Uncle Timmy leans forward and looks at her beseechingly. “You’d make a fabulous Hero. You’re exactly the right age, and I know you have the range. It’s right up your alley!”
“I don’t act anymore.”
Now her uncle takes a bite of the scone and considers her while he chews and swallows. At last he says, “Youhaven’tacted lately; that doesn’t mean youdon’tact, or can’t act.”
“I feel anxious just thinking about it. No, I can’t do it. I’m not a Shakespeare person, and—no.”
“The bestShakespeare people, as you put it, Sam, are those who understand humanity. The way to say the words can be learned and practiced. And we all know from the way you played Scout that you understand humanity.”
Well, that’s almost enough to get her to consider it. But, no. No no no.
“I’d love to help you out in some capacity, but I think I’d be better behind the scenes. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. Take notes during rehearsals, or, I don’t know, program design.” She actually would not be a good program designer, but that’s an issue she can deal with if he takes her up on it. “Sell tickets. Concessions!”
“Concessions?”
“Sure. I can sell M&M’s, Sour Patch Kids...”
He gives her a searching look. “Samantha. I really want you to think about this. Someone with your talent... at a time like this, when you’reright here...with no plans—this could be the perfect vehicle for you.”
“Who says I don’t have plans?”
He tosses a skeptical look her way, which she tries to ignore by focusing on her coffee. She lets her eyes roam toward the bakery case, considering another whoopie pie. Perhaps the lavender?
“Doyou have plans?”
“Not specifically. But I’ve sworn off acting. I know thatthat’sone of my plans.” Sam has sworn off acting, and sex, and social media—is it possible that soon there will be nothing left? The thought bats its wings at her like a hummingbird.
It’s at about this time that Sam notices the girl behind the counterreallystaring at her.Oh, boy, thinks Sam.Here we go. May as well get this over with.She goes back up to the counter and reaches for a coffee stirrer. The girl is wearing a name tag that saysMaggie.She’s pretty, with wild curly hair pulled back into a ponytail. No makeup. She doesn’t need it.
“Hey,” says Sam.
“Ohmygod, you’re Sam Trevino.” The girl is practically vibrating with something—nerves, or pleasure, or a combination.
“Yup,” says Sam.
“Do you think you could take a selfie with me?”
“Sorry, I can’t,” says Sam, and the girl’s face falls.
“Okay.”
“It’s not you. It’s just that I’m not doing anything online right now. If people take pictures of me I can’t control that. But I’m not voluntarily going to be in any photos or videos or anything for a while. I hope that’s okay.” Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out. She’s practiced this line but this is the first time she’s had to say it out loud.
“Sure, yeah, I get it, I totally get it. Once you left the collab house—”
“Right.” Sam cuts her off. She really doesn’t want to talk about it. But of course this girl knows. Everyone her age knows.
“My mom isfreaking outabout that guy you’re with,” the girl continues. She met him on the ferry.”
Sam glances back at the table. Uncle Timmy is scrolling through his phone. The scone is gone. “That’s my uncle. Timothy Fleming. He’s an actor. He’s waymore famous than me.” Sort of, she adds, in her head.
The girl’s eyes flick to Timothy, then back. “Well,Idon’t know him. But my mom is like, ohmygod he’s in my shop! She’s freaking out so much she won’t come out of the office. She’s pretending she’s working on payroll but trust me she’snotworking on payroll. She does payroll on Thursdays, and it’s Wednesday.”
“Bring your mom out.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah. Bring her out.” Sam motions to Timothy to come up to the counter, which he does, carrying the empty plate with him and placing it neatly in the dish bin near the garbage.
