Apex

14 | mutualism

MAY 29

DAKOTA

I hated surprises.

Maybe it had something to do with a traumatic surprise birthday when I was six, or maybe it was when I discovered that Regina had not only been submitted to the Tribeca Film Festival but also won an award.

Either way, surprises were a real pain in the ass and I was relieved that the article published by The Seattle Chronicle on Monday wasn't one. It primarily focused on the events of May 16th and the ongoing production of Apex on Friday Island. It cited a statement made by the FIPD, one concluding that the orca's death wasn't due to natural causes and that the investigation was ongoing.

When I'd read through the article, the only part that interested me was Maud's brief interview.

Maud Hamilton, the granddaughter of Kazuo Nakamura, who owns Pacific King Whale Watching Company, is responsible for dialing 911 when the orca was discovered at Cape Blue on May 16th.

"I'm concerned by the impact that the show's production is having on our community," Hamilton, 18, said. "Until we have answers, we will keep reliving this trauma as the threat to the southern resident orca population remains a haunting reminder that we aren't doing enough to protect endangered species."

Nothing regarding the photos of the Black Swan was mentioned, but the article still received an incredible amount of attention. In the four days since its publication, the number of reporters and paparazzi on the island doubled. It was a consequence that absolutely no one was thrilled about.

I didn't belong in this world. The spotlight wasn't my friend, but everyone in Hollywood seemed set on tricking me into thinking that it was by showering me with praise and recognition.

While the financial benefits of fame were life-changing - I could easily afford to pay my entire college tuition and contribute to my parents' retirement plan - it was never about the money.

As cliché as it sounded, I was just a kid who liked writing and making movies. But I knew it was not that simple.

During the last week, I'd reported to set at six in the morning and stayed late to sit in on the PR meetings. It was exhausting but also necessary. While the increase of press wasn't bad for business, the team had to work extra hard to curb misinformation and extinguish rumors.

The dark circles beneath my eyes hadn't gone unnoticed by my parents. It was Friday evening when they ambushed me in my bedroom, interrupting my Rick and Morty marathon.

My dad stood in the doorway, wearing a button-down shirt and khakis. His hair, equally dark and tousled as mine, was tamed by some hair gel. "I know you've got thick skin, bud, but you need a distraction. How about we go for a hike tomorrow morning?"

"Sure." I sat up to lean against my headboard. "Not too early, though."

"Or come with us to my clients' rehearsal dinner tonight," my mom suggested, sidestepping her husband and clasping her manicured hands together in excitement. It was an activity that we did as a family when I was in high school. "It's the gorgeous barn venue at the Silvermine Lavender Farm."

"I don't want to risk ruining it with my controversial presence," I grumbled, and my mom's smile faltered. "But next time."

I watched my parents share a look, one that likely translated to well, at least we tried and hoped that I wasn't letting them down. They were overwhelmingly supportive and laid back about my whole rise to fame. Sometimes, I wondered if they somehow expected this to happen. It was one thing to support your kid's dreams, but it was another to actually believe that they can achieve them.