Joan the Made (Throwbacks Series, Book 1)

Chapter 24

It's another rehearsal day at Strand, but my mood is sky-high from my conversation with Justus yesterday. The light pouring in the window seems brighter, the food from the dispenser tastes as good as Addie's, and the world is full of a million possibilities this morning. As I pull on my boots, I start to whistle.

"Stop whistling, or I'll cut you in half," Nic barks when we're inside Strand's car.

"Good morning, sunshine!" I chirp to get on his nerves.

Nic bites his lip, but I can't tell if it's so he doesn't snap at me or to hide a smile. Today, I'll choose to believe it's a smile.

"Do you want to run lines?" Nic asks.

"Translation?"

Nic's face darkens. "Have you memorized the script yet? The director will expect you to be ready today."

"We've only just begun rehearsals."

"You act like this is the first time you've been on a set!" Nic barks at me.

"It is."

Nic releases a slow breath. "Open your tablet and start memorizing. Now."

Part of me wants to argue with him, but for the sake of the rebellion, I decide not to take any risks. I flip to my scenes and notice that my role has been expanded since the read-through.

"They gave me a couple of new monologues."

Nic nods once. "You should have been working the script every night. All changes are flagged. You'll be expected to hit every beat and roll with any changes."

The dialogue is all the same. It's pure, syrupy Strand propaganda. Memorizing formulas was easy for me at school because there was logic; they meant something. But all of these empty sentences blur together, meaningless. Maybe I can wing it.

On set, Blake Greene is showing a Molly her blocking for a scene inside a nursery. His tablet lies on his director chair, temporarily abandoned. Nic grabs my arm.

"Focus on your lines," he commands, and I shake him off.

"Scene thirty-four!" Blake calls.

"That's us," Nic says, yanking me toward the restaurant set.

"You'll both stand at the table. When the camera turns on, smile as though a guest has entered the restaurant and take it from there," Blake directs.

He snaps his fingers, and a camera rises off a nearby table, hovering in the air. It responds to Blake's hand gestures.

A flutter of panic rises in my chest, but I shove it down. The light above the camera turns red, signaling that it's recording, and I flash my biggest smile.

"Welcome to Historia!" Nic says.

"Step back in time with us," I continue.

"No!" Blake says. "Step back in time with me, not us! The wording makes it personal, so the audience will feel as though you are inviting them to join you in a new world. Try it again."

I struggle not to roll my eyes as we start the scene over. I make it farther this time, until I act as a waitress to a table that will be full of Evolved actors ordering food from me during filming.

"Don't be a martyr. Tell me what you're in the mood to eat!" I toss out, trying to hide my distaste for the joke in Blake's script.

"Sloppy!" Blake says. "You've missed words in almost every one of your lines. In my script, every syllable has a purpose. To miss one is to disfigure my art. You're as replaceable as any Molly on this set. Every Historical Throwback in this country would leap at the chance to be on camera in front of an audience of millions of captive viewers."