Off the Record Camryn Garrett (best book club books txt) 📖

I glance at Alice, who is already walking toward the entrance to the conference room.

“Josie?” Ms. Jacobson snaps me out of my thoughts. “If you’d like, I could join you for this first event. I just won’t be able to in the future, since I’m based here in L.A.”

“Oh.” I swallow, but my throat is still dry. “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s all right,” Ms. Jacobson says. “We’ll mostly be communicating via phone and email, but I promise I’ll be available for any questions or issues you may have.”

I look over at Alice. She’s lingering near the door to the conference room, arms folded, tapping her foot. Like she’s waiting on me.

She technically is.

Like I’m acting like a baby.

I’m not. At least, I don’t mean to be.

Like I can’t even do this one thing, this thing I begged Mom and Dad for, by myself.

I swallow. My stomach is still in knots, but I don’t know if having Ms. Jacobson there would even make me feel better. Do I want her watching me during the press conference? Analyzing every choice I make?

“No,” I say. “I think we’ll be fine.”

It’s pretty much a lie. But I hope it ends up being true.

I’m not sure what counts as “fine.” If sitting in the middle of the crowd of journalists and trying my best not to be noticed counts, I’m doing pretty well. But it’s probably not what Ms. Jacobson had in mind.

“Hello,” a woman says, standing up and speaking into the microphone she’s passed. “Art, you’ve spent the past few years on television. What was it like to return to your independent roots with Dennis, who you worked with on your first five films?”

Up on the dais is Art Springfield, probably the biggest star in the movie, wearing a cowboy hat. Beside him is Penny Livingstone, a former Disney Channel actress who somehow got a part in this movie. There’s also the director, Dennis Bardell, and Grace Gibbs, who plays the mom and is the only Black person in the cast besides Marius Canet. He’s there, too, and I can’t wrap my mind around how normal he looks. Light brown skin, pink cheeks. His hair is long enough that, if my dad knew him, he’d probably bother him about getting it cut. And every few seconds, he smiles, just a little bit, showing white teeth.

I force myself not to look for too long. I focus on making sure my recorder is going, catching what everyone is saying, while I write in my notebook. Around me, some people have iPads and a few even have laptops, although I didn’t realize that could be a thing.

“Come on,” Alice hisses. “Aren’t you going to ask something?”

I don’t know what to ask. Well, that’s a lie, actually. I look down at my notebook. I’ve been working on a bunch of questions, separated into categories—but most of them are for Marius Canet. It would be weird to stand up and ask a question that’s just directed at one person, wouldn’t it? Even though that’s what everyone has been doing with Art Springfield and the director.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Everyone else seems to have it down.”

The crowd laughs at something Art Springfield says. I wince, hoping it doesn’t mess up my recording.

Alice’s brow furrows. “Have it down?”

“Know what they’re doing.”

It’s true. No one looks nervous when they stand up to ask questions. This isn’t the same as when special guests, like local musicians or professors, visited my high school for assemblies and students from my journalism class got to interview them. Everyone here has a question that makes sense. Everyone here sounds official when speaking into the microphone. Everyone here has done this before.

“This film takes a very raw look at the insidious nature of homophobia,” another reporter says, standing up. “Grace, your character loves her son but also sends him away to ‘fix’ him. How do you think she can have both of these feelings at once?”

“See,” I say, frantically writing the question into my notebook. “That sounded so good.”

I was going to ask Marius about his high school experience, since there’s a sequence at the beginning where his character goes to school. But that seems stupid when everyone is asking these hard-hitting questions.

Alice shakes her head, facing forward.

“Well, we didn’t just want her to be a caricature,” Grace Gibbs says, pulling her microphone closer to her mouth. “It would make things too easy. She loves her son, and she thinks she’s doing the right thing because this was how she was raised, because this is how she and her husband think. But when she realizes what she’s doing to him, it crushes her….”

Alice leans over to whisper in my ear. “Listen,” she says. “If you don’t ask something, I will.”

My face starts to drip with sweat almost instantaneously.

“Alice,” I say. “Come on.”

“I’m serious,” she says. “I’m not just going to sit here in silence for an hour. What’s the point of us coming here, then?”

I want to scream.

“All right, folks,” the moderator says, shifting in her seat. She’s a tall lady who has a microphone of her own. “We have three more minutes—enough time for one more question.”

Alice glares at me. I almost throw up.

What would be more embarrassing: to ask my own question and have everyone look at me, or to have Alice ask something ridiculous and be associated with her for the rest of this trip?

About half a dozen hands shoot up.

“Um, hello!” Alice grabs my hand and holds it high. “She would like to ask a question!”

Heads turn in our direction as a low laugh rumbles through the crowd. My face burns and I haven’t even asked a question. I was already worried about people treating me like a baby because of my age, but now Alice has made it even worse by making me look like a teenage fan.

“Well, all