RYLIN MOVED THROUGH the Salve Regina wrap party after the final day of shooting, feeling glamorous in her slinky red dress and studded heels, grinning so hard she thought her face might break.
They’d rented out a penthouse bar for the occasion, on the top floor of a skyscraper—well, the LA version of a skyscraper, which had a measly 104 floors. But since none of the buildings here were very high, it still had sweeping views over the city, and of the glowing Hollywood sign in the distance. Lush plants dotted the dimly lit space, which was all curves and gilded surfaces and scattered mirrors.
Rylin wandered contentedly through the crowds. Crewmembers nodded and greeted her as she passed, which made her smile even brighter. She’d been pleasantly surprised by how readily the cast and crew had drawn her into their fold. She hadn’t realized what an instant bond it would create: working such long hours in such close quarters, the whole group striving to build something together.
It had been an incredible week, she reflected, as she slid into a banquette next to Seagren and some of the other film crew. She’d worked hard during the filming hours, and still spent a lot of time with Xiayne in the edit bay late at night: cropping out the bits of holo that they wanted, folding the slices over one another like layers of soft, transparent lace. They’d pulled all-nighters twice, resorting to caffeine patches and four a.m. Tater Tots to keep them going; returning to the hotel at dawn to shower and then hurrying straight back to set, where it started all over again. But it had been worth it. Rylin knew she’d learned more from this week of work than from a year of lectures at school.
Around her the laughter was growing wilder, as the night wore on and everyone kept drinking the fresh-squeezed cocktails. Rylin saw one of the minor actors, the queen’s cousin, making out with the prime minister in the corner. The tiara worn by Perrie, the actress who played the queen, had been passed around all night as various people put it on to take drunken snaps—even Rylin had sent Chrissa a snap of herself in it, just for fun. Perrie now stood in the center of the room, still resolutely wearing the bodice from her costume, though she’d paired it with black leather pants. She was attempting to lead the crowd in a drinking game, where she read snippets of dialogue and they all guessed which of the cast or crew she was impersonating, but everyone was shouting too loudly for much of anything to be heard.
Rylin leaned back in the banquette, laughing, as Xiayne approached their table.
“Slide over, you two.” He was wearing a navy shirt and jeans, and his usual infectious smile. His hair looked tousled, as if he’d been standing outside, though they were too high up for that.
Rylin and Seagren obediently scooted over to create space. Xiayne took two grapefruit cocktails from a passing tray and handed one to Rylin. She didn’t even think twice about the fact that her teacher was handing her a drink.
“Okay, spill. Which of you hated the other one more?” Xiayne’s voice was light and teasing.
Seagren snorted into her cocktail. It wasn’t her first of the night, and she was obviously loosening up. “Rylin hated me.”
“Not at all! You were a great boss!” Rylin protested, which made Seagren laugh even harder.
“I was terrible,” she slurred cheerfully, “But that’s the way my first boss treated me, so it’s only fair. Circle of life, and all that.”
One of the stage managers came over and held out a hand to Seagren. “Wanna dance?” he asked, nodding to the center of the room, which was devolving into a loose, drunken dance floor.
“Why not?” Seagren took the guy’s hand.
Rylin glanced at Xiayne. His eyes danced as he looked over the crowd, clearly pleased by the roiling chaos on the dance floor. She felt suddenly like he was a high school boy who was proud that everyone had shown up to his party.
“So, Rylin. Are you still glad you came out here?” he finally asked, turning back to her. A tiny curl of his inktat had escaped the collar of his shirt to snake up onto his neck, like the tongue of a flame. Rylin forced herself to look up at his face.
“It’s been incredible. Thank you for making it possible,” she told him.
“Thank you for all your help in the edit bay. You have an incredible natural eye.”
There was a sudden collective squeal from the other side of the room. Everyone had huddled around the windows, excited about something. “What’s going on?” Rylin asked, but Xiayne had already stood up.
