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gets nasty, Gerry Goldman is not a guy you want out there saying bad things about you. You could be blackballed across this entire town. Cut your losses, kid. Nice try, but that’s not how the business works. That’s what agents are for.”
    â€œBlackballed?” Sam’s dad spoke louder this time and looked like someone had doused him with cold water. “I’ve got a deal pending on my Dark Cellar script. So far, they love it. I’m waiting for an option deal and it looks like a green light is just around the corner. That’s how we ended up here in the first place. I can’t be blackballed.”
    â€œYou are.” Fuller stood up. “Neither of you are allowed onto the Paramount lot again. They asked me to escort you out.”
    â€œI’m not going,” Sam’s dad said. “I’ve got a deal pending. This guy gets it. He believes in this script. We’re going to get a deal any day now. Any day.”
    â€œCome on. Don’t make me call security,” Fuller said. “Don’t make this ugly.”
    â€œIt already is ugly. My son didn’t do anything wrong. You people are crazy.”
    â€œYou said you’re in the business.” Fuller spoke more quietly now, reasoning with Sam’s dad. “You know how it goes. You can’t harass one of the stars on a set. It’s fatal. You know that.”
    Sam felt sick when his father dropped his head and stood up to go. “I know. Come on, Sam.”
    â€œDad, this isn’t fair. I’m telling you.”
    â€œI know. That’s life, Son. Things are never fair. Let’s go.”
    Fuller admired the Ferrari as they climbed inside, and he had the decency to wish them luck. Sam kept quiet, resting his head against the car window as they left the cool blue shade of the palm trees in Hollywood for the waffling heat of a million cars and a billion homes sweltering under a brown sky, heavy with smog.
    Sam could smell the landfill well before it appeared like a giant dung heap, swirling with seagulls instead of flies. Sam’s dad settled the Ferrari into its spot and cut the engine. He put his hands on the wheel and sighed.
    That’s when Sam’s phone buzzed.
    He took it from his pocket, expecting the text to be from one of his teammates but finding something completely different.
    â€œDad,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement, “it’s a text … it’s from Trevor Goldman.”

13
TREVOR
    Trevor’s phone buzzed. He read Sam’s reply and showed it to McKenna.
    â€œCan you do that?” McKenna asked.
    â€œWatch me,” Trevor said.
    The stage manager knocked on the door. He apologized to Trevor for the delay, saying they had some technical issues with the lighting but that they were ready for him now. Trevor opened the door, and McKenna followed him out onto the set. Gabriel appeared, trying not to look flustered.
    â€œWho was yelling out here?” Trevor asked him. “I thought I heard shouting.”
    â€œSomething about the stand-in,” Gabriel said. “There were some issues. Anyway, they got another one.”
    â€œIssues?” Trevor admired the way Gabriel hid the truth without actually lying.
    â€œYou should ask Pierce.”
    They both knew that Trevor wouldn’t ask the director such a thing when they were ready for a shot. Pierce was famous for his intense focus and his equally intense displeasure when someone distracted him. The closer he got to the shot, the angrier he was if someone disturbed him.
    â€œNo big deal,” Trevor said, noting the relief on Gabriel’s face.
    Trevor stepped up onto the set and watched the new stand-in disappear. He was surprised at how quickly they’d managed to produce another boy with nearly the same size, shape, and hair color as Trevor and Sam, but they did it. Trevor took his mark. Someone handed him a sword.
    â€œOkay, Trevor, remember what’s just