"Xavier Alexander Wilson, if you don't wake up now, it's your audition you're going to miss. It doesn't change anything for me if you don't get the role!" I hear coming from outside my room.
"Thanks, Mom. I appreciate the pep talk," I sarcastically reply.
The truth is, however, that I really wasn't sure if I wanted to go to this audition. You see, ever since my parents brought me to see Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl in the cinema when I was five, I've wanted to become an actor. Ever since then, my life has been either school or auditions—most of them failed ones at that—and now that I'm fifteen, it's starting to feel like my time may never come.
Most people, including my parents, say that I'm still young and that there's still time left. However, I have technically been auditioning for the past nine years. Try striving toward something for nine years and failing time and time again. Yeah, sounds less fun now, doesn't it? Even my parents have gently been trying to get me into other hobbies.
"XAVIER, I won't repeat myself again—GET UP!" my mom screams from the kitchen.
"Alright, I'm coming," I reply, getting up from my bed and heading to the bathroom.
"Bro, what the fuck? Close the door when you take a piss," I say to my fourteen-year-old brother, who is currently taking a leak all over the toilet bowl. "And lift the damn seat up—it's disgusting," I add grumpily.
"