When the Camera's Aren't Rolling || Elizabeth Olsen x Child Star

Walk the footsteps of a stranger.

MONDAY  || AUGUST 2nd  || 2021

[Present time]

Maya Romero's POV ~

If thirty years of licensed social work had taught Maya Romero anything, it was this: no place on earth was immune to the suffering of children. Not even Los Angeles—the glimmering city of dreams, where the sun always shone and movies were always being made.

Her cousins and friends back in Mexico had teased her about the recent move—trading Northern California's fog for LA's golden sprawl. "Don't forget about us when you're rubbing elbows with the rich and famous," they'd joked.

The 57-year-old had merely rolled her eyes. She hadn't come for the celebrities. It wasn't like she'd run into George Clooney or Meryl Streep on the sagging porches of the neighbourhoods she'd be visiting. That much was certain.

Because the real Los Angeles—the one you didn't see on Instagram or TV—wasn't as glitzy and glamorous as it seemed. There were tents pitched under overpasses, infants born addicted to drugs, kids who arrived at school hungry five days out of seven. There were families living in cars and teenagers aging out of the system with nowhere to go. Every state, every city, every country had its forgotten children—discarded by poverty, neglect, addiction, death, or prison. LA was no different. It just wore glossier makeup.

That's why Maya had come.

So, when her new supervisor called that morning to report two frightened, unaccompanied sisters at LA Children's Hospital, Maya wasn't surprised. Calls like that were the rhythm of the job.

What did surprise her, however, was what came next.

"There's a third sibling," her supervisor had said. "She's in critical condition. Her body is so beat up that the doctors almost didn't recognise her."

Maya had paused mid-motion, her hands stilling as they arranged files on her new desk. "Recognise her?"

"Yeah...they think it's Elizabeth Grace."

Maya blinked, thinking she'd surely misheard. "Pardon?"

"Elizabeth Grace" her supervisor repeated. "The little actress. Big green eyes. Cute as a button. She's been in everything, I'm sure you've seen her."

Maya had.

Everybody had.

Elizabeth Grace was arguably the most famous child in the modern age of entertainment. With her dimpled cheeks and impossibly wide eyes, she was the poster child of America's obsession with precocious, camera-ready innocence.

"She's the kid from the Oscars last year, remember? It was all over the news." Her supervisor continued, mistaking Maya's shocked silence for a lack of recognition.

Maya sat herself down before blowing out a breath and replying, "I remember."

How could she not? It wasn't every day an eight-year-old landed a nomination for Best Actress. Though Elizabeth had ultimately lost to her co-star, Brie Larson, she'd made headlines all over the globe as the youngest Oscar nominee in the Academy's history.

Maya had watched the award ceremony that night—along with millions of others—captivated by the little girl who smiled and waved, dolled up in a tulle gown fit for a princess. There was something almost untouchable about her, a child whose shy, sparkling smile glittered with the charm of a carefully curated life.

And yet—here she was.

Here they all were.

Elizabeth in a hospital bed down the hall. Her little sisters huddled in a bathroom after being forcibly removed from the only adults who brought them any comfort all day. And Maya Romero—seated on a hard vinyl couch by the window, laptop open, notes scattered—trying to piece together how on earth these kids had ended up here.