Messy by Jessica Morgan

Author:Jessica Morgan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000, book
ISBN: 9781742697161
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2012-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

Max curled up and shifted in the armchair. The Nancy Drew soundstage also occasionally housed Pretty Little Liars, and she’d found a cozy chair from one of the girls’ rooms that hadn’t been put away yet. It made for a quiet place to read or do homework whenever she had nothing to do—which was frequently, since half the time Brooke dragged her out here for “research” and then just lay around on the meticulously made bed of trash bags, trying to absorb Nancy’s aura.

In the weeks since Brooke got the part, Max was increasingly glad she’d turned down her mother’s offer of financial help. She’d started feeling less like an employee and more like a teammate. Brooke often pulled her aside for advice—granted, it was usually on something cosmetic and/or crazy, but she still wanted Max’s opinion. Countless nights Molly had wandered into Brooke’s room to find them with their heads together over the script or giggling over an idea for a blog entry.

“Max McCormack, are you actually starting to like my sister?” Molly had later wondered, amused. Max had just snorted and changed the subject, rather than admit that maybe this was a little bit true. She remembered Molly once noting that Brooke was entertaining when she wasn’t being a total pain, and finally Max had begun to see it.

Max had also gotten to know the other key players pretty well, beyond just Brady. Zander, the hipster producer, was desperate for a vinyl copy of an old Rolling Stones album and nearly passed out with joy when Max found one at Amoeba. The other big boss, Kyle, wore a rubber band around his wrist and snapped it every time he cussed. He got around this by abbreviating everything —“g.d.” this, “f’ing” that—but every so often he would let fly a four-letter pejorative and then thwack himself in the arm. He and Max had spent twenty minutes over sandwiches the other day, discussing whether shiz counted as a swear word (Max contended that no word with an artificially added Z counted as anything at all). Carla Callahan started sucking up incessantly once she saw how much time Max spent hanging out with Brooke, tagging after the two of them —“Oi, mates, fancy a brewsky?” she would bleat in faltering British tones that were blending with the Boston accent she was using for Nancy Drew. And Germain on Camera A had shown Max how to work the equipment and then secretly let her frame one of Brady’s close-ups.

“Don’t tell,” he’d said, winking. “My union will kill me.”

All told, between that and the never-ending process of script tweaks and rewrites, Max was absorbing a ton—so much more than just bits and bobs for blog ideas. The only frustration was that the more time she spent on set, the weirder it got when people quoted Max’s own words at her, expecting her to agree that, yes, that paragraph she had slaved over was clever of Brooke. It was hard seeing Brooke praised for

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