You Look Different in Real Life

were sitting on the floor of her room, doing aparticularly brutal puzzle that was nothing but a photo of sand.
    “Lance is nearly three times our age and would get arrested for even looking at us the wrong way,” Rory had said, pressing her fingertip hard into the corner of the puzzle box, over and over. “But I’ve heard my mother say he’s handsome.”
    I follow everyone into the living room and when Lance and Leslie nab the couch, leaving a cushion-length space between them, I’m left with the overstuffed chair-and-a-half that makes me feel like someone just blasted me with a shrink ray. My mom comes in with a steaming plate and there’s a burst of scone-related rhapsody.
    The light catches on the chunky ring on Leslie’s finger as she reaches for her scone. She and Lance got married in Hawaii right after they finished shooting Five at Eleven but before the film actually came out. They must have had a short honeymoon period.
    Now we’ve all got coffee and my mother drags in a dining room chair, settling in next to me.
    “You guys got here just in time for the thaw,” Mom says. “Two weeks ago, there was snow everywhere.”
    “Well, that’s the way it works now that we live in Los Angeles,” says Lance. “We’re big-time filmmakers, we can order the weather around.”
    Leslie rolls her eyes but my mother and Lance laugh.Then they’re all looking at me like I’m supposed to add something snappy.
    “I’m sorry your last movie tanked,” I blurt out. Probably a little more snap in there than they wanted, but oh well.
    It’s silent, and then my mother shakes her head. “That was rude, Justine.”
    “No, Diana, it’s cool,” says Lance. “That’s not anything we haven’t heard from the most important people in Hollywood.” He pauses, takes a sip of coffee. “Yup, our film tanked. That’s actually putting it nicely.”
    “Apparently we need to stick to documentaries,” says Leslie. “Although I have to say, I really loved the whole process of writing a script, casting it, doing retakes. My original dream was to direct fiction films, you know.” She sighs. “I hope someday we get a second chance.”
    We’re all quiet again. Lance looks at Leslie with a mix of annoyance and affection, then chirps, “In the meantime, we’ve got another story to tell! That of you, Justine, and your friends. I can’t tell you how grateful we are that you decided to participate.”
    The word friends takes me by surprise, a little slap that stings. I don’t know what hurts more. The thought of Rory shuffling past me in the hallways at school, me being afraid to even say hello to Keira that day in the nurse’s office, or Nate’s gaze bouncing off me in the cafeteria as if I could just be ignored out of existence.
    “So, how are you doing ?” asks Leslie, leaning forward to the edge of the couch. “Both of you. Since the divorce.”
    Mom and I look at each other and she jerks her chin toward me in a You go ahead gesture. I have no idea what to say to this.
    “You know it happened a while ago, right? I was, like, twelve.”
    “A tender age for you,” says Leslie, giving a nod that I recognize as her Prod Nod. The one that says, I may or may not be interested in what you’re saying, but I really want you to keep saying it.
    “I guess it was. But my parents breaking up was kind of mellow. Dad lives right in town and I’m there half the time.”
    “We had an amicable split,” adds my mother, proudly. “In fact, Jeff still comes over for dinner every week. We’re still a family.”
    Argh. I’d heard that so many times in the year after the divorce. That, along with its hideous inbred cousins: “We both love you no matter what” and “Divorce does not define us.”
    Leslie looks at me and I just smile blandly, backing my mother up. Then she glances at Lance, and he gives the tiniest eyebrow raise, which I think, if my eyebrow-to-English skills are as sharp as they ever were, means There goes that idea.
    “Have you been shooting home video during the lastfew years?” asks Lance. We all know he’s talking about the camera they gave each family when they finished shooting Eleven. The expectations were obvious.
    “Oh, yes,” says my mom with a smile. “As much as she’d let us. I have some stuff saved and labeled for you. We can look at it whenever.”
    “Fantastic,” says Leslie. She turns to me and adds, “Justine, if there’s anything you took yourself, even with your phone, we’d