Page 32 of Marisol Acts the Part

Despite my acting background, I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings.

Even if I were, I’m too exhausted by the time I get home to act like I’m anything other than irritated about how the rest of my day went.

After a thorough shower to ensure I’d washed off every trace of perfume from my skin, and another round with hair and makeup, I walked back to set and spent nearly two hours waiting around before being told we’d reshoot my scene tomorrow morning instead.

I try my best to put my annoyance at Rune for wasting my time behind me as I head straight from set to meet up with Kevin at a boutique downtown.

With the amateur drag competition this weekend, we need to lock down an outfit for his performance ASAP.

There’s no way I’m letting my cousin make his debut in a dress he stole from the back of his mom’s closet.

Shopping is the cure for all wounds, but I don’t feel my usual buzz as I stroll through the racks.

No euphoria as I find a champagne sequin jumpsuit that would go perfectly with the wig I spotted at a beauty supply store down the block from my apartment.

“Okay, what’s the matter?” Kevin snaps as he steps out of the dressing room in a green midi cling dress that I give an apathetic thumbs-down.

“It doesn’t do anything for your legs,” I explain, gesturing to the dress’s awkward length. He already has naturally glorious legs. No point in hiding them under fabric.

Kevin crosses his arms when I hand him the next option to try. “I meant with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been weird since we got here. Every other time I’ve seen you, your energy is at a ten, but I walked out in that neon-yellow feather monstrosity that made me look like Big Bird, and you didn’t even say a thing,” he explains, pointing to said feather monstrosity.

I shudder as I take it in properly this time. It does look like Big Bird.

“I’m sorry, I’m just exhausted from shooting,” I apologize before burying my head in my hands, applying a gentle pressure to my temples that I hope will ease my building migraine and wake me up a little.

I knew I should’ve gotten myself a latte before ordering my Lyft.

New York seriously needs more drive-throughs.

Instead of dropping the subject and moving on to the next outfit, Kevin squeezes beside me onto the bench outside of his dressing room. “Did something happen?”

I shrug, hoping it comes off as nonchalant, but the way he keeps staring intently at me tells me he’s not convinced. “The director can just be really frustrating sometimes.”

“Did he say something to you?”

I snort, a humorless, bitter sound. “Not exactly. But he doesn’t need to say anything to make me feel awful.

” My head drops, hanging limply as I run my hands along my bare arms, trying to warm them back up.

“It feels like I’m never doing anything right.

Even when I think I’m giving a fantastic performance, he still finds something to nitpick, like my hair, or my clothes, or the freaking perfume I’m wearing. ”

“He sounds like a dick.”

“He’s a great writer, though.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t also be a dick.” Kevin nudges his shoulder against mine. “Regardless of whatever he tries to put you through, you got this job for a reason: because you’re talented. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. Includinghim.”

“If the person who hired me doesn’t think I’m any good, then how am I supposed to believe in myself?” I reply, holding back tears as I voice the fear that’s been plaguing me ever since my first day on this show.

I know I’ve been putting my best foot forward. I know I’ve been giving this my all. I know I’m giving a really great performance—possibly the best of my career. But it feels impossible not to doubt myself when Rune seems so determined to see me fail.

“Because it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks.

It only matters what you think,” Kevin insists, taking my hand in his and squeezing gently.

“But for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty damn amazing.

I binged Avalon Grove and that one holiday rom-com you did.

Phenomenal. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my famous cousin. ”

This time, my laugh isn’t bitter or hollow. It’s the lightest I’ve felt since the premiere with Jamila. I forget about who I’m trying to be and remember who I really am. A girl who loves pink and romance and fashion. A girl who isn’t afraid to be herself. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. You’re the one doing me the favors.”

That might technically be true, but helping him get ready for the competition has honestly been a welcome distraction from the pressures of shooting. Plus, my nails have never looked better. Rune hasn’t mentioned them once, which is honestly a great sign.

Kevin stands back up, grabbing the next option—the champagne jumpsuit I have high hopes for—from the pile beside me. “You got your ticket for this Saturday, right?”

