Under the Lights (26 page)

“Do you
want
to have anything coming up?” Liam asks, brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. I just feel like you don't really care. Like, take this movie—you might've been able to get an audition, but you didn't even try. And this should be your thing, shouldn't it? It's a down-'n-dirty, hangin'-with-the-boys kinda thing, not to mention that it would've gotten you tons of ass.” He rolls his eyes, because #LiamProblems. “But…do you even wanna act? In anything?”

I know I should be able to say “sure” easily—I mean, it's easy enough, and
Daylight Falls
was okay. But the truth is, he's right. I don't. I can't imagine a single part in the world right now that would get me excited or focused enough to stare at my script the way he does. It's not like I came to Hollywood to act; I act because I'm already in Hollywood.

And just as I realize that simple fact, my entire world comes crashing down.

“What the fuck am I
doing
?” I blurt out, because it comes to me so suddenly, so harshly, that I can't even keep the words in.

“Josh—”

“No, seriously, Holloway. What the fuck? I'm in my mom's reality show, so I can stay in a house my parents own. I do this acting and modeling shit not because I like it but because
I'm here
—which, again,
my parents.
How did I not realize that my parents—two people I barely have anything to do with—are somehow still dictating my entire fucking life?”

Liam cracks a smile. “I wouldn't say they've got all that much control over you, Chester. You
did
just
come from the drunk tank. But for what it's worth, I gotta say, now that I'm doing movies I care about, I'm actually learning to love this stuff. And I have my own place, and I've got Ally. And still, I find life hard as hell. If it's this tough now that I finally have everything I want, how do you get through it having none of that?”

The question stings a lot more than he meant it to, I'm sure, because Liam's not an asshole. He's genuinely perplexed. And I guess I am, too. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. But he's right that it's not making me happy. I don't want the spotlight, I don't want to do what I'm doing, and I'm not having fun with life as I'm living it anymore.

But what
do
I want?

So far, unfortunately, there's only one answer to that question. And this morning gave me a pretty decent idea that that feeling isn't mutual.

Then again, Mini-Jade
did
insist it wasn't what it looked like. Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't, but it seems stupid now not to at least know for sure. Back when I used to enjoy shit a lot more, at least half the fun was in taking chances.

Now I just have to take one more.

I let myself into the house as quietly as I can, praying that I'll get lucky for one more night with my parents' absence. Having a lot of family in the area means they're out a decent amount, but I realize as soon as I close the door behind me that I won't have any such luck tonight.

My parents are both waiting for me on the couch.

I don't think my parents have ever both waited for me on the couch.

“Hi,” I greet them quietly, knowing I won't get any points for acting like nothing's wrong.

“Sit down, Vanessa.” My father is a soft-spoken man—always has been—but it usually comes off as gentle. Right now, though, it's a fearsome kind of quiet. It's the most sure I've been that Something Bad is coming since my grandfather died. I immediately comply.

When I do sit and finally look at my mother, I can see that her eyes are rimmed in red. My stomach clenches at the knowledge I've made my mother cry, that I'm doing a bang-up job in general of hurting people I care about lately. Really not the kind of thing I've ever aspired to.

They're both silent, like they're waiting for me to kick off the conversation I'd rather die than have. I
don't know what they know yet. Lord knows they've never been very interested in my career. They don't support it so much as they just don't get in the way of it, which, while hurtful, has always been the best I've known I could ask for.

Today, though, I suspect that's about to change.

Finally, I can't take the angst anymore, and I venture out with, “I'm not sure what you think you know, but I can explain all of it.”

It's the wrong thing to say; the flash of anger in my father's dark eyes makes that patently clear. “Explanations no longer matter, Vanessa. We have allowed you to live this lifestyle for long enough. We said when you first auditioned that we would allow this as long as you behaved well and kept up your education.”

“And I have,” I burst out. “I have been
so
good. I've gone to family events, even when it's meant bailing on award shows. I had Ally tutor me for the SATs last year, and I did well enough—the second time, at least—to get into UCLA. And—”

“And that's good, because it's where you'll be going next semester,” my mother says flatly. “The time has come for this hobby to end. You're eighteen now, and you cannot keep pushing off the future.”

“I'm not pushing off anything! This
is
my future!” My mother's frown lines tighten at my outburst, and I force a deep breath to help me rein in my rage. Yelling has never gotten anywhere with my parents, and I know it won't now either. “Mom. Dad. I have a job, and it pays well, and I'm good at it. If I were a doctor—”

My mother snorts, and I wince. God, it's amazing how much disappointment I can see on both their faces right now. And even more amazing how quickly it drains the fight out of me.

“You can't even imagine how many people dream of being me,” I tell them, quieter now. “Why can't you understand that? Why can't you understand that what I'm doing is important? Even if you don't think my show is, the fact that
I'm
doing it is amazing. The fact that a Korean-American actress has a starring role on a primetime network show is amazing. How can that not mean anything to you? It means
everything
to me.”

Tears stream down my face, but they're not moved at all; they never have been. Even when they allowed me to audition, it wasn't with any hope or pride; at best, they saw it as a potential résumé-builder, maybe something to improve my confidence and public speaking. My mother didn't even watch me try out; she brought a crossword puzzle.

“It's a television show,” my father says, still quiet, still stony. “Do not make it more than it is.”

I couldn't possibly
, I think, but I already know he doesn't understand. Neither of them do. And it breaks my heart. Because I do love it more than anything. I love it enough that I chose it over the first person I've ever had real, strong feelings for. If the fact that I passed on being with Bri for this life doesn't convey how much it matters to me, nothing will.

