Chapter 2 Riley

A lex Park James.

For a second, I’m 18 again, waiting for Alex to look back at me in the rearview mirror as I stand there in a haze of dust and tears. He didn’t then. He doesn’t now, either.

I never thought I would see that asshole again. What is he doing back in Bandera? Last I heard he was out in New York, running some hotshot celebrity restaurant and gracing magazine covers with his obnoxiously beautiful face.

And those gorgeous hands. Watching him manhandle those packages takes me right back to the first time I saw him slouched on my front porch. A cigarette dangled from his slender but strong fingers, causing the open wrist of his motorcycle jacket to fall away from the flushed alabaster of his toned forearm. On his right wrist was a tattoo – because of course there was – a delicate design that, I would later learn, intertwined the two words of his last name, one in English and the other in Korean.

I was totally unimpressed by all of it.

*****

“You’ve really got the bad boy stereotype nailed there.” I pushed past Alex and shook my head as I unlocked the door.

Alex looked up mid-exhale, masking his surprise with a slight smirk.

“Sorry, you have a thing against classic James Dean style?”

I scoffed. “I have a thing against high school seniors ripping off that style just to seem cooler than they actually are.”

“Noted. Any other uninvited pointers you want to dole out?” Alex leaned a sharp shoulder against the doorframe and grinned as I pushed past him and marched into the kitchen.

“No thanks, I don’t want to oversaturate your brain with feedback before we even get to the real stuff. There’s only so much critique a person can handle at once.”

The lines around Alex’s hazel eyes crinkled, but I caught a fleeting moment of sadness as his smile flickered. “Ah, you’d be surprised. I’ve had lots of practice.”

I wondered what he was referring to as I walked to our kitchen table, adorned with my grandmother’s handwoven, rebozo table runner. Was taking on this troublemaker worth it?

Making even a small-scale film cost money, and I was determined to earn as much as I could during the school year so that I could start my first work over the summer. So when Vice Principal Kenyon had asked me if I’d be willing to tutor a fellow student, I said yes right away. I had big dreams, and nothing was going to stop me from achieving them. Especially not the dreamy face currently staring out at me from beneath a shock of thick black hair.

“So, I thought that we could start with the chapters on cell mitosis and function.” I placed a set of index cards into Alex’s hands.” I’ll take you through a summary, you can do some of the reading yourself, and then I’ll lead you through an exercise so you can retain all of the content.”

Alex laughed, momentarily distracting me as a tiny dimple creased above his full, pink lips. “Are you always this…” He waved a hand towards me. “Serious?”

“Well, yes. I take school extremely seriously. I have a plan all written out. Straight As, college scholarship, film studies, and then finishing my first documentary by the time I’m done with college.”

Alex stared at me intently and let out a low whistle. I braced myself for a teasing remark about the ultra-nerd approach I had just shared, but instead, he leaned back on the hind legs of his chair, looking more like an uncertain little kid than a rebel without a cause.

“I admire that, I really do. School just isn’t my thing. I can’t wait to be done and get out of this place.”

On that, I could relate. “What are you going to go do once you get out?”

Alex shrugged. “Ah, I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about maybe working at a bar or something. Maybe picking up some shifts at the diner.”

“Really?” I had seen Alex’s mom, Imogene Park, around at various school events. She looked like she didn’t suffer any fools, and I admired her quiet confidence. But as a fellow kid with an immigrant parent, I couldn’t imagine notifying my parents that my post-school plan was to … just figure it out as I went. I wished I had that kind of courage.

Alex bristled, misinterpreting my surprise. “Yes, is there something wrong with that? Not all of us have a 10-point master plan for the future, you know.”

“No, no, I just – well, I’ve really had to fight my parents to convince them that going into film is even a viable career. They want me to pursue something sensible, like accounting. I’d rather shave my eyebrows off.”

Alex chuckled, and I grinned back at him as a warm flush spread from my chest to the tips of my -decidedly present- brows. Flustered, I threw open the textbook in front of me and burrowed my face into it, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “Alright, so. Cells…”

*****

My phone rings, pulling me out of my memories as I stand locked in the spot in front of Jared’s where Alex drove off. It’s amazing to me that I was able to see through his sultry exterior then, just as I see through it now. My high school boyfriend, now a grown man and a coward, would rather run away from me than have an actual conversation.

That’s fine by me, quite honestly. The moment Alex left me that first time, I swore off any sort of distractions that would jeopardize my plan. I focus on the things I can control, like whatever waits for me on the other end of this call.

“How is scoping going?” My co-producer Delilah greets me with a well-practiced mixture of concern and urgency.

“Dee, I just got here. I promise I’ll get right into it, okay?” I stroll down our small Main Street, watching as each storefront dims. Shopkeepers – locals who have known me my whole life – wave as they linger and chat with one another in the fading light.

“Sure, yes. It’s just that…”

“Just that what?”

“Well, before you left, Ri, you mentioned something about taking time off. Lord knows you deserve a vacation, but we’re on a super tight production schedule with this one. We have to capitalize on the momentum from last season – you know, the one where we got all those award nominations?”

I drop back fully into my present-day self, the joy I felt at 18 slipping away as Delilah’s words reacquaint me with the ever-present exhaustion I hold in my bones these days.

“I’m well aware. You know I’m on it.”

“I’ll send you some leads, okay? We’ve done some background research and there are a ton of viable candidates in Bandera that will be right up the show’s alley. Let me know how else I can support you – remember, our whole team is here to make your job easier.”

I nod, but her words just remind me that there is a whole team back in LA that is relying on me to deliver for them. Just like my family and community here are relying on me.

“Thanks. Send me the materials and I’ll be in touch soon, okay?”

I hang up the phone, taking stock of my surroundings as the sun dips below the horizon. The first thing I notice every time I come home is the air: I spend so many of my hours in sterile, air-conditioned rooms full of electronics that I crave the textured oxygen of a real place. Crave the feeling of grit and humidity on my skin, of getting swept up in a summer breeze.

During the first season of Eligible , whenever the stress of being a first-time showrunner would get to me, I would step out of production and into the bright LA sunshine, hoping to reclaim some version of that atmosphere – admittedly hard to do in a place that rarely wavers from a perfect 75 degrees. But it usually worked: no matter which of our male contestants was throwing a tantrum that day, I’d step back into the control room ready - and in control.

Six seasons into our hit series and numerous spinoffs later I still step outside and breathe when things get crazy. But it’s getting harder and harder to fire myself up enough to go back in.

I think back to that first conversation with Alex and wonder what my young self would say if she saw me now. Would she be proud of me for reaching the end point of that master plan? Success, awards, recognition, financial stability? Or would she be disappointed in me for selling out – for leaving those unfunded documentary pitches on the table and moving on?

*****

“What will your film be about?” Alex had asked as he shuffled the notecards in front of him in disdain. I knew he was trying to change the subject away from the biology facts I had tortured him with for the past hour.

“I think I want to focus on the stories of our town. All the people who came here hoping to grow something out of open land, and the relationships and generations that have grown alongside that.” I threw him a quick sideways glance, desperately hoping that bad boy persona aside, he would find this cool.

“That’s awesome. I can’t wait to see it.” Alex gazed at me earnestly, thick black lashes framing his perfect almond eyes. “And then I can tell everyone that a world-famous filmmaker used to be my tutor.”

Our study session over, Alex stood up and reached for his jacket, his fingers brushing against my wrist. “I know whatever you make is going to be great. I can tell just from hearing you talk about it that you’ll never give up on this.”

And in that moment, it was exactly what I believed, too.