It was obvious that he and Shane had become close in the interim, though. He’d been barely holding back a smirk on that miserable day when she could barely get her lines out. Given his loyalty to Shane, he was probably a lost cause.
Natalie Barton, unsurprisingly, had proven to be the wild card. Her character, Carla, the quirky, deadpan computer hacker of the group, had been brought in primarily as a new romantic interest for Harrison, which meant as Lilah’s ostensible replacement, Natalie was now redundant. She was in jeopardy of being sidelined at best, prematurely written off at worst. Out of all of them, she had the most legitimate reasons to resent Lilah’s presence.
Which was why Lilah groaned to herself when she received the script for the fourth episode: the writers were finally diving headfirst into setting up the love triangle between Kate, Harrison, and Carla. The episode was dominated by the three of them—Lilah and the two people she dreaded sharing scenes with the most.
On the morning they were set to shoot their first scene together, just her and Natalie, Lilah sat through makeup with a nervous quiver in her stomach, Natalie one seat away from her, ignoring her. She was around Lilah’s age, shorter and curvier, with platinum hair and skin almost as pale, striking blue eyes completing the ice queen aesthetic.
They were on location that day, shooting exteriors at the motel that had served as the group’s base of operations for thepast few seasons. When they arrived, they quickly blocked out the scene with Paul, the director.
“Are you good to go, or do you need more rehearsal than that?” Paul asked.
Lilah and Natalie eyed each other. Rehearsal was a luxury most of the time—especially for exteriors, where natural light was a factor—but it often ended up saving time on the back end, since they could catch problems early without wasting takes. However, this scene was short and straightforward enough that they probably didn’t need it.
“I’m…” Lilah began, nodding slowly, still looking at Natalie. “If you…do you?”
“No, I’m good. Let’s do it,” Natalie said, her tone curt.
They got final touches on their makeup and made their way to their starting marks inside the room.
“Roll sound…roll camera…mark it,” the assistant director called from the other side of the door, the slate clapping.
“Action,” Paul yelled.
Natalie burst out of the door faster than Lilah was anticipating, forcing her to speed walk to catch up so she could deliver her first line. They barely got through a page and a half of dialogue before Paul called “Cut,” both their heads snapping toward him.
“Nat, you’re playing it kind of aggressive,” he said. “I think you’re wary of her, but you don’t need to ice her out that much. Try to find a little more warmth, a little curiosity in it.”
Natalie took the note without reacting, but Lilah could feel the tension radiating off her. “Sure. Okay. Sorry, Paul.”
“I know you’ll get it. Let’s reset, back to one. Lilah, you’re doing great, don’t change a thing.”
Lilah winced internally as she saw Natalie stiffen further at Paul’s praise. Sure enough, the next take wasn’t any better, andwith each subsequent take, she could tell Natalie was getting more and more psyched out.
“Hey, do we have time for a five?” Lilah finally called out, after yet another unsatisfactory attempt. Natalie shot her a glance that was halfway between embarrassed and grateful as Paul agreed, the crew dispersing. Lilah turned to her.
“Can we talk?”
They walked alongside the motel until they reached the wall farthest from the set. Lilah stopped, leaning her shoulder against the stucco. Once Natalie’s wary gaze settled on her, Lilah felt a flutter of nerves, but she forced them aside. It was now or never.
“I think we need to clear the air a little,” Lilah said. “Maybe I’m imagining it, but I’ve been feeling some weird tension between us since the first table read.”
“No,” Natalie said, her eyes trained on her feet. “You’re not imagining it.” Lilah waited, but she didn’t elaborate any further.
“Okay. Well. It’s fine if you don’t like me, or you don’t like that I’m back on the show, or whatever it is. But if there’s anything you want to say to me, or anything I can do to fix it…let’s talk it out. Or, as much as we can in—” Lilah checked her phone. “Three and a half more minutes.”
Natalie was silent for a moment. Then she brought her hand to her eyes and groaned in frustration. “God. I’m sorry. It’s not you.” She dropped her hand and crossed her arms. “You know your fans are fucking scary, right?”
Lilah blinked, surprised. “My fans?”
“Yeah. You and Shane. I can’t open my phone now without someone harassing me for getting between you two. Saying the most fucked-up shit you can imagine. Telling me to kill myself, telling me they know where I live. And this season hasn’t even startedairingyet.”
Lilah’s stomach lurched. “Are you serious? They know it’s not real, right?”
“You’d think.”
“Fuck.” Lilah exhaled heavily. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was that bad. I don’t run any of my social media, I haven’t looked at any of that stuff in years. Is there anything I can do to make them calm down? Like, post a picture of us together or something? Tell them to chill the fuck out?”
Natalie smiled wryly. “Maybe I should just leak a behind-the-scenes video of you and Shane. Then they’d see thatI’mnot the one keeping you guys apart.” Her expression turned earnest. “I’m sorry I’ve been taking it out on you. It’s hard not to think about it whenever I’m around you. But it’s not your fault. Although I guess it doesn’t help that it kind of feels like the writing’s on the wall. Like the show isn’t big enough for everyone.” There was no arrogance in Natalie’s delivery, just an aura of defeat. Lilah’s chest tightened in sympathy.
