Page 93 of Let’s Make a Scene

“Mmmm.” Jasmine’s mouth twitches, and I think this means she’s amused. “Well, you certainly put it to good use.”

It feels like getting a gold star off your favorite teacher, and I practically levitate. Apparently I’m still desperate for Jasmine Gallow’s approval. Given the soft cough of laughter I hear Jack make, I’d guess my feelings are obvious.

“Good to see you, Jack,” Jasmine says, and his amusement vanishes, his spine straightening like a soldier snapping to attention as he offers a polite, “You, too.”

“God, she’s still terrifying,” he whispers to me as she moves on to talk to Hattie and Brooke.

I laugh. “I didn’t know you were ever scared of her.”

“Are you kidding?” Jack lifts his hand to rub the back of his neck. “I always felt like she could see right through me.”

I think about the conversation we had after my panic attack. While I was oblivious to everything going on with Jack under the surface, I’d be willing to bet that Jasmine wasn’t.

“Okay, gang,” Logan says, clapping his hands together. “Before we get down to business, I want to take this opportunity to introduce Brooke and her team, who are filming for the documentary you’ve all signed on to, so please… everyone on your best behavior!” His smile is strained.

“Please don’t be on your best behavior.” Brooke grins, and a flutter of nervous laughter runs around the room. “Seriously though,” Brooke continues, “we’re not here to make your lives harder. We’re going to be very fly-on-the-wall. Most of the time you should hardly notice we’re here, though we will be taking you aside for interviews when it’s convenient.”

She gestures to three other people standing in the corner of the room. “Our team is small but perfectly formed. There’s Dec, our videographer with his trusty camera.” Dec, who I recognize, is already filming, but he lifts his hand in greeting. “Then we have Kara, our sound technician.” She gestures to a small blond woman with blue streaks in her hair. “And Cooper, who is our runner and general gofer.” The boy next to Kara looks about thirteen, though I assume he is actually older, his face set in sullen lines.

“We’re really excited to be working on this project,” Brooke finishes up. “All of us love the original movie, and I know the fans are going to be thrilled to get such an extensive look behind the scenes of the sequel.”

“Thank you, Brooke,” Jasmine says. “I think we’re all intrigued to see what you come up with.”

Brooke beams at her, and I can tell that she’s a fellow acolyte, a certified member of the Jasmine Gallow fan club.

Logan steps forward. “You’re probably wondering why we’ve gathered you in this room ahead of the read-through, but it’s because I’d like us to start the day right, to enter into our practice with our hearts open, so with that in mind, we’ll begin with a brief meditation and sound bath.”

While more than one confused set of eyes looks on, Logan moves to the door and opens it with a flourish.

“I’d like you to welcome my friend, Acorn. We’ll give her a moment to set up her Tibetan singing bowls…”

At this, a petite woman in a cream tunic comes staggering in with a stack of hammered metal bowls of various sizes.

“My goodness,” Hattie murmurs. “A sound bath? That seems rather… intimate.”

“It’s not an actual bath,” I reassure her. “They sort of bathe you in sound waves. I’ve done one before, and they’re quite nice.” I don’t share that this was part of an ill-advised yoga trip that Hannah and I took together. I got food poisoning from a horrific wheatgrass concoction and vomited a stream of bright green puke during the sound bath. The instructor did not take that as a compliment. Hopefully this one will go better.

Hattie isn’t the only one having doubts. “I’m off for a smoke,” Jasmine says. “I hate this sort of thing.”

“Negative emotions can be very aging,” Acorn murmurs, overhearing. She is seemingly unmoved by the ice in Jasmine’s glare.

“Unless that face of yours conceals the fact you’re actually a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sea hag, I’m not interested in your opinion on aging,” Jasmine announces, before clamping an unlit cigarette between her lips and stalking off.

God, I love her so much.

Acorn only laughs, the sound like a peal of sweet, chiming bells. “It’s not for everyone,” she says serenely, and actually, maybe I could use a sound bath if it’s going to give me that sort of sangfroid.

We’re encouraged to sit on the floor and Acorn guides us through a thirty-minute meditation. It’s not her fault that I’m absolutely not in the headspace to be able to focus. I keep getting distracted. First by Jack, who is sitting beside me. He doesn’t have to actually do anything to upset my concentration; he just has to sit there, breathing handsomely. He looks so still and serene, and I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if it’s normal to fancy someone so much that you want to crack their heads open and climb inside. Probably not.

Then I am distracted by Logan, who smiles beatifically like a happy toddler throughout the session, and keeps humming as if the bowls are playing a familiar tune.

Finally, when Simon starts lightly snoring, I know that it’s hopeless. There’s to be no relaxation for me, and I have to question if I’m the only person to leave a meditation more stressed-out than when I started.

I tune Acorn’s soft voice out, and instead I start to hear a different one: one that tells me I’m not a good actor, that I’ve lost my edge, that I’m soft, and that I lack subtlety. My heart starts beating harder, and as soon as I notice that, my breath starts coming faster, too.

The room feels hot and stuffy, and there are too many people sitting too close to me. They’re going to hear me, going to notice that I’m breathing too hard.

I get abruptly to my feet and head for the door.