The Truth About Hollywood

I woke up the next morning and got ready mechanically. No one else was up yet. I figured that Dad must have worked something out with his office so that he could work from home for now on. I didn't blame him, especially if Mom did have only a month left.

After throwing my script into a backpack that I'd found at the back of my closet the night before, I slung it over my shoulders and walked outside, closing and locking the front door behind me.

When I turned toward the street, a car in the driveway sparked my attention. It wasn't usually there...

It took a second to process that it was Danny's car. My jaw dropped, and I stared for a second. Finally, I regained my composure and walked toward it, completely forgetting that I hated Danny's guts.

"What are you doing here?" I snapped. Okay, so apparently, my subconscious remembered that I wasn't too happy with him.

"I needed to talk to you, and I figured that we'd be able to do that if I drove you to the studio. Hop in." His voice was too cheery. It was like another stab wound in my middle.

"I can't talk to you before I go into work," I said flatly. I started down the street, not looking behind me.

"Look." Danny's voice came from my left. I jumped as I realized that he was driving his car slowly next to me, the passenger's side window rolled down. A car passed Danny quickly, beeping as he did. Danny flipped the guy off before turning back to me.

"Anything you want to add to that?" I joked.

"Yeah. I know that you're pissed at me, and I don't blame you. I shouldn't have done that. But we can't go on being angry at each other. In the show, whether it's convenient or not, we have to play that we like each other, so we might as well get along in real life. Please get in the car."

"You know, I could scream, 'No, I don't want your candy' right now and get you arrested." Even though I worked hard to fight it, I let out a grin.

"That would work if you were seven, but I'm not sure someone would lure you into a car with candy when you're sixteen."

"You never knowww..." I sing-songed. Danny pulled to a stop next to me, and I got inside, putting my bag on the ground at my feet.

"So do you forgive me?" he asked softly.

I bit my lip. "I guess. Just tell me. What made you kiss me in that scene? Did you know that I liked you?"

"I had no clue," he said honestly. "And I don't know...I just sort of thought that it felt right. Your face was so close to mine and..." He shrugged.

Didn't this mean that he had feelings toward me? Or was I just mistaking good acting for romantic feelings? It was horrible that I was trying to read into everything that he said to me, but I just couldn't help it. The never-ending questions were just out of my control.

The most important question, though, was that why the hell was I worrying about Danny when my mother was dying? Why was I still going through my daily routine and acting like the love-stricken teenager when I should be helping her or spending my time with her before she died?

I guess I just needed a shred of normalcy while my home-life was falling apart.

"You know when I told you to ask about your mom? Did you?"

Biting my lip, I debated whether to tell him or not. Finally, before I could think about it too much, I responded, "Yeah, I did."

"And...? Well, you're here, so I assume she's fine, right?"

"To assume is to make an ass out of you and me," I recited, looking at him. I waited for him to take the hint, but his face remained blank. "She's dying."

Danny slammed on the brake. He had a horrible habit of doing that, it seemed... "Are you kidding me?!" he exclaimed. "Claire, if this is a joke, then you're a sick, twisted girl. You know that, right?"

I sighed. "I'm not kidding. She has an inoperable brain tumor and the few chemo sessions that she's had has done nothing but made her lose her hair."

Telling him made it seem all the more real. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I turned out the window to try to hide them. I'd cried too much in front of him for my liking.

Danny was silent until we got to the studio. "Come here," he whispered, pulling me close to him as he unbuckled my seat belt. I buried my head in his chest as the realization washed over me.

Mom was soon going to be...gone. Not there anymore. No one there to lecture me on eating too much when I wasn't, no one to congratulate me when I got a good grade. Dad was never around that much to be that supportive parental figure. He'd only entered the picture almost full-time once Mom got sick.

Was Dad even going to be a good parent? Would he be able to raise me by himself?

The thoughts and questions wouldn't stop flying through my head, and they confused me even more, making the tears come harder. My sobs were loud and scary-sounding, echoing through the car.

Eventually, I calmed down and wiped my eyes. "Sorry," I sniffled, laughing a little. "God, you see me cry too much."

"Not for stupid reasons," Danny assured me. "Hold on, you got an eyelash right..." Instead of finishing his sentence, he reached over and put his thumb tenderly on my cheek, near my eye. My heart picked up pace as he looked into my eyes for a second.

Then, he seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled away, flicking away the eyelash. "So, you ready to do this thing?" I liked how he was trying to keep everything as normal as possible for me. Maybe there was a valid reason why I liked him. Maybe he wasn't as much of a jerk as he sometimes acted.

"I guess," I agreed, getting out of the car and putting my backpack back on properly.

"Are you okay?" Annabelle asked as we walked into the studio. I guessed it was obvious that I'd been crying, but I didn't know, since I hadn't looked in a mirror. It wasn't until she started looking suspiciously from Danny to me and back that what she was thinking clicked.

"I'm fine," I waved off. "It has nothing to do with him."

"Uh-huh," she replied, not believing a word I said.

I sighed loudly before going down to get ready for shooting. I knew that I had a scene with Danny (it was posted on the wardrobe door), and I hoped that I was prepared for it.

I hoped I was mentally stable enough to handle it. As Ricardo prepped my face for a close up (but not before interrogating me on what had gotten me worked up before we got there; I had lied and said that I had a sneezing fit and ranted about how I hoped I wasn't getting a cold), I spent my time trying my hardest to toughen my mental state.