Page 56

He shrugs easily. “Bullshit makes it better.”

That’s certainly a perspective to have. I step closer for warmth and pretend I don’t notice him watching me.

USP East Early, in contrast, is a blight on the countryside. Three concrete monstrosities at the end of a winding gray road, contained by barbed wire and panopticon towers. When we arrive, the parking lot of Dad’s high-security building is postapocalyptic. Mom uses the side mirror of the equipment van to fix her makeup in the middle of the asphalt sprawl. The producer is upset because a lens cap is missing. Daniel is gritting his teeth, whatever good mood he had at the café souring, and a prison employee steps out from the main building, squinting against the early-morning light blazing over the mountain.

I sit in the back seat of Mom’s car, legs dangling out the open door in a desperate grab for fresh air.

On the drive down, I changed Felicity’s contact name in my phone.

Felicity

nervous??

Morgan

I’m trying not to puke on my nice tights

yeah no shit I’m nervous

Then I scroll back up to look at their thank you. I have no idea why I’m so fixated on it. It’s not like the words actually came out of their mouth—it’s just a message. Two words. Who cares.

Alyssa, on the other hand, hasn’t texted since I was an asshole at the crosswalk. Which is good. The fewer people interacting with me right now, the better. Still, I thumb through our old conversations, perusing the last month of our back-and-forths. It’s nothing interesting. Only links to funny videos that I never watched, questions about Leah (because I would know, apparently), and anxiety spirals about trans rights in this country that I always ignored because what was she going to be able to do about it.

It’s … I don’t know. We’ve been a bonded pair for so long. Mom moved me to Winthrop Academy because Alyssa was there, thinking it’d be good to put me with someone who would at least attempt to talk to me. I was the one with the backbone to correct Warren Hanover on his daughter’s name when Alyssa was too scared to do it. I spent half of sophomore year falling asleep in her bed because I refused to be home alone with my mother.

And as soon as I want to do something for myself she backs away. Says it’s not good for me, doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. Says I’m wrong and I need to do it her way.

Selfish bitch.

Felicity

you got this!! Don’t kill yourself!!!!!

That gets an ugly bark of laughter from me.

“Excuse me!” Mom’s shrill voice cuts across the parking lot. She’s zeroed in on the correctional officer coming up to us and has decided to be a territorial cat about it, despite the fact that COs are the last people we need to piss off right now. “Can we help you?”

“Are y’all Hexagon Productions?” the officer calls.

Mom huffs. “What does it look like? Do you have any other film crews coming in today, ma’am?”

From where he’s trying to organize one of the equipment vans, Daniel glares daggers at the back of my mother’s head. “Jesus,” he says while the producer shuffles over to resolve the immediate and useless tension my mother has managed to create out of thin air.

I lean back, catch Daniel’s eye, give a carefully angled tilt of my head: Ugh, right?

He snorts in derision. A man after my own heart.

When I nod him toward me, he does as he’s told.

“You got anything to drink on you?” he whispers, leaning against the open door to loom over me. I’m eye level with his stomach. “Greg’s been up my ass all morning. Keys, paperwork, company card—even made me pay for breakfast.”

“No. I wish.”

He groans. “Fuck.”

I don’t know much about film crews, but with my limited experience gleaned entirely from behind-the-scenes features of childhood DVDs, he’s dressed way too well for his job behind the camera. Nice watch, nice shoes, nice two-hundred-dollar jeans. Though he got to pick what he’s wearing, so that’s all his fault. My entire outfit, from my sweater dress and tights to the exact shade of my eyeliner, was set out for me when I woke up. Hopefully Mom doesn’t catch how wrecked the nail polish on my left ring finger is.

“At least you look nice,” I say.