the nine of hearts—and on its face, written in his own unmistakable hand, were three words:
FAIL BIG.—Flynn
He looked at me, started to speak, shook his head again. Then he turned to Grace.
“I guess you’re going to have to reprint those production schedules.”
CHAPTER 31
THE RUSH OF FOOLING FLYNN evaporated like water off a hot pan. I knew I hadn’t really persuaded him with my parlor trick. He must’ve already wanted to let me do the show; all I’d done was give him an excuse. Plus he probably figured that if I reprised my father’s failure, it would make for spectacular television.
I decided to walk back to the hotel, hoping two blocks of trudging up a steep hill would revive me; instead, every step was heavier than the last. Autumn was nowhere in evidence; today, Hollywood was hot and smoggy. The sky might have been a clear, deep blue, but all I saw were constellations of old gum stains and cigarette butts on the concrete. I was gearing up for the biggest moment of my life, but there was a giant hole in the middle of my chest. A Ripley-shaped hole. Liam had found the courage to be straight with me; maybe I needed to do the same with Ripley.
I stopped at a McDonald’s, got a Diet Coke, and logged into the free Wi-Fi. I thought about sending him another text—but since he’d ignored my first one, I decided an email would be better. That way he could read it when he was ready. I opened a new message and began to type.
Dear Ripley,
I’ve been thinking about you a lot, and about what I said to you back in Las Vegas. I won’t apologize for being an emotional wreck. That part isn’t my fault. But I can take responsibility for how I treated you. I hurt you, and then I played the sick card to excuse it. For that, I’m sorry.
Being my friend must feel lonely and exhausting. I’m always having some kind of crisis, and you have to come to the rescue. I can’t remember the last time we had a conversation that was all about you. I read this BuzzFeed article once about cutting toxic people out of your life, and I know I’ve been one of those toxic people to you. I don’t blame you for cutting me out, and I don’t expect you to reply.
The problem is, I’m about to do the biggest thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I can’t feel complete without telling you. For reasons I won’t go into, my dad can’t do the Truck Drop tomorrow. So I’m doing it instead.
I’m so scared, Ripley. I’m scared of failing, but I’m also scared of what happens if I succeed. I’m scared of getting so high that the fall will kill me.
I wish you were here to talk me through it, to dismiss all my nonsense and tell me how things really are. But I know I haven’t earned it.
Anyway. I hope you and Jude and Heather and your dad are okay.
I miss you.
Love,
Ellie
I reread it twice; it seemed sappy and not enough, but it was all I could think to write. I clicked Send, and suddenly my whole body felt like a giant sandbag. Despite the near-fatal dose of caffeine pumping through my bloodstream, I was exhausted.
I went back to the hotel, set two alarms, and crashed.
Five hours later, I was backstage at the Dolby Theatre, glaring at myself in the dressing-room mirror, lit by a frame of old-school tungsten light bulbs. I had awoken in the hotel feeling more exhausted than before, and it had taken every bit of resolve I possessed to get out of bed and splash cold water on my face.
Now I raked my fingers through my hair, which hung down on all sides like a cowl, frizzled and wavy from lack of conditioner. My eyes were dull and ringed with red. I looked strung out. Fried. Spent. The costume designer hadn’t finished my outfit yet, so for rehearsal I’d borrowed a black bodysuit. It was a size too small and suffocating. I felt faint and confined, like a Jane Austen character, bound by corsets and the legacies of old men.
A thousand dark thoughts flipped through my mind like frames of film through a broken projector, but the one that stuck the longest was that this was all Dad’s fault. He hadn’t taken care of himself, and now I had to clean up his mess, just like I always