Unscripted Joss Byrd (18 page)

“It won't be over when you're not cute anymore,” she says. “They'll want something else from you then.”

I think I know what she's about to say, and I don't want to hear it. But because she's talking to me now like we're actually friends, I ask, “What's that?”

Gwen pauses, unblinking. “
Sex
, stupid!”

And there it is: my destiny in two words. It's so obvious that even a surfer girl from Montauk—the farthest possible point from Hollywood—knows it.

Gwen laughs. “If you don't pork out you could be objectified till you're at least thirty. I bet I'd hear about you then.”

I look down at my hands that still smell of spray paint. I should've written “Doomed Kid Actor.”

Suddenly Chris comes yelling from around the corner, “Would you quit it already with the pictures?” It's surprising to hear him raise his voice. “I mean it! I'm not some freakin' zoo animal.”

“I'm sorry. I won't post them, I promise,” Arianne says in a baby voice. “You're just so cute. I want to remember you. Won't you remember me? The other night was special, didn't you think?”

Chris is trying to walk away, but he can't shake her loose. I want to punch her in the gut.

“Chris!” Arianne huffs. “You can't just do what you did with me and then act like it never happened.”

“Whatever. Just … sorry. Just leave me alone.” Chris pushes through the other kids and makes his way over to the wall.

“Leave you alone?” She grabs his arm. “That's not what you said in the shed when I pulled your shorts down.”

“Ohhh!” the other kids say.

Chris dares her with his eyes.

“You said, ‘You're gorgeous, Arianne, you feel real good, Arianne…'”

“Shut up!” I yell, for me and for Chris.

“‘… That's sooo good, just relax, keep going, Arianne.'” She lifts her phone and swipes the screen to show everyone her pictures.

Jericho rushes her. “Delete them, you bitch!” he yells. “Let me see you do it!”

“Get away from me!” Arianne twists away from him. “Get your hands off of my phone!”

“Leave it, man! It won't do any good,” Chris yells. He picks the spray can off the ground, holds it next to my autograph, and sprays:

GRADE-A CHUCK BEEF WAS HERE!

“Arianne,” Gwen snickers. “I thought you said he was vegetarian.”

“Go to hell, Gwen!” Arianne cries, running off.

“Jericho? Joss?” When Chris calls us, we zoom to his side. “Let's go home.”

Jericho charges ahead to lead the way as he ties sea grass around his forehead like a bandanna. The three of us dodge through the Montauk kids and make our way around the bunker. But at the top of the hill, we groan and scratch. Even with a glow-in-the-dark compass watch, we can't go anywhere without the locals because on our own, we can't see a thing.

 

17

“In about twenty yards, I want you to turn around and face the shore!” Terrance yells through a megaphone. Me and the boys paddle our surfboards toward a man in a safety boat that's waiting in the water. Beneath us there's three safety divers in gray wetsuits ready if any of us wipe out. I pretend that they're dolphins that I've raised from pups as their bubbles float up to the surface. If I fall they'll catch me and lift me up on their noses and carry me to shore.

I push farther into the ocean, head on, into the waves on my very best day—the one that will make up for the worst.

Fingers together … right arm plunge, push, and glide … left arm plunge, push, and glide …

“Lift up to let the wave pass underneath you!” calls Kato, our surf instructor who's floating on his surfboard beside us. “Just like yesterday's lesson. Pay attention. Head up, eyes on the horizon!”

I do a push up to lift my chest. My board reaches up and over the lip of the wave. The water slips underneath me. The spray tickles my face. My neck feels tight and my arms are weak and noodly. The middle of the ocean isn't the best place to realize you haven't got any energy. I used mine up during yesterday's lesson, but I can make it through today on excitement alone. I caught a wave yesterday when Kato pushed my board into it. Today I'll do it by myself for the camera. Chris was right about this being the sweetest scene ever. And it's all for us.

Push up … up and over … plunge, push, and glide … Push up … up and over … plunge, push, and glide … must … start … exercising …

When I look over my shoulder, I see Terrance holding his hand up—far enough.

We all spin around to face the camera. It's standing on legs at the edge of the shore. Now I can take a rest.

“I want you to pick a permanent point in front of you on the beach and another marker at a right angle on the rock barrier.” Kato stretches his lean, muscly arm to trace from the shore to the rocks.

