Wish You Were Here

Chapter 1

You've probably taken a lot for granted in the last few years, but success will do that to you. In the blink of an eye, your Wattpad story has gone viral, your first novel in your fantasy series has debuted on the New York Times Best Seller list, presales for the sequel have broken records, and you're currently working on the third book of the trilogy. You're on set for the film adaptation of the first book, which has attracted a terrific director and an impressive cast. You've also moved to New York, which you've claimed is for the ease of reaching your publisher (but the truth is it's mostly for distance from the people you know), and you've made a new gang of arty girlfriends in the city to help your adjustment. You don't feel like yourself anymore, not the self you used to be.

In fact, you only start feeling marginally like yourself again – jittery and anxious and kind of shy – when a PA passes you a note from one of the actors asking you to meet him in his trailer.

Your pulse quickens as you make your way to the lot. You feel lucky that you hadn't written his character explicitly as drop-dead gorgeous, even though this actor is extremely handsome. He's not even the love interest – your book is a queer love story between two female characters and, while they are joined by a sidekick, he's just being played by a generic teen actor graduating from the CW. This man is not the Henry Cavill to your Stephanie Meyer, not creeped out that your imagination has drawn up the man of your dreams. He has chosen the role due to the fact that his minor character, a mentor-like figure to the hero of the series, is just a well-written male figure in YA fantasy fiction who happens to die at the end of the second act. He wants to see you because thinks you're cool.

His trailer door has his name written on a piece of paper, stuck on with tape. You knock. Run your tongue over your teeth one last time to make sure you don't feel any remnants of lunch. The door creaks open, and he looks relaxed – well, about as relaxed as he can be when he is dressed in a ridiculous swordsmith costume complete with knee-high boots. "Hey," he says, "come in." His vowels tilt closer to his natural British accent than to the American one he's been using for the movie. You perch on the edge of the bench seat and he sits opposite you, stretches out his long legs. "Do you want a drink?"

"No thanks." It's weird. You've spoken to him a few times without getting starstruck – with the caliber of the rest of the cast, you can't really get starstruck. You've had a few brief conversations with him, wished him a happy birthday on the first day of filming, seen him laughing if you crack a joke, and over time he's asked you a few questions about his character's arc, to help his performance in the film. But now, alone together, you're kind of nervous. Even though you shouldn't be. He must be at least ten years older than you. "Why did you ask me to come over?"

"Oh, someone told me it's your last day on set before we move out to LA next week for the rest of the shoot." He unscrews the lid from a plastic water bottle and takes a sip. You think about what it would be like to drink from the same bottle, if it would taste like him. How much the bottle would go for on eBay. "I just wanted to say thank you for the opportunity. For creating this world. It's good to see fantasy pushing boundaries."

"Oh." You're flustered, even though the praise is generic. Rehearsed. Fantasy is always pushing boundaries. "Thanks."

"It's really something special," he says. "Seriously. You should be proud."

"Thank you."

"How come you're leaving New York?" he asks, resting the bottle on the table between the two of you.

"I'm flying back home for a few days. My sister's wedding is next Saturday."

"Where's home?" Ho-ehm. Very British enunciation.

"Just a small town in the Midwest. You've probably never heard of it."

"Try me," he says.

You name the town you grew up in, where the rest of your family still live. His face contorts. "Never heard of it," he says, and you both chuckle. "You got me."