But of course, I can't tell them that. Because as disappointed as they are in me right now, I can't even imagine how much it would compound it to tell them their only daughter is not going to marry a nice Korean boy. Is probably not going to marry a boy at all.

“You can't make me stop,” I say, forcing my voice above the whisper it desperately wants to be. “You can't. I have a contract.”

“Your uncle is looking into that,” my mother says proudly, as if her brother, a real estate lawyer, knows anything about entertainment contracts. I bite my
tongue, though, because the only thing my parents hate more than yelling is sarcasm.

“It doesn't matter.” I try to keep my voice respectful, but I
know
there's no way I'm caving on this. Especially not after what I've just given up. “I'm not going to quit. This is my life now. I wish you would respect it, and I understand that you don't. But I'm not quitting. And I'm not going to UCLA next semester.”

“Then you are not living in this house.” My father's voice is firm. “If you insist on keeping this job and this lifestyle, you're not doing it under our roof. You think you're an adult, earning your own money? Use that money to buy yourself a respectable apartment.”

I should've known that was coming. In a sense, I think I did. And looking back on my conversations with Ally, I think she knew it, too. So there's nothing to do but nod and stand. “I will.”

I think the steadiness in my voice surprises all of us, but for the first time in forever, I have no shred of doubt about the decision I'm making. They're the only two words I can manage to get out, though; if I try any others, I'll crack. So instead, I turn, walk up the stairs, and pull up the e-mail Ally sent me months ago with listings for brokers.

I've been ignoring it forever because it's so freaking overwhelming, but all it takes is closing my eyes and imagining the anger in my father's eyes to force me to push through. For I don't even know how long, I make myself look at listings and e-mail to set up appointments. Eventually, my exhaustion—physical and emotional—catches up with me, and I pass out right on my keyboard.

When I wake up, it's to the sound of a familiar, grating voice coming from my doorway and saying, “Rise and shine, K-drama.”

I pick my head up slowly and wipe the sleep from my eyes and the drool from my keyboard. Seeing Josh Chester in my bedroom at my house—my
parents'
house—does not compute. “What are you doing here? My parents are gonna kill you. After they kill me.”

“Oh, I've already been through the Park family wringer. They told me to make sure you're packing. After yelling at me for ten minutes.”

Oof, well that's embarrassing. And yet I'm sort of sorry I missed it. “And you stood through that? Why?”

“Because I needed to talk to you, and it couldn't wait. But what the hell is going on here?”

“Oh, nothing big. Just my parents trying to get me to quit acting and then kicking me out because I won't.” The words sound so crazy coming out of my mouth, I'd laugh if I didn't feel so much like crying. “And what's up with you?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking sort of…nervous? If that's a thing Josh Chester ever gets, anyway. He closes my bedroom door and takes a seat on my princess bed, shoving one of the canopy ties out of his face. “This is weird, and I don't know how to say this kinda shit, so I'm just gonna say it, okay?”

Suddenly, I'm wide awake. I have no idea what he's about to say, but he's nervously picking at a nail and refusing to meet my eyes and I feel like I have no idea who I'm looking at right now.

And it's strangely comforting to see someone who looks just as screwed up inside as I feel.

“Go for it.”

He takes a deep breath…and then mutters something I can't even hear. So much for a grand announcement. But for a second, the tiniest part of me wonders if—maybe even hopes—he's having the same kind of internal struggle that I am. I mean, Josh is one
of the most notorious ladies' men in Hollywood, but hey, most people think I was with Liam, and Zander, and am now hooking up with Josh, so.

I don't even realize he thinks I
did
hear until he looks up at me with red cheeks, obviously awaiting a response, and I have to admit that I didn't.

He rolls his eyes. “You're just doing this to torture me, aren't you.”

“For once, no. I really didn't hear you.”

This seems to chill out his anxiety, and this time, he just says it. “I said I think I might be…into you. Which is weird, I know. And trust me, I wish I wasn't. But I'm feeling weird about a whole lot of shit right now, and I just needed to know if you felt the same. At all. Or something.”

I'm so floored by his admission, I have no words. Zero. Which is awful, because he's just sitting there, waiting, and nothing's coming.

And then, I do the worst thing humanly possible.

I laugh.

It's terrible, and I clap my hand over my mouth the second it comes out, but all I can think is that of all times for a guy to actually like me—
like
; not date me because of a publicity plan, or to get a purity pledge ring on my finger, or fantasize about dating me just because I'm famous and they have some absurd image of what that'll be like—it has to be when my head and heart have finally realized I don't want a guy at all.

When I pull my hand away to apologize, though, the laughter just comes out again, and I have to clap it back.

“Wow,” says Josh, a dark-red flush creeping up his neck, “tell me how you really feel.”

That finally gets me to stop. “I'm sorry,” I say, hoping it's clear I mean it. “It's just…your timing…” I
shake my head. “There's just some weird stuff going on now, and I didn't expect that. I'm sorry.”

To my surprise, the corners of his lips tug up in a know-it-all little smirk. “You really do like her, don't you?”

My entire body goes cold. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't freak out, okay? But I saw you, uh, with Mini-Ja—um, with Brianna. I wasn't sure if that was a one-time kiss thing or—”

“Shh!” Before I know it, I'm jumping out of my desk chair and clapping my hand over his mouth. “Josh,
please
. You can't tell anyone about that
ever
, okay? If my parents heard you say that—”

He pries my fingers off his face. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” he says, keeping his voice low. “It was more than a one-time thing, huh?”

I swallow hard and nod.

“You like her?”

I nod again, feeling the lump in my throat grow.

“And it's pretty clear that's mutual.”

I nod again.

“But…” He spreads out his hands, as if the fact that that hasn't translated into us being together right now is incomprehensible.