Apex

05 | chameleon

MAY 16

DAKOTA

"Where are we going?" Brenna asked, snaking an arm through mine.

"The movie theater," I begrudgingly replied as we walked down a dimly lit cobblestone street. Downtown Friday Island was all Victorian architecture with art galleries, cafes, and t-shirt shops that enhanced its aura of vintage pacific charm. "I used to work there with my friend Syd."

As we crossed under a street lamp, the soft light cast orange and yellow highlights on Brenna's tan skin. I noticed the delicate freckles dusting her nose and cheekbones.

She smirked. "That's very on-brand of you."

I slid her wry smile because she wasn't wrong. According to my interview for Entertainment Weekly, I had a picture-perfect backstory. I was born and raised on Friday Island, where my dad taught English and photography at the high school, and my mom was a wedding planner. I'd always liked fiddling with cameras. It didn't matter if it was in the darkroom at the high school or a stranger's wedding. Producing short films was a hobby, one that I'd recruited Maud and Syd to star in starting in the sixth grade. I'd initially attempted to include Allix, but she'd never liked the camera.

The journalist from Entertainment Weekly had somehow known all these details and seemed keen to depict me as a diamond in the rough always destined for fame. It was a mildly flattering description, one I might've appreciated if I believed in destiny.

"We're here," I announced, guiding Brenna beneath the twinkling lights of the theater's marquee. Nostalgia settled onto my shoulders as I inhaled the sweet smell of butter and popcorn.

The movie theater on Front Street was only ever busy when it rained, and tonight the sky was crystal clear. Syd and I had spent the majority of our high school years working here. We printed tickets, scooped popcorn, and smoked in the back alleyway during our breaks. The building itself was reminiscent of old-school theatre grandeur with velveteen seats and marble flooring, which, as a film nerd, I secretly adored.

"Lovely," Brenna observed, looking entirely unimpressed and shivered. "Let's go inside. It's freezing out here."

"It's only fifty degrees," I stated, feeling the side of my mouth tugging up into a smirk. "Aren't you New Yorkers supposed to have thick skin?"

"This New Yorker has been living in LA for the last five years," she fired back. "My tolerance for anything under seventy degrees is abysmal."

"Fine," I conceded, and she graced me with a radiant grin. "But if you're coming inside, just do me a favor and play nice."

The last thing I needed was for Brenna to give Syd the wrong impression. She was my friend, but she was Hollywood. I didn't want him to think that place had turned me into someone I'm not. Someone he wouldn't recognize.

We pushed through the front doors. The lobby was empty except for the familiar face behind the ticket stand.

"Hey, asshole," Syd greeted. He was sporting his trademark Carhartt beanie and light-wash denim jacket. "Cool of you to finally show your face."

I shrugged. "I'm sure you've heard, but I'm a big deal these days and have zero free time."

"Yep. Still an asshole." Syd exited the booth and yanked me into a fierce embrace. "Jesus, you smell like a rich person."

"Excellent," I remarked, taking a step back and grinning at him. "That's exactly what I'm going for."

Syd mirrored my grin, but he missed his chance to respond because Brenna cleared her throat, demanding the spotlight.