Bounce Read Free Page B

Brooks checks his watch. “And we have to do it fast.”
    As they discuss trying to get a stand-in actor here within the next hour, I reach for the script on Adam’s desk and flip through it, looking for zombies or blood. The script, something called Bounce, disappoints.
    â€œWhat’s this about?” I ask, waving it in the air.
    Adam looks at me. “It’s a remake of a classic novel.”
    â€œJane Austen,” Brooks adds. “Emma’s one of the most beloved female protagonists of all time. We’ve beefed up the comedy aspects. Brought a dating service into the storyline to make it more contemporary and tie-in with the Blackwood brand.”
    Sounds boring as hell, but what do they care what I think? “I hooked up with a girl named Emma a few weeks ago at a Foster the People concert. At least, I think that was her name. We didn’t talk much.”
    Brooks shakes his head at me and Adam gets them back on track. There have to be half a billion actors in this town, but these two are acting like it’s a lost cause. I mean, shit. Just go to the nearest café. I guarantee a hundred percent of the baristas are actors. With nothing else to do, I pick up the script and flip through it some more.
    â€œWhy are there so many words if it’s a romance?” I say. “Isn’t it pretty simple? Boy meets girl. They get it on. End of story?”
    I’m talking to myself, since I’m the only one listening to me. “I mean, why do you need all this?” Opening the script to a random page, I read, “ ‘Emma. Beautiful Emma. I’ve loved you forever. I was born to love you. I’ve been here all along. I was just waiting for you to see me.’ ” I scowl, reading her reply, and then laugh when I read a little further. “ Seriously? They kiss after that?” I drop the script back on the desk. “Tripe, bro. Utter tripe. You need to get a better writer, because if that’s . . . ​if that’s . . . ​if this is . . .”
    Adam and Brooks are both staring at me intently. I feel like a mouse in an open field under the eyes of a hawk. And another, slightly more disheveled hawk.
    â€œNo,” I say, dropping the script. “No freakin’ way. I’m not an actor, Adam.”
    â€œYou are today,” he says, rising from his chair.
    â€œI can’t do it. I’ve got a crick—”
    â€œNo, you don’t.” He gives Brooks a slap on the shoulder. “Get everyone ready,” he says. Then he’s standing over me. “Let’s go, little brother. You’re needed over at Studio B.”

   Chapter 4   
    Skyler
    B eth wasn’t kidding. Blond, leggy girls with perfect tans occupy every square inch of seating space in the temporary waiting area of the production office, which basically looks like something Ikea coughed up after a rough night. And since most of the girls are super tiny, the ratio of butts to seating is pretty impressive.
    On cue, they turn to look at us. Some give me warm, complicit smiles, like “here we go again,” which makes me feel like a big fraud since this is all new to me. Most put up blank faces and then turn back to their lattes, their cell phones, or their weird little scripts, which Beth tells me are called “sides.”
    Suddenly, I’m extra grateful for the pink hair, if only so I can tell myself apart from everyone else. Though I’m definitely built more like an old-timey milkmaid than most of these girls, with fleshier arms and more junk in the trunk, due to my steady diet of bar food. Totally okay in my world, of course. Drunk musicians don’t judge, and neither do my cellos.
    â€œGonna need a shoehorn to wedge ourselves in here,” Beth says, chewing her lip and surveying the room. She’s giving off a weird jittery energy, which isn’t like her. But