisitely delicate features and a face as symmetrical as a doll’s. I’d always wished I had a face as symmetrical as that. “Aren’t you going to say something?” she asked.

“What?”

“Your line…It’s ‘Aren’t you going to say something?’” she said.

“Oh! Right. Sorry.” I’d skipped my A-pill this morning because I wasn’t actually feeling all that anxious for once and I wanted to be clear, but I still had a little residual fogginess from the S-pills I’d been taking before bed in order to ensure a good night’s rest.

It was Wednesday, our third day of filming, and so far, so good. Cole and I had great chemistry (we always had) and were getting amazing feedback on our performances. It was wonderful to be working, and I felt such a connection with my character, Marguerite. It hadn’t been all smooth sailing, though: Monday we’d done the scene where Marguerite and Peyton first meet as he’s shooting photos of her, and suffice it to say Cole was not comfortable behind the lens. We’d ended up running an hour late because the set photographer had to give him a lesson in how to use a camera, which meant we had to rush the second scene of the day, where he proposes on the beach. Even so, it worked out in the end, because the sunset was fantastic. Then yesterday we shot a series of short montage scenes that took us through the rise of Peyton’s career as a photographer and the decline of Marguerite’s as a model, here on the soundstage. There were a lot of setups, but it went smoothly, besides Jackson and Cole arguing over every little stupid thing. They were always arguing. At any rate, the kinks were getting worked out, and I liked Jackson as a director, regardless of what Cole thought.

I cleared my throat and glanced at my sides to confirm my next lines. “Aren’t you going to say something?” I read.

Kara slouched against my dressing room mirror and ran a hand through her short black hair. It was a boy’s haircut, but it looked sexy on her. I could never wear my hair like that, but she was so dainty, it really suited her. “It’s great news,” she read Cole’s line.

“But you don’t seem happy,” I returned.

She approached me and put her hand on my hip, looking deep into my eyes as she lowered her voice, imitating Cole’s. “Perhaps we should celebrate.”

We both laughed. “And then we kiss,” I said.

A rapping at the door and she abruptly dropped her hand from my waist, returning to her post against the mirror. “Come in,” I called.

Price opened the door. “Ten-minute warning,” he said.

“Thanks.” I gestured to Kara. “Kara was just helping me with my lines.”

He nodded and left without closing the door. I grabbed my pack of smokes and a lighter. Kara raised an eyebrow. “I know, it’s a disgusting habit,” I admitted, “but better than some other habits I’ve had. Thanks for helping me.”

She smiled. “Anytime.”

I cut across the stuffy warehouse toward the exit, stopping for just a moment at the edge of the stage lit for the scene we were about to shoot, set to look like the bedroom of Peyton and Marguerite’s New York apartment. Jackson looked on as Felicity stood in for me, running the scene with Cole as the gaffer adjusted the lights and the camera crew rehearsed their movement.

Felicity really was an angel, volunteering to work as my stand-in. She was always going above and beyond. And her idea to have makeup come to our bungalow every morning so I didn’t have to worry about looking a mess in front of fifty people who all had cameras to snap unflattering pictures of me, at any moment, was pure genius. The Botox and fillers I’d had done in recent weeks were holding up nicely, and I swore my pores had never looked so good after the micro-needling and vampire facial, but still, I didn’t like to be photographed without my total game face on. Taylor, of course, assured me that the crew had all been thoroughly vetted and none of them were leakers, but in my experience you could never be too careful.

I watched as Fee ran through the scene with Cole, hitting all her marks and nailing her lines like a pro. If she hadn’t been way too young for the part, I would’ve been worried she’d steal my role—she was that good. She said the line about the pregnancy ruining her career with such unbridled glee, it made me stop to think about my own interpretation of the line. Perhaps instead of being afraid of the pregnancy destroying her career, my character was