Off the Record Read online

  “How are college applications going?”

  “Good.” I shrug. “I applied early decision to Spelman, so waiting to hear back.”

  “Aw,” she says, pressing a hand against my cheek. “Following in your older sister’s footsteps, huh?”

  “Well, actually, I wanted to go before she did,” I huff. “She followed in my footsteps.”

  Auntie Denise smiles like I’m a little kid.

  “Right,” she says. “Of course, sweetheart.”

  She bustles past me, pulling her husband along. I peek into the kitchen. She’s already grabbed Mom and Dad’s attention. That gives me a few more minutes to hide from everyone. Before they can wonder where I am, I jog back up the stairs.

  Alice and I are sharing a room while she’s home. Her bags are too close to the door, so I have to suck in my stomach to squeeze through. I kick one of the suitcases over. Technically, the door could’ve done it.

  I grab my phone off the charger. Mom hates phones at the table whenever we all sit down as a family, but that barely happens, even on Thanksgiving. Everyone ends up sitting in clusters throughout the house. We don’t even keep up the pretense of sitting at the table anymore. She won’t notice my phone as long as I say hi to everyone.

  I’ve been reading this article about how Boyz N the Hood got made. The door stays closed while I read, even as I hear the sounds of the front door opening, of people talking and laughing. I almost miss the sound of my email notification.

  There’s the usual—spam emails about spying on my ex-husband, college ads…but.

  But.

  There’s one from Deep Focus magazine. I open it, trying my best not to scream.

  Dear Josephine,

  Congratulations! You’ve been selected as the winner of the Deep Focus Talent Search. A team of fifteen writers and editors reviewed this year’s entries and took part in the judging process. We delayed making our announcement because our judges had trouble choosing just one out of the 400 finalists, but they finally picked you. You should be proud of your achievement.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  I let out a scream. Downstairs, there’s a loud thud. I look back at my phone.

  As you are aware, the grand prize is the chance to take part in a press tour for a new film, Incident on 57th Street, starring Academy Award nominee Art Springfield, Grace Gibbs, and newcomer Marius Canet. With Deep Focus partnering with Spotlight Pictures, you’ll have unprecedented access to the cast and crew, but you will be focusing on writing a profile about Marius, who has garnered rave reviews for his performance. You will be taking part in press events for two weeks in Los Angeles, Austin, Chicago, Atlanta, and New York, where our offices are located. Deep Focus will cover all expenses related to travel and lodging. You will also receive a $500 cash prize.

  I’m so glad that you will be joining the Deep Focus team. I will be your supervisor during your assignment, which means I will organize interviews, events, and transportation during the press tour and be the first to review your final article before it’s submitted to our editorial team. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me!

  I’ve also attached a contract to this email. Please review and sign, along with one of your parents, as soon as possible, as we can’t proceed without a signed contract. You will then receive an official Deep Focus press pass in the mail, which you must wear while on assignment. After the contract is signed, we will fly you to a screening of the film in Los Angeles next weekend, with a press conference being held afterward. If you accept, I will contact you soon with more details.

  We look forward to working with you!

  Best,

  Lauren Jacobson Publicity Manager of Deep Focus

  My hands are shaking.

  Me. I won the contest. Me.

  When they first emailed me about being a finalist, they told me two thousand people had applied before they narrowed it down to four hundred. And out of four hundred people, they chose me. It doesn’t feel real. The publicity manager of my favorite magazine just emailed me. I’m going to write a story for my favorite magazine. Me, me, me.

  I don’t even know how many things this could do for my career. For the past forty years, Deep Focus has been the center of popular culture. Anyone who’s anyone has been on the cover, including, but not limited to:

  Classic music stars like the Beatles, Michael Jackson, and David Bowie

  Newer music stars like Adele, Kendrick Lamar, and Lorde

  The Queen (Beyoncé)

  Actors like Heath Ledger, Denzel Washington, Cate Blanchett, Natalie Portman, Keira Knightley, Andrew Garfield, Issa Rae…

  Thinking about it all at once makes me dizzy.

  I’ve always devoured profiles of writers and directors and actors, even though I’m sure most of them are staged. This is my chance to finally see for myself how it works. How do you even include this on a résumé? In a special box with shiny letters and glitter?

  This could help me get more freelance gigs. This could lead to bigger things. It’s Deep Focus, for crying out loud. I could do whatever I want after this.

  I hold my hand over my mouth. Nervous laughter mixes with another scream, which makes me sound like a nervous horse. I’m not even concerned. Sure, I haven’t told my parents that the grand prize entails hanging out in five different cities with a group of actors and a director and other moviemaking people. Sure, I have anxiety and hate being around too many people I don’t know.

  But God, do the positives outweigh the negatives. This is my chance to do something exciting for once. This is my chance to do what I love on a bigger scale. This is my chance to be taken seriously as a writer.

  I open up two different tabs: one with the name of the actor and one with the name of the movie. I start an email reply to Ms. Jacobson. But what do I say?

  “Josephine?” Mom’s voice travels up the stairs. “Get down here!”