I sit up and straddle my board. The boys do the same. Shielding the sun from my eyes, I choose a white sign on the beach, and on the rocks, I choose the pointy part that's white on the side.

“If you connect yourself to those points in your mind, it'll form a triangle,” Kato says.

The sign and the pointy rock connect with me to make a triangle.

“That's your safety zone. Don't go any wider or farther than these two markers. Now we wait for the waves!”

I watched Kato surf while the crew was setting up this morning. He can bounce like his board is on springs and maneuver in and out of a wave. I even saw him spin a 360. I remember everything he tells us. The current is pushing me slightly to the left, so I lean to the side and paddle to the right to stay in my safety zone.

“Holy, yikes!” Jericho says. “We aren't the only ones who need a safety zone.”

I look toward the shore, and I see what he means—a pretty, light-haired woman in a flowy white skirt is walking across the beach toward Terrance. There's no mistaking her. I've seen her in magazines and on the Internet. I even remember her from a frame in Terrance's LA office.

Mrs. Rivenbach.

“Oh, no,” Chris says.

I hold my breath.

“I want you to check your safety zone constantly,” says Kato. “Know where you are at all times!”

Three other points make a triangle: Terrance. Mrs. Rivenbach. Viva.

My mother is underneath the black tent, watching us on monitors. She's keeping away from the others on the sand because she's still sore about being booted off the set two nights ago.

Don't you dare freak out, Viva. Please don't embarrass me during my last scene.

“If you float away from that triangle, you're out too far, and it can mean big trouble,” Kato says as Mrs. Rivenbach walks past the white sign.

Big trouble.

Mrs. Rivenbach runs up to Terrance. He sees her. She sees him.

Viva turns her head. She sees them both.

Terrance hugs his wife. He's talking to her now, probably telling her how happy he is that she's here, how nice she looks, how lonely he's been this whole shoot.

Liar! Liar! Liar!
What does Terrance plan to do now, bring her with us to the lighthouse?

I'm gripping my surfboard so hard that I can't feel my fingers anymore.

“Be cool, Viva,” Chris says.

If Viva has a fit we'll be done in this business just like Cameron and Oscar Coombs. Anyone on this beach—the locals, the tourists, even the crew—could take pictures or video. No director or producer from here to LA would work with us again.

My mother stares and stares at the lady in white. I stare and stare at my mother. If I stare hard enough maybe she'll read my mind.

Keep your hands off the blender, Viva. Please … please … please …

“Read these waves,” Kato instructs us. Seagulls squawk overhead. “Do you see that white water? That one's about five seconds too late. You see the next swell? Three, two, one, that's when you paddle, paddle, paddle as hard and as fast and as deep as you can.”

I need to pay attention. This isn't school. It's important. But I'm distracted worrying about my mother, who's now pacing behind her chair.

This is exactly why I had you kicked off set. Why do you make everything so hard?

“This isn't good,” I hear Jericho say.

“You'll feel the movement underneath you,” Kato says. “Then you'll stand, nice and easy, keeping your eyes up on the shore.”

“We're rolling! Let's see one at a time!” Terrance calls. My mother is pulling her hair at the sound of his voice. The man in the safety boat repeats the roll; his words bounce off the water toward us.

Hold it together, just a few more minutes.

We hear “Action!” from the shore and then from the boat.

“You're up first, Joss!” Kato startles me to attention.

There's a swell speeding up behind me, pushing me forward. I lower onto my stomach and count. Three, two, one! I paddle, paddle, paddle with every ounce of strength … and glide!

“Now!” Kato says. “Get up, get up! Stand nice and easy! Head up, eyes on the shore, arms out!”

I'm up and I'm balancing and sliding across the sea. I'm brave and unafraid and free.

“Go! Go! Go!” the boys are hollering.

We have to ride this wave as long as we can … just ride it and ride it and ride it … as long as we can.

Eyes up.

Knees bent.

I stretch one arm in front and one arm behind, and I'm a surfer girl!

Everyone is clapping and cheering me on: Terrance and Peter and Benji and the whole crew, Jericho's dad, Grandma Lorna and Damon and strangers are calling my name. “Go, Joss! Go!” I know that even Norah, from up in her crow's nest, can see me. But way behind the black tent, Viva is walking away from Terrance and his wife, and from me.

