3: Rule One, Expressions!

“Girl, he did not!” Zach exclaimed over the call as Zoey pedalled her way to town that morning.

“He did. I still cannot fathom what is happening to me right now,” she admitted, because to her, the encounter was nothing short of unbelievable.

“But are you sure it was Jordan? I mean, THE JORDAN FISCHER?”

Of course, anyone would have doubted her and believed she was crazy. The lead singer had hundreds of sold-out concerts, millions of fans, and a net worth of over a billion dollars to his name. How could he have needed one person out of eight billion people, and she was the one he found? She was a nobody. She had convinced herself of that since elementary school. She had even gotten used to being called the fat kid at recess.

Zach Delaney had not come along until junior high. They met during prom night, after Zoey had been humiliated to see her date kiss another girl. Zach had extended his hand to her as she cried in the parking lot while his own boyfriend waited patiently in a rented car. And somehow, they had been friends ever since. Sometimes, she convinced herself he was the only one who had been there.

But then there was Amanda Richmond. It was freshman year of college, and Amanda stood out to her like a '60s model stood out to a closeted teenage girl. Leader of the cheerleading squad and her second first friend. She was in the picture until Zoey read the death threats Amanda had sent to a sophomore because of her boyfriend at the time.

“I think I would know the difference between an impostor and Jordan freaking Fischer,” she responded.

Zoey stopped just in front of a building and sized it up. It was about six floors high. No labels, no warnings. Just cold concrete that would determine if she was fit for the job or not.

“I’ll call you back,” she told Zach.

“Let me know if you start to feel like you’re in the Scream movie.”

The call ended, and Zoey walked into the building. Earlier, she had looked up acting classes near her area. The post she found had the face and demeanour of a middle-aged woman with a failed acting career no one wanted to admit.

But she considered that would do for a scene that would probably only last five minutes.

“Hi,” she said with a smile to the receptionist. “I’m here for the acting sessions held by…” She forgot the name.

“Ah, Madam Genevieve. Just take the elevator to the last floor. First door on your left.”

“Thank you,” Zoey said.

She was about to enter the room when she felt her phone buzz with a message.

Unknown: I WANT TO WATCH.

The sender had the same unknown number Jordan had used.

How bizarre, she thought and tried to shake off the ick the message had given her.

Zoey: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

She waited for a brief moment, hoping to get a response. But when none came, she knocked lightly on the door instead and entered. The cold air from the A/C was what hit her first, until she realised the room she had walked into already had a full-circle seating arrangement, and everyone’s eyes were on her.

The woman standing at the centre, Madam Genevieve—the same one Zoey had seen on an I*******m page—stared blankly at her.

“Hi,” she said, giving a small, awkward wave to the circle. “Am I late?”

“Child, find somewhere to sit,” Genevieve instructed, her accent laced with thick French ancestry.

Buzz…

Unknown: I WANT TO WATCH YOU ACT. YOU’RE NOT PERFECT UNTIL I SAY YOU ARE.

His words were clearly laced with annoyance, and Zoey tried not to let them distract her. She found the nearest seat beside a plus-sized brunette.

“Is this your first time?” the brunette whispered as Genevieve gave an overly theatrical lecture about expressions.

“Y-yeah,” she replied, half-distracted as she began typing again.

Zoey: YOU CAN WATCH ME TRY. I’LL SEND YOU THE ADDRESS.

“You!” Genevieve snapped, bringing Zoey back to reality as she turned to face her. “Do I bore you?”

Zoey shook her head in confusion. “N-no, not at all.”

“Well, I see you have better matters to attend to, and that is why you keep indulging in screen activities rather than paying attention.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just had a really important—”

“What is more important than listening to a well-respected personality with many years of credibility in the industry?”

Zoey was speechless, especially because she believed otherwise.

“Come up here,” Genevieve instructed.

Zoey hesitated. Was this about to turn into a humiliation ritual simply because she had replied to a text? She pointed to herself just for clarification. “M-me?”

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Well, who else?”