Since Dad has been so adamant about me not going to any of Jerome’s shows, I made sure to book the ticket under an alias. I’m not sure how involved Jerome is in ticket sales, but I can’t risk them busting our operation before it can actually go into effect.

“Duh.” I pull up my confirmation email as proof with a grin.

“Would you mind if I invited a friend?” I ask tentatively, suddenly very intrigued by a loose thread on my skirt.

I’d had the thought to invite Jamila the night of the premiere, but chickened out at the last minute.

Not because I don’t think a drag show is her scene, but because this feels…

different. An invite to do something outside of The Limit , outside of showing her the ropes of celebrity life.

A night to be who we are—hopefully without cameras lurking around every corner.

Clearly, we’re friends when we’re on set, and we got along well the night of the premiere, but who are we really when we’re off-screen?

Kevin narrows his eyes at me suspiciously but doesn’t pry for any details. “The more to witness my debut, the merrier.” He steps back into the dressing room, head peeking out of the curtain. “Now, I want you to give me your honest opinion on this next one. No thumbs-up or thumbs-down, okay?”

“Okay,” I assure him with my last thumbs-up of the evening before quickly pulling out my phone and texting Jamila.

Hey! So, my cousin is going to be part of an amateur drag competition Friday night—any interest in being my plus one? Give you a chance to experience the joys of going incognito in a crowd!

Yet another unfortunate lesson Jamila will have to learn sooner or later: public spaces like a nightclub aren’t your friend when you’re a recognizable face.

The sooner she learns how to keep people from figuring out who she is so she can spend her night enjoying herself instead of fielding selfies and autographs, the better.

I hit send on the text before I can dwell too long on the wording—my plus-one, seriously? It’s not like we’re going to a wedding—and shove my phone back into my pocket moments before Kevin steps out in the jumpsuit.

“Oh. My. God,” I say, each word its own statement.

“It’s a little much, right?” Kevin shifts to face the full-length mirror nervously, tugging the V-neckline of the jumpsuit closer together.

“?‘Too much’ isn’t in my vocabulary. It’s perfect !”

Even without padding, the cut and style of the jumpsuit perfectly accentuate Kevin’s figure, making his legs look like they go on for miles.

The color pops and flawlessly complements the copper undertones of his skin.

Plus, if it’s already dazzling like a disco ball in the horrible dressing room fluorescent lighting, I can only imagine what it’ll be like on stage.

I leap out of my seat, unable to contain my excitement as I gesture for him to give me a full twirl so I can confirm what I already knew: this is the perfect choice. “If Jerome doesn’t crown you on the spot, I’ll replace his coffee creamer with sour cream.”

The hesitation Kevin had when he stepped out of the dressing room melts away, his laugh deep and loud and his smile brighter than the sun.

Seeing someone feel comfortable in their own skin because you brought out the beauty they’ve had in them the entire time is the best part of any makeover. That glow gets me every time.

“Don’t try to pay for this. It’s on me,” I insist as Kevin does another once-over in the mirror. His smile fades as he whips around to protest, but I hold up a finger before he can argue with me. “Think of it as a thank-you gift for my favorite cousin.”

Slowly, his smile blossoms again. Instead of showing his appreciation with words, he pulls me into a hug that says it for him.

I can’t help but sniffle as I hug him back as tightly as I can.

It feels really damn good to have a friend in this city, a place that once felt so unfamiliar and terrifying.

But it feels even better to know that person is family.

My phone buzzes while Kevin changes back into his street clothes. New texts from Jamila.

I’d love to

warning you now tho in case any dancing is involved: I’m a terrible dancer

I don’t bother to hide my smile, lingering a beat too long on the text before tucking my phone away.

Kevin stands in the doorway to the dressing room, eyebrow quirked as he watches my cheeks flush, but doesn’t tease or call me out again.

My smile while reading the text stays in place as we check out, and as we grab dinner at a sushi place down the block, and as a couple of overeager fans ask for photos and hit me with dozens of questions about Miles.

Even as we take the subway home because Kevin insists it’s part of the New York experience.

The grin on my face lasts until I’m finally in bed for the night, Bruiser curled up beside me, staring at the ceiling and dreaming about spending another night with Jamila.