Page 128 of Dream On, Ramona Riley

Ramona hesitated, but only for a second. She knew this was a moment, a test of sorts—could the new assistant, a small-town girl, talk to the scary director? Noelle could easily text Gia back, surely, but she probably wanted to know she could count on Ramona to do her dirty work and the shit tasks, because that’s what an assistant did.

That’s what Noelle had done, working her way up and through Hollywood.

“Right,” Ramona said, squaring her shoulders and heading for the door. She wanted to look at Dylan again. Wanted to send her aholy shitnonverbal, but she was still processing the entire last half hour and wasn’t sure what Dylan was thinking.

She wasn’t sure whatshewas thinking either, how’d she explain her emphaticyesto Noelle’s offer. They hadn’t really talked about RISD since that night they went bowling, and it felt as though so much had happened between them since then.

Still,yeswas the only answer Ramona could give to Noelle. She knew it. Dylan probably knew it too. Even April knew it, the news reaching her by some sort of astrological magic or best friend osmosis.

Ramona floated through the house and outside, spotting Gia gesticulating wildly at a crew member. She paused on the top porch step. One deep breath, and then she went and did her job as Noelle fucking Yang’s assistant.

“Okay, okay, tellme again.”

Ramona was sitting at April’s kitchen table with Olive and Leigh later that night, reliving the details of the day over and over. April, in particular, couldn’t stop freaking out about this development.

Ramona laughed, took another bite of one of the vegan bao buns Leigh had made them all for dinner—who knew pulled jackfruit could be so delicious—and shook her head. “I’ve already told you a million times,” she said, licking the garlicky sauce off her finger.

“I know, I know,” April said, wiggling in her seat. “I just can’t get over it.” She put on an affected air, pursing her mouth and lifting her pinkie finger and then speaking, inexplicably, with a British accent. “ ‘So? What do you say?’ I mean, it’s classic!”

“Noelle did not stick out her pinkie finger like a douche, for the record,” Ramona said. “Nor is she from the UK.”

“In my mind, she’s the fucking queen,” April said.

“The queen’s dead,” Leigh deadpanned.

“What did Dylan say about it?” Olive asked. “Was she excited?”

Ramona opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. The truth was, she hadn’t spoken to Dylan since everything happened in the wardrobe room. She’d told Gia that Noelle needed five minutes, to which Gia said,Who the hell are you, to which Ramona managed to splutter out the wordsassistantandNoelleandnew, not necessarily in a logical order, but the sentiment was conveyed nonetheless.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of running around the set, fixing loose buttons, and driving to and from Concord not once, but twice to procure a scarf Noelle needed and then a pair of socks for Mallory’s dad.

Socks that would barely be seen on-screen.

When she wasn’t driving or answering Noelle’s calls while in thecar, she was following Noelle around set like a shadow, then double-checking all the costumes for the next day’s shoot, which was a boat scene on the water. By the time seven o’clock rolled around, they were still filming, but Noelle told her to go home.

“That’s enough insanity for your first day,” Noelle had said, and honestly, Ramona had to agree. Her feet were killing her—she definitely had not worn the right shoes to be running around on grass—she hadn’t taken a single sip of water or eaten a thing in five hours, and she was late for dinner at April’s.

Not that April didn’t understand.

In fact, April would’ve probably sent her back to set, if Noelle would take her, anything to make sure Ramona had a shot at LA.

A shot. At LA.

The words sounded foreign in Ramona’s thoughts, much less the concept itself. She couldn’t quite picture it—couldn’t see herself anywhere but Clover Lake, if she was being honest—but she wanted it nonetheless.

That life.

The kind she lived today, wild and stressed and hungry, helping create a story. It was hard, but god, it was sogood.

Exciting.

And she had no idea if Dylan felt the same.

“I haven’t really had a chance to talk to her about it,” Ramona said. “Busy day and all.” She checked the time on her phone—nearly nine o’clock, and no text from Dylan. Before everything with Noelle, they’d planned to come to April’s for dinner together, but Ramona knew filming was unpredictable.

April lifted a pierced brow. “Ramona.”

“April.”