Page 9 of Marisol Acts the Part

I’d like to think I’m taking my flop era in stride.

I’ve only watched Miles’s story twice this week.

Well…three times. But that was only because my finger slipped and I forgot to skip over it while doomscrolling at twoa.m. It’s the closest thing we’ve had to communication since he texted me after my audition last week.

A text I promptly ignored. Yes, he did leave his five-hundred-dollar headphones at my place, and yes, I am keeping them for myself. Call it collateral damage.

I’m fine with that. And not seething with jealousy whatsoever. I’ve made my peace. He gets to live his high-profile actor dreams in New York, and I get to stay here in LA, watching TikToks with Bruiser for six to eight hours a day while casting directors toss my headshot in the trash.

My career isn’t officially over, but it’s hard not to feel like it is.

I’ve had enough time since my audition to pull apart all the reasons I’m not landing any new roles.

From my acting abilities to my attitude to the outfits I wore—I dissect every detail, but still can’t find an answer.

With another one of our Avalon Grove castmates—who played Miles’s best friend, Brody—landing the lead in a new Hulu drama about a student having an affair with his professor, my sadness turns to bitterness.

Why does it seem like the boys from the cast are the only people who are allowed to reinvent themselves while Lily, Posie, and I are typecast as lovestruck teens based off a single role?

I’m not surprised. But I am annoyed.

“Hey, Munch…” Mom knocks quietly on the doorframe to my room, and I pause the two-and-a-half-hour-long video dissecting The Vampire Diaries I’d been watching. “How about we go out for dinner tonight? Anywhere you want.”

Guilt tugs at my heartstrings as I give her a small, sympathetic smile. The only thing I hate more than Miles right now is turning Mom down. She’s proposed everything from trips to the Grove to weekends in Lake Tahoe to try to get me to go outside. And she’s not the only one.

My group chat with Lily and Posie has mostly been turned-down invitations for brunch and mani/pedis—which, if I didn’t lie and tell them I was getting over the flu, would normally be taken as a signal that I’ve been kidnapped and am currently in distress.

While my skin could definitely use some sun, I haven’t worked up the courage to ignore the dread that washes over me like an ice bath every time I think about leaving my safe space.

Because I can’t just go outside. Mom gave an earful to the paparazzi who were camped on our block, but all that did was get them to move their operation to the end of the street.

And even if I can make it out of here without being bombarded, there aren’t many places in this city where they won’t find you.

From the grocery store, to the In-N-Out drive-through, to the dentist’s office, they’re always there, lurking around a corner.

Waiting to snap a photo of me that proves to the world what everyone’s speculating: I’ve been a total wreck since Miles dumped me.

And I’m not going to prove them right.

“I’m good, thanks. Maybe next week?” I suggest to soften the blow.

Mom’s usual frown is replaced by an elated grin—a little too elated, I worry.

Hopefully, by then, the paparazzi will have moved on to the latest celebrity breakup and left me to wallow in peace.

If not, I’ll have to disappoint my mom over and over again until I can leave my house without feeling like I’m on the run for murder.

“It’s a date,” Mom replies, even though I haven’t really agreed to anything, but she’s always been an optimist. She takes her wins where she can get them. “I was thinking we could—”

Mom trails off when both of our phones go off. I glance over at where Bruiser is curled up in the crook of my arm, her paws resting on top of my phone. She’s still fast asleep, despite the buzzing.

“It’s Delia,” Mom says, her brows furrowed.

“Probably calling to tell me I didn’t get The Limit. Big surprise.” Maybe she’s delivering a personal message from Rune himself, letting me know that my audition was so bad it offended him.

“Hey, Delia,” I answer halfheartedly, bracing myself for the inevitable rejection. Bruiser, now awake, licks my arm in solidarity.

I’m reciting Delia’s usual spiel in my head, still fresh in my mind from the rejection I got last week— Sorry, M, this one didn’t go our way —only to be greeted by a chorus of voices instead. Delia, Joanna, and Blake all talking over one another.

Oh God, this is it. They’re firing me. For real this time.

Delia clears her throat, asserting her dominance over the others and waiting until they’ve quieted down to continue. “How fast do you think you can pack your stuff, Marisol?”

What would I need to pack for? They can’t fire me and evict me from my apartment, right?

But Joanna did help us find this place. Oh God.

I can’t be single, jobless, and homeless.

I’ll have to crash on Posie and Lily’s couch.

Wait—their mom is allergic to dogs. I can’t leave Bruiser with anyone, she’s a nasty little goblin to people she doesn’t know.

But boarding long-term is so expensive and—

“Because you’re going to need to get to New York ASAP!”

Everyone around me bursts into celebration. Clapping and cheering and what sounds like champagne popping while Mom rushes up to hug me.

“Wh-what?” I choke out.

“You booked The Limit !” Delia explains, the most excited I’ve heard her since I landed Avalon Grove.

“Not a series regular role, but a pretty hefty guest star role. Six episodes at least. Maybe even the full eight. I’ll send you all the details in an email, but they’re on a tight schedule.

This is big, Marisol. I’m talking potential award-season-nom big.

Do you think you can make it to New York by next week? ”

Holy shit. I did it. I’d written off my chances so quickly I never thought to consider what it might feel like to actually get a part.

And it feels pretty freakin’ amazing.

“Yeah, for sure!” I reply without thinking. Hell, I’ll buy the plane ticket right now. Finding a place to stay this late in the game won’t be cheap, but I’ll sleep in a cardboard box if I have to.

Well, maybe a hotel.

“You can stay with your dad until you get settled,” Mom suggests excitedly before pulling me in for a bone-crushing hug.

Bruiser joins in on the celebration, barking as loud as her little lungs allow as Mom and I hold each other close and squeal and dance around the room like we’ve won the lottery. For the first time in almost two weeks, I feel hope. Joy. Excitement.

Because I’m going to prove Miles, those anonymous commenters, the casting directors who passed on me, everyone, wrong.