  Oh, right. First things first: I have to ask Mom and Dad.

  @JosieTheJournalist: my parents are actually the best in the entire world, don’t @ me

  It’s torture waiting all night for everyone to leave. And when I say all night, I really mean it. Uncle Eddie doesn’t leave until eleven. Mom has to call him a cab. I sneak up behind her as she watches him through the screen door.

  “Mommy?”

  She raises a brow. “What do you want?”

  I pull her back into the kitchen. There’s a mess: half-full containers and bottles, dirty dishes and silverware. Dad’s already organizing leftovers. We’ll be eating them for the next week, at least.

  “Well,” I say, clasping my hands together, “I’ve been presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  “What?” Dad looks up. “A scholarship?”

  “Uh, no,” I say. “Not that kind. But it’s even better.”

  Mom folds her arms, both eyebrows raised in expectation.

  “Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Do you remember that contest I entered a few months ago? The Deep Focus Talent Search? It was for teen reporters.”

  “Yes,” Mom says. “We remember that. Did you hear back?”

  “I did,” I say. “And it’s really amazing news—I won. Out of two thousand people.”

  “Oh my goodness, Josie,” Dad says, straightening. “That’s amazing. Come here.”

  He pulls me into his arms, squeezing the life out of me. I laugh against his shoulder.

  “Deep Focus,” he says, shaking me back and forth. “Josie! We’re so proud of you!”

  “We are.” Mom smiles. “So what’s the downside?”

  “There really is no downside, if you think of it.” I lick my lips. “The grand prize is the chance to write a cover story for the magazine.”

 
“I remember you telling us that,” Dad says, shaking his head. “Our daughter, writing a cover story for Deep Focus. You know Obama was on the cover?”

  “You hung the cover up in the den.” I try my best not to roll my eyes. “So I’ll get to write a cover story, too, about this new movie starring Art Springfield—”

  “Art Springfield,” Dad repeats. He glances at Mom. “Sounds like we’ll have to see that one.”

  “Sure, honey.” Mom doesn’t take her eyes off of me. “Get to the catch, Josie.”

  “Okay.” I force a deep breath through my nose. “I have to go on a press tour with the cast and crew to cover the story accurately. And the tour goes to five cities across the United States for two weeks. The first event is next weekend, in Los Angeles.”

  There’s a heavy moment of silence as she and Dad look at each other.

  “Oh,” Dad says, tossing a rag over his shoulder. “Well, if that’s all.”

  I flush.

  “There’s no way I’m sending you across the country by yourself,” Mom says, shaking her head. “How many different cities? And where do you expect me to get that money from?”

  Good. She’s explaining herself. If Mom really means no, she just shuts the conversation down before it can begin. This is her way of inviting me to fight for this.

  “They’ll cover hotel and airfare,” I say. “And I get five hundred dollars cash.”

  “Five hundred dollars,” Dad says. “They’re big spenders, aren’t they?”

  “The rest of it can be my Christmas present,” I say. “Or I’ll use my money from Cora’s to help pay.”

  “That money is for school,” Mom says.

  “Right,” I say. “But a press tour is way more impressive than just freelancing. And Monique can still be my mentor and everything.”

  I haven’t even run this by her, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. This is the type of thing capstone projects are made for. Other kids fly to different continents to do missions and build houses. I can go on a press tour that will launch my career.

  “It’s just—” I huff. It’s hard to say everything I’m feeling all at once. “I’ll do anything. This is really, really important to me.”

  “I don’t know,” Dad says, glancing at Mom. “It sounds like a lot of responsibility.”

  “I’m responsible,” I say, holding out my hand, counting on my fingers. “I watch Cash when no one else can. I go grocery shopping on the weekends. I have a job. I practically did all the college stuff by myself. I can do this.”

  Dad nods. Mom shoots him a look.

  “I understand,” Mom says slowly. “I just don’t feel comfortable with you being by yourself, and I can’t take off of work for that long.”

  “Neither of us would be able to,” Dad chimes in. “I really want this for you, but—”

  “Maggie can go with me.” The words fly out of my mouth. “She can go with me.”

  “Really?” Mom gives me a look. “She can’t take off of work, either, and I doubt you’d want to bring Cash along.”

  “Well, what about Alice?”

  Before my parents can even process my words, my sister comes whirling into the room. I knew she was listening.

  “No,” she snaps. “I’m not taking a leave of absence to babysit.”

  “It’s not babysitting,” I say. “I’m two years younger than you. And you don’t need to take a leave of absence. Your winter break literally starts next week.”

  “Break is me time,” she says, folding her arms. “I need to hang out with my friends.”

  “You can do that anytime. Come on, Alice. I’ve never asked you for anything.”

  “That’s a lie.” She rolls her eyes. “How many times did I have to take you driving before you finally passed the driver’s test?”

  “That’s different.” My face burns. I only failed the test twice because I kept getting anxious. People would beep at me or the DMV representative would remind me to do something, and I’d completely stop breathing.

