Writers 
Chapter Two
By the time we reached the studio, I had managed to convince myself that the email was probably less important than it sounded. This was one of my favourite things about myself: whenever something exciting happened, I immediately found a reason to make it less exciting. It saved me from disappointment. It also made it difficult to enjoy anything.
Miriam parked outside the building and turned off the engine. “You're going to read the email again, aren't you?”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“You've read it eleven times.”
“Twelve.”
She laughed. “Go inside before you read it a thirteenth time.”
I reached for the door, then stopped. “Do I look nervous?”
“You look like someone who is trying very hard not to look nervous.”
“That's not helpful.”
“It wasn't meant to be.”
I stepped out of the car and immediately remembered that I was still wearing slippers. “Oh my God.”
Miriam looked down at my feet and burst out laughing.
“Don't.”
“You're going to be on television looking like somebody's aunty who came to buy tomatoes.”
“I have my heels.”
“In your bag.”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful.”
I changed shoes in the reception area while Miriam spoke to the producer. The studio was busier than I expected. People moved around carrying clothes, cameras and cups of coffee, while someone nearby was arguing about a missing microphone. I stood there for a moment, watching everything happen around me.
This was becoming normal.
That thought made me strangely happy.
A woman approached me with a smile. “Dara?”
I turned.
“Yes?”
“I'm Nneka. We're ready for you.”
I followed her down the hallway, trying not to think about how many people were going to watch the interview later. I had done interviews before, but they had usually been short and predictable. Where did you start acting? How did you prepare for the role? What advice would you give young actors?
I had answers for all of those.
The problem was that people had started asking different questions.
The interview began normally. We talked about the film, my character and the experience of working with the cast. I relaxed enough to laugh at something the presenter said, and for a few minutes I forgot about the email sitting in my phone.
Then she smiled.
“So, Dara, we've heard you're being considered for another major role.”
My smile froze for half a second.
Miriam had warned me about this.
Apparently, nothing stayed private once enough people knew about it.
“I wouldn't say I'm being considered yet,” I said carefully. “There's a meeting.”
“A meeting that could potentially lead to the biggest role of your career.”
I laughed softly. “You're making it sound very serious.”
“Isn't it?”
I looked toward the camera.
Maybe it was.
After the interview, my phone was already full of messages. Friends. My mother. Two numbers I didn't recognize. Even my cousin, who normally only contacted me when she needed a favour, had sent a message saying she was proud of me.
I smiled at that one.
Then I saw another message.
Miriam: Don't make plans for tomorrow evening.
I frowned.
Before I could ask why, another message appeared.
Miriam: The production wants to meet you tomorrow. And Dara... come prepared.
I stared at the screen.
For the first time that day, I wasn't thinking about whether I would get the role.
I was wondering why she sounded worried.