“Lean forward, Joss!” Kato yells, suddenly.

I hear him, but I can't think fast enough to know what he means or figure out how to do it.

“Forward! Lean
forward
!”

The board slips from underneath me. It torpedoes, nose to the sky, blocking the sun for a split second. I fall into the water, bottom first, just as the board crashes down onto my head. Underwater I'm thrown forward then pulled under and folded backward, feet over head. Somewhere deep down inside me, the chill is everything I wanted. There's no way to fight. I'm too tired, too rubbery, to even try. The ocean tosses and churns me over and under, over and under, swallowing me into fizz and bubbles. I hold my nose as white noise whirrs in my eardrums—
I want my mom … I want my mom … I want my mom …
Hand over hand I climb up my ankle leash and launch myself toward the surface. Nobody else will save me—not even the dolphins.

 

18

What I'll remember about wrapping
The Locals
is this stiff neck and the throbbing. I think I've got a cone head; the knot is getting really big. My teeth are chattering so hard I'm afraid they might chip. As I pull a bright orange towel—the color of emergencies—around my body, Terrance's wife is rubbing my back, which feels babyish, but I let her do it because I'm getting cold and I'm headachy, and I could've died. And anyway, if my mother wanted to rub my back, she'd be here herself to do it.

Mrs. Rivenbach takes an ice pack from the medic and holds it against my head. Her gold bracelet of diamonds all around dangles over my forehead.

“That was quite a spill. You had us all scared to death,” she says.

I did take quite a spill. And if I'd drowned, Viva wouldn't have even known about it. “Is this real?” I touch the bracelet. My mother would drool buckets over it.

Mrs. Rivenbach turns the links so that the clasp slides to the bottom. “It's called a tennis bracelet,” she says, which doesn't answer my question. It also doesn't seem very practical, tennis-wise. Even Viva would agree.

Terrance whistles for attention. Then he waves his hands over his head. “First I want to say thank you to my crew. You've been my dream team, without question, the best I've ever worked with.”

The group claps. I tap my fists together inside my towel.

“And thank you to the vilest bastard in Montauk.” Terrance motions to a man who's stepping out from behind the production assistants.

I wouldn't have recognized Rodney if you paid me in tennis bracelets; he's shaved clean and wearing a checkered golf shirt and bright white sneakers.

“No, no. Not anymore!” Rodney waves the comment aside. “And I apologize for having to be that vile of a bastard, especially to these guys.” He points to the boys and me. “If I'm blessed enough to work with any of you again, hopefully I'll be a superhero or a brain surgeon or something. I'm sorry, kids. You can call me Tom now, please.”

The crew laughs and applauds.

He shakes hands with the boys, who are sitting up front. “Chris, damn, you were crazy good, man. Crazy good. You're a tremendous talent.”

Chris stands. “Thank you. Wow, yeah, you too. I mean, wow. I was scared out of my mind.”

“Ugh, I'm
sorry.
” Tom holds his hands up as if he's getting arrested. “I'm normal. I swear. That fight scene killed me. I've got a bum shoulder and a trick hip. I don't tackle anymore. I do
yoga,
” he laughs. “And I owe you some rice pudding! I felt like crap about that. I thought about it all night. Man, the look on your face … no hard feelings?”

“No hard feelings.” Chris gives him a hug. Then he turns and gives me a doofy smile. “Check him out, Joss. It's
Tom
,” he says.

Good for Tom.

Tom lunges toward me with a smile. But I step back, so he changes his handshake into a nod.

Good for me.

“And, finally…” Terrance pauses and clears his throat. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart, to the three greatest, most talented kids in the world.” He stands in front of his cast and crew and raises a glass of champagne. The grown-ups are passing glasses around and pouring the rest of the bottle. But even though Jericho and Chris and me are the “most talented kids in the world,” no one passes anything to us. “You've made this a heart-stopping journey straight to the bitter end … Joss!” He points at me, and everybody hoots and claps. (Everybody, except somebody who isn't here.) “Thanks for putting up with all my bull and…” he goes on, tearing up, “and for making all of this come true for me.” Terrance coughs and rubs his eyes. “When I was a kid, the real Rodney told me I'd never amount to anything. But … but thanks to you … well … here we are.” He shakes his head. “So, let's all raise our glasses…”