  “I don’t have to go just because you asked,” she says, as if I’d never said anything. “What do you expect me to do the entire time? Follow you around and knit?”

  “I just need—”

  “If you keep this up, y’all ain’t going nowhere,” Mom snaps. Both of us go silent. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

  Alice’s lips are twisted into a frown. I bet she doesn’t want to come just because I brought it up. If Mom or Dad had asked, she would’ve complained but gone along with it. After all, it’s not like I’m asking her to poke her eyes out. I’m asking her to go on a trip with me. It’s not the worst thing in the world.

  “If you make sure to stay focused on your schoolwork,” Dad says, choosing his words slowly, eyes locked on our mother. “And if you can convince Alice to go with you…I don’t see why we can’t make this work.”

  I turn back to my sister. She’s still frowning.

  “Alice.” I settle for sticking out my lower lip. “Please? You’ll get to go to New York and L.A., and I promise we’ll go wherever you want. I’ll do your chores for a year.”

  “I’m not here most of the year.”

  I groan, tossing back my head.

  “Alice,” Mom says, “you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But it would be a nice thing to do for your sister.”

  Alice bites her lip. I resist the urge to pump my fist in the air. Mom’s endorsement is better than anything I could ever promise.

  “Well,” she finally says, heaving a great and weary sigh. The twitching corners of her mouth give her away. “I have always wanted to go to Los Angeles. And if I get to meet—”

  I yelp, tossing my arms around her. Alice usually isn’t one for hugs. The limp hands at her sides prove that. I’m just so happy I can’t resist. Dad laughs, but Mom bangs on the table, grabbing our attention.

  “But as soon as you get back, you are focusing on college,” Mom says, pointing a finger. I rise up on my toes. Nothing she can say will ruin this for me. “And I want phone calls. Phone calls, not texts. I’m talking every hour. You understand?”

  I can’t hear anything else she says because I’m too busy screaming and pulling her in for a hug.

  @JosieTheJournalist: shout out to plus sized clothes that are actually plus sized and not just average sizes that should already be carried in stores

  When I was eight, we went to a big family reunion at Disneyland, but that’s the only time I’ve been out of the state. So I have no idea how to pack for this trip.

  While Alice spends the next few days taking finals and wrapping up her first semester at college, I try to pack everything I’ll need for a two-week-long tour. On Tuesday, Maggie pops into my room and frowns at my suitcase like it’s an orphaned puppy.

  “What?” I glance down at it. There’s enough, even if it isn’t all folded. “It’s not that bad. I won’t be naked.”

  “But this is a big deal. You’re interviewing movie stars.” She grips my shoulders, shaking me back and forth. “Josie, do you understand what this means?”

  “I mean, the biggest star in the movie is Art Springfield, and only old people like Mom and Dad like him,” I say. “I’m interviewing the newcomer, so he’s not exactly what you’d—”

  “Stop ruining this for me,” she says. “I’m living through you.”

  “I wish you could come,” I say. Alice isn’t around, so I can play favorites. “We would have so much fun.”

  “I know.” She pouts, flicking something off my T-shirt. “But you’ll be with Alice. You guys will have loads of fun without me. She’s really excited, you know.”

  I raise my brows. Maggie never picks sides when it comes to Alice and me, which means she says things no one believes. She shoves me and scoffs.

  “If you can’t ha
ve fun on an all-expenses-paid trip, there’s something wrong with you.” She puts her hands on her hips. “And you need better clothes. Something nice. Something fancy.”

  Ugh. I love clothes. I just hate buying them. I like looking at pictures of celebrities walking on the street during Fashion Week and watching Project Runway. It’s this odd paradox: clothes look limp, useless when they aren’t being worn, but most designers aren’t thinking of bodies like mine. Even plus-sized models look more—I don’t know—symmetrical. Their bodies look like they belong on runways. Whenever I find something I want to wear, I look wrong in it, like a gingerbread man with too much dough in the wrong places.

  But I don’t know how to say any of that to Maggie. She’ll tell me I’m pretty the way I am. And it’s not like I need to be pretty. It’s not about being pretty. It’s about the way everyone looks at me when I wear clothes that don’t fit me correctly. Their mouths turn down and sometimes they even whisper. I can practically hear them thinking, Thank goodness I don’t look like her. I just want to exist without being a spectacle. I don’t want attention on me unless I ask for it.

  Maggie and I talk all the time about periods and guys and bad sex she’s had. But this isn’t something I want to share with my sister. I’ve buried it deep inside me, far away from the surface.

  “I have to save money for the trip,” I say instead. “So the fancy actor will just have to be satisfied with normal clothes.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Maggie says, waving her hand. “I’ll treat you.”

  I can’t bring myself to say no.

  * * *

  Later in the week, Maggie gets Mom to watch Cash so we can all go to the mall. It’s thirty minutes of driving with both my sisters, which means I end up in the back seat while they catch up. They talk about the same things Maggie talks about with her friends on the phone: sex, guys, reality TV, hair. I tune them out and mess around on my phone.