Page 16 of Marisol Acts the Part
Before I can lick my wounds, gather my courage, and try again with someone who hopefully won’t shoot me down, the rest of the cast files in and Rune steps into the center of the ring of tables.
Miles and Jamila quickly take their seats beside me, their cheeks flushed like they sprinted across the street to make it in time.
Something churns in my gut as I watch them share a knowing glance, shy smiles tugging at the corners of their lips as they set their scripts down on the table, Miles hiding his grin behind his coffee cup.
Seems like they’ve hit it off already. Which is good—great, even.
Everyone’s life is easier when the cast gets along.
The three months Lily and Posie were fighting with another one of our castmates about some misunderstanding involving a borrowed dress were torturous.
I spent weeks running messages between them because they refused to actually speak face to face and had already blocked each other on their socials.
Absolute nightmare. I’m still not sure what role Jamila will be playing in the show, but she’s bound to have a good chunk of it with Miles, considering he’s the lead.
We’ll also probably have a couple scenes together.
So, yeah. This is totally cool and normal and I’m definitely not feeling weird about the way Miles is peeking at Jamila right now instead of paying attention to Rune.
Guess I’m one to talk. Continuing with my hypocrisy, I lean back slightly and linger on Jamila while Rune scans something on his phone and calls out to a PA to bring him his tea.
Jamila is more in her element here than she was in LA, I notice.
Definitely more appropriately dressed for the weather, in a flowy white linen top tucked into a pair of wide-leg beige trousers.
Her so-dark-brown-they’re-almost-black curls are neatly held up in a tortoise hair clip.
Seems I’m not the only one who got highlights: ribbons of gold and mahogany run through the tongs of the clip, a mirror of her honey-colored eyes.
Like at the audition, her lips part slightly as she reads quietly to herself.
They’re glossy this time—her lips. Not that I’m looking at them.
Just admiring the shade she went with, a soft, barely-there red that makes her brown skin pop.
I linger on them for a moment longer than I should, gazing at the Cupid’s bow above her full upper lip and the plump natural curve of her lower.
Because I want to ask her what lip product she uses. That’sall.
“Welcome, everyone,” Rune announces with perfect timing, snapping me back to reality in time for me to turn away before Jamila can catch me staring.
“It’s an honor to have you all on board for season two of The Limit, ” he says with more enthusiasm than I would’ve thought he was capable of.
“A few ground rules before we get started. As I’m sure you already know, we’re doing everything we can to prevent leaks.
You’ll receive your scripts no more than forty-eight hours before filming, in a password-protected file that only you should be accessing.
And if anyone else does, we’ll know. Don’t worry. ”
A couple of people let out quiet chuckles while my heart rockets into my throat.
We only have two days to learn our lines?
We moved fast sometimes on Avalon Grove, but they always gave us at least a week to go over our scripts.
I know we don’t have a ton of time to shoot the entire season to stay within budget constraints, but if I’m as heavily featured in the rest of the episodes as I am in the first one, I’ll definitely need more than two days to memorize everything.
Don’t panic, I tell myself and throw on a smile and nod along like everyone else.
The whole reason I’m here is to push myself—to become a more well-rounded actor.
If I don’t want this to be my last role in a true prestige drama, if I want to be respected in this industry, I’ll have to learn to adapt.
Rune runs through the rest of his unusually long list of ground rules.
Some make sense: no removing props from set, keep phones on silent at all times, and no microwaving fish in the crafty microwave.
Others are…unique. Like no helium balloons within fifty feet of set, or live animals of any variety—there goes any chance of bringing Bruiser to set withme.
“And one last thing,” Rune says after instructing the production coordinators to have pasta served only on Thursdays. “No brightly colored clothing on set, please. Neutrals or black. Bright colors trigger my migraines.”
His gaze flickers to me for the briefest flash of a second, his lips curling into a disgruntled frown.
A jolt shoots through me like he’s stabbed me in the chest. It’s a subtle enough moment that no one except me should notice, the comment broad enough that it should be meant for everyone.
