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colored, fluffy pillows’ to my shopping list.”
    â€œYeah, that and a few new posters of Brett!” she says with a playful nudge. “I saw some seriously delicious ones the other day.”
    I’m sure she did, but she still isn’t getting how desperate I am to desensitize myself to the
actual
, seriously delicious Brett. I’ll be working with him in just five days.
    â€œBut why would I need
that
view when I already have this one?” I ask, and throw open my bedroom curtains to expose the gorgeous mountain range out my window. I had expected it to be totally flat here and covered by nothing but dirt and sagebrush. And, yes, there’s plenty of that in Tucson—and it feels like the sun is a million miles closer than anywhere else I’ve ever been—but here in Sabino Canyon, I’m a full twenty minutes away from the hot pavement of the city center. I even have a river out my back door. “Check out that sunset!”
    â€œWow,” Rachel breathes. “It looks like someone smeared orange sorbet across the sky. I have
got
to capture this on film.”
    Rachel has been getting into photography this summer and she’s a real natural at it. She mostly just uses her phone to take photos of whatever inspires her, but then she manipulates them in ways that make them look like stunning digital art. Some of the so-called snapshots she’s taken of me are better than magazine covers I’ve been on.
    Her Twitter feed, which used to just be a constant stream of her latest thoughts on casting news, tabloid rumors, movies, and television shows, is now peppered with professional-quality images that she presents as perfect shooting locations for this or that upcoming film, or ideal mood-setting shots, such as this sunset. She’s even chronicled my move to Tucson, which has been half-fun,half-annoying, but her followers have doubled this past week, so I’m okay with it. They’ll soon see that there’s much more than boring old me to stick around for.
    â€œMarshmallows, ‘seriously delicious,’ and now orange sorbet?” I ask Rachel. “Either you didn’t eat enough today, or your sweet tooth is acting up.”
    â€œDefinitely hungry again. Didn’t I also say that I wanted to eat bugs?”
    I laugh. “I thought you were talking about the
lizards
doing that.”
    She considers this. “Oh yeah.” She takes a few shots of the sunset from my window, says she can’t see enough of it from this view, then races for the door. “I’m gonna be a while!”
    With photos on my mind, I decide to start unpacking my big box of pictures. I unwrap the first frame to find a photo of Rachel and me in the English countryside last summer. We’re standing in the color-infused flower garden behind William Shakespeare’s home in Stratford-upon-Avon, and smiling like we’d found our motherland. I’d had a movie premiere in London earlier that week—for a historical-novel adaptation that I wished I could’ve lived in forever—so Mom let me splurge and bring Rachel along. The two of us spoke to each other in perky British accents the entire week, and my mother wanted to toss us into the Thames.
    It was my favorite vacation ever.
    We spent our days visiting dozens of sites that totally blew my mind, and at night we went to play after play in London’s West End, and were awestruck by the quality of the acting.
    I doubt I could ever perform live like that. I love that if I mess up on film, the director just says, “Cut! Go again!” and I can fix my mistake as if it never happened.
    How great would that be in real life?
    The next picture I unwrap is of my family. Levi and Logan, who are seven now, grin back at me with half their front teeth missing. I was an only child for over ten years, and I’m pretty sure my parents had meant to keep it that way. But whenever I get homesick, my brothers are