You Look Different in Real Life

warmth transferred from her cup; then they jump to my shoulders to bring me in for a hug. My stomach still hurts, and for an instant, ridiculously, I think maybe she’ll notice.
    “You’re so grown up,” she says, squeezing tight. Her breath used to smell like cigarettes; now it stinks of a Cinnamon Dolce latte.
    “That’s what happens,” I say, and throw a look at Lance, who just winks. Lance is the kind of guy who can get away with a wink regardless of unfortunate outerwear.
    When Leslie releases me, I ask the question.
    “What are you guys doing here?”
    “What do you think?” asks Lance.
    Uh-uh. I need them to say it. I look at Leslie.
    Taking the cue, she says, “We’ve got the go-ahead for Five at Sixteen .”
    “ Five at Sixteen ,” I echo.
    In December, after my birthday, I was expecting the phone call, but it didn’t come. Then the holidays paraded by, and nothing. Winter dragged on. At the end of every day without hearing Lance or Leslie’s voice, breathing got 0.5 percent easier for me.
    “I didn’t think it was going to happen,” I say after a slow-motion moment. It’s all I can do not to ask, Who’s going to give you any more money after last time and that other movie you made that just plain sucked?
    “Neither did we. But it was meant to be, Justine, and it’s happening. We’re in town for a few days to talk to people at your school and line up somewhere to live for a few months.”
    “We were going to call you and your parents tomorrow,” adds Lance.
    “Running into you like this—it’s just so perfect!” continues Leslie. “I saw your face from across the street andinstantly knew it was you. Like I said, meant to be! I have a feeling this film is going to be kick-ass.”
    For the record, Leslie is way too old to say things like “kick-ass.”
    “You will be part of it, won’t you?” adds Lance. At least he’s actually asking.
    “Have you talked to the others?” I nonanswer.
    “Just Nate so far, because he called us last week,” says Leslie. “They’re all on board over there. You were next on my list, because if we don’t have you . . . Well. That’s a lot not to have.”
    They’re wrong and don’t know it. “When would you start?”
    “We’ll begin preproduction next month,” she says. “But we need paperwork signed in the next week or so, to keep things rolling.”
    I know my line here should be, Of course I’ll sign your paperwork! Why would I not? In some alternate reality, I might add, I can’t wait for you to slice open my life for the world to examine and poke at with sharp instruments!
    I don’t say that.
    We’re all silent for a few long seconds.
    Finally, Lance says, “We should let you go, Justine. We’re due at the Realtor’s office up the street. We’ll talk later, yes?”
    I just nod. Leslie touches her cheek to mine and squeezes my shoulder, and I wonder if that’s some newversion of good-bye they’re beta testing in Los Angeles. Lance pats me on the back, in the same way he’s always patted me on the back. Then they are gone, gliding away from me like graceful, overdressed angels of doom.
    My mother steps through the kitchen door with two steaming cups of cocoa and a bowl of popcorn, as if we were in a scene from a feminine-hygiene-product commercial. In this commercial, I sit at the table and she puts my drink and snack in front of me, then eases into my sister Olivia’s usual chair across from mine.
    “You think I should do it,” I say to her. It comes out sounding like an accusation, which it sort of is.
    “I do. But the decision is yours.” As she leans down to blow on her cocoa, I notice the streaks of gray hair now woven through her blond highlights. When she came to pick me up at the library and I told her about seeing Lance and Leslie, her eyes, which have looked so tired lately, suddenly sparkled to life.
    I don’t know what to say next, so I blurt out the first moronic thing that comes to mind.
    “I always thought I’d be thin in time for this one.”
    Instead of coming up with a You’re not fat! or You look great , my mom stares into her cocoa, then offers an encouraging smile. “You could still lose a few pounds before they start shooting.”
    She thinks she’s being helpful. That’s my mother, ina nutshell. I just shrug and make a mental note to seethe about it later.
    After a few moments I say, “Leslie said that if they don’t have me, that’s a lot not to have.”
    “Oh, I agree with that. So