But I’m the hot pink sore thumb in a sea of grays, blacks, and browns.
I can feel the burn of a dozen eyes glancing over at me, my pink cardigan blaring as a fire engine’s siren.
I’m not sure if the snickers to my right are real or if my brain is playing a cruel trick on me, but I hear them nonetheless.
Immediately, I regret letting Jerome talk me into wearing this bolder ensemble instead of the simple black tunic dress from Anthropologie I’d considered.
“Be yourself, bebesita,” he’d said as he brushed my hair over my shoulder, showing off the gold-plated Marisol necklace Mom got me for my thirteenth birthday that I refuse to take off, even if it clashes with the rest of my ensemble.
We spun around to gaze at our reflections in the vanity mirror in his bedroom, my cheeks rosy from the bit of blush I’d applied earlier.
He held the cherry dress up against my collar, the color bringing a warmth to my lightly tanned skin where the tunic had washed me out.
“They’ll have no choice but to love you. ”
I should’ve known better. Should’ve insisted that I should wear something more unassuming than my usual bold style.
At least Rune puts me out of my misery. “Let’s get started,” he says with a clap of his hands and a stiff smile that feels like a belly laugh coming from someone like him.
The room is a flurry of chairs scraping on the stone floor, pages flipping, and final sips of coffee. Rune does the honors of reading the stage directions, grounding us in a teen boy’s messy bedroom, before Miles takes it away.
“It’s my fault,” he says, not full-on sobbing like the script calls for but layering his voice with a deep, wallowing sorrow.
“I promise it’s not,” Jamila assures him, her voice soft and sweet as she rests a hand on his back. “You know how much we all love you, right?”
They meet each other’s eyes, Rune’s voice a distant hum as the world melts away. So easily convincing the rest of us that they’re in love already. Honestly, I’d think this was real if I wasn’t at a table read.
I stiffen in my seat, squaring my shoulders and fixing my attention on my own script as I prepare for my first line.
“Are you done? Your mom’s asking for you,” I almost shout, adding a feigned knock on the door, interrupting Jamila’s and Miles’s characters’ intimate moment.
Miles clears his throat, turning back to his page while Jamila’s hand retreats back to her lap. “Y-yeah. Coming.”
I bite back a smirk, letting pride wash over me as Rune continues on to the next set of stage directions. Being a bitch doesn’t feel so bad.
Looks like Jamila and Miles aren’t the only ones who can act the part.
I’m able to come out on the other side of the read-through unscathed.
Reading the rest of the script with the full cast helps me put the last remaining pieces of this puzzle of a show together.
Based on the first episode, the narrative is split between the teens and the adults—Miles taking the lead on the teen side, with me, Jamila, and Dawn in supporting roles.
Not at all surprising is the amount of scenes Jamila and Miles have together.
The bulk of the first episode is the two of them together—either in her room, or his, or at a diner they love.
What is surprising is the role she’s playing.
Adina, Miles’s character’s best friend since childhood.
The first person he went to after the accident that killed his family, the girl he always searches for when things go sideways.
The girl with a smile that feels like the sun.
The girl who’s more than small-town beautiful but refuses to accept it.
The girl he loves more than anything, even though he doesn’t know it yet.
The girl I was on Avalon Grove.
Our approaches to the cliché “girl next door” role aren’t similar by any means.
Jamila is softer spoken, gentle, and kind.
The glimmer in her eyes tells the story for her—that she loves him as much as he loves her and she does know it.
Where Miles and my on-screen story was more about lingering touches and smiles and glances held too long, theirs is a subtler dance around their feelings.
There’s something deeply moving about it, even when they’re reading words on a page, not putting their full force behind each line.
Maybe it’s because of the writing. Weird as he is, I gotta hand it to Rune, he knows how to write a captivating scene.
Or maybe it’s the difference in the stories Jamila and I are trying to tell—one soft and light as cotton candy and the other born out of turmoil, like a rose from a crack in the street.
Or maybe it’s because she’s that good.