“The first display ad, on the Bubble, for Salve Regina. I didn’t think it would go up for another week! Come on!” Xiayne grabbed her hand, sending a shiver up Rylin’s arm. She stumbled after him, around the corner to a side room. It was suddenly very quiet, and private.
“Look.” Xiayne pointed to where Perrie’s face was projected on the Bubble, tossing her long dark hair, glamorous and beautiful. Royalty comes with a price, the tagline read, in calligraphied script above her tiara. Rylin was stunned to think that she’d worn that very tiara just half an hour ago—that she’d helped edit that image of Perrie, and now there it was, projected over an entire city full of people.
“It’s amazing,” she breathed.
Xiayne tried to shrug off the compliment, but Rylin could tell he was excited. “It’s just a few production stills, nothing fancy,” he demurred, and stepped closer to the window.
Rylin followed, moving so close to the flexiglass that her nose was almost pressed up against it. To think that each glowing pinprick was a person, all of them caught up in their own lives within this funny bubble-wrapped world. How many of them were looking up right now, seeing the ad for a holo that Rylin had helped make?
She and Xiayne were both reflected in the flexiglass, their silhouettes dim outlines against the glare. They were like forgotten spirits gazing over the star-flecked city below.
“You like the view?” Xiayne asked. Rylin nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak, and he grinned. “I thought you might. This is the highest point in LA, you know.”
“I didn’t know.” Rylin’s heart was pounding in her chest. She suddenly wanted to go back to the sensory overload of the party, but she felt strangely immobile.
“Rylin,” Xiayne said softly, and placed his hands tentatively on her shoulders. She watched as if from a great distance as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
Rylin hadn’t been kissed by anyone since Cord—hadn’t, in fact, been kissed by anyone at all except for Cord and her ex-boyfriend, Hiral—so at first, she tentatively returned the kiss, out of some combination of curiosity and flattery. She’d liked spending time with Xiayne. And she’d seen how all those senior girls looked at him, sending him doe-eyed glances heavy with meaning. Part of her felt oddly pleased to know that of all the girls at Berkeley, he’d chosen her, Rylin Myers, the talented scholarship student from the 32nd floor.
And then she remembered what Cord had said, what he’d implied about Xiayne’s interest in her, and suddenly it felt wrong, all wrong. Maybe Cord was right, and all Xiayne had ever wanted was this—to get her alone in the dark.
She broke away and took an unsteady step back.
Xiayne’s face was a mask of bewildered shock. “Rylin,” he stammered, “I’m sorry. I never—”
“Do you think I’m talented at all?” she interrupted.
He blinked, startled. “Of course you’re talented,” he assured her, but she wasn’t sure she believed him anymore.
“So this wasn’t just a game to you,” she said slowly. “Bringing me to LA, letting me help in the edit bay, this wasn’t all just because of … this?”
Xiayne ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, Rylin. You think I’m in the business of hiring filming assistants because I think they’re pretty? Not that you’re not pretty,” he added quickly, “because you are. I mean—shit,” he stammered again, and looked at her with something like panic. “I’m sorry I crossed a line. I just thought … you’re a legal adult, and …”
Rylin took a halting step back. Some part of her registered what Xiayne was saying, but Cord’s words kept replaying in her head. She couldn’t help feeling used, and wounded. Looking at Xiayne now, all Rylin could think was that he seemed like an immature teenager—a very talented teenager; but at the end of the day, he had a teenager’s desire that everything be a big party, with himself at the center of it.
In that moment, Rylin lost all respect for Xiayne. And for herself, too, for letting it all happen the way that it had.
“I’m sorry,” Xiayne said again, but Rylin was already stumbling backward. She felt her face burning from shame. She needed to get out.
She pushed blindly toward a crowd near the door. Seagren and a few of the other crew were standing with Perrie, who looked like a modern goddess in her leather pants and heels and the enormous fake tiara.
“Rylin!” Seagren called out, but Rylin ignored her.
“Poor thing,” she heard Perrie coo softly, when she was almost around the corner. “She looked like she was about to be sick. Do you think she drank too much?”
Rylin hurried away before she could hear anything more.