Zoey had no choice now. She got up and walked to the centre, where Genevieve stood, and faced the eager audience. Some of them were notably bored, while others already had grins plastered across their faces in anticipation.

“Introduce yourself, sweetheart.”

“Hi again. My name’s Zoey, and it is really nice to meet you guys. Looking forward to it.” She gave an awkward thumbs-up and tried to sneak back into her chair.

“Not so fast,” Genevieve called back. “Show the audience what you’ve got.”

Silence…

“Oh, I’m not… I’m not an actor. This is my first time. I haven’t even enrolled yet.”

“There is a first time for everything,” she said to Zoey and turned to the class. “The first lesson of today is improvisation. I’m sure most of you are familiar with the ‘Yes, And’ mandate.”

Most of them nodded, while others simply stared, and Zoey wished the ground would swallow her.

Just then, a man walked in. He wore a cap that covered half of his face and sunglasses that only Zoey could have seen through.

Unfortunately for her, Jordan Fischer had just walked into the scene disguised as Joe Goldberg.

Great.

He walked in with a small hello and found a chair in the corner to sit in. Zoey felt his eyes lock on her through the shades, and she could have sworn a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You’re an overjoyed single mother who just received full custody of her two children,” Genevieve said to Zoey. “I need two more volunteers to play the roles.”

Two people came up to the centre. One of them was a middle-aged man, and the other girl looked like a college student.

“Action.”

Action?

“Not even a script?” She let out yet another awkward laugh and felt embarrassed when she noticed everyone was waiting for her. Even the two volunteers, who looked up at her as they crouched on the floor in mimicry, waited for her to say something. They wanted to see what she could offer. Jordan wanted to see what she could offer.

“An overjoyed single mom,” she repeated under her breath several times and took in a deep breath. Then her eyes rested on Jordan’s judgemental countenance.

She didn’t know where the monologue came from, only that it did.

“Words cannot describe how lucky I am to have you two. Your father was a displeasure to begin with, and I won’t let him harm you ever again,” she said to her supposed children.

Silence rippled throughout the room, and she wondered if she had convinced the crowd. She swore she saw Jordan’s smirk fade as soon as she said her lines. But she could have simply imagined it.

“We’re glad to have you too, Mommy,” the girl said before latching on to Zoey’s clothes and hugging her. Then the man followed and imitated the act.

Genevieve scrutinised them. “Fine, then. That’ll do for today. You have so much to learn,” she finally said.

“Remember, people. It’s all in your expression,” she said, giving a final lecture.

•

Jordan tried to escape unnoticed when the class ended, but Zoey was quick. She snuck up from behind him, cornering him in the parking area where he planned to drive off in his Aston Martin.

“So, what did you think?” she asked eagerly. It was her first time trying to impress a celebrity, and she felt no shame about it.

“We can’t be seen together in public,” he replied, lowering the tip of his hat.

“Fine. Just answer the question, and I’ll be out of your hair,” she teased.

“Yeah, okay, then. You’re a terrible actor,” he blurted out. Not because he was being a jerk—not entirely—but because that was the truth.

He needed someone who could sell an act, and it pissed him off that she was having fun.

“Ouch,” she said.

“Look, I answered your question. Now, what’s left is for you to work on it. You don’t get a dime if this doesn’t fall through.”

Zoey wanted to protest, but one minute, she was standing in a parking area with zero witnesses nearby, and the next, camera lights started to flash. They were swarming in like a desperate beehive that needed validation from the queen. Only the queen in question here was Jordan Fischer.

“Jordan, tell us about who you’re with,” one of the paparazzi inquired.

“Is she your new girlfriend?” another asked.

“Rumours have it that you’re planning a secret wedding. Has it been called off?”

The questions rang in his ears until he hissed in rage.

“Get in,” he ordered Zoey.

“What?” she protested in confusion.

“I said get in. Now!”

The car unlocked for both of them before the media could get any closer, and in less than a second, the engine revved, and the car was on its way to God knew where.

Zoey could not believe it either way. She tried to act normal and scared, but she was on a getaway with Jordan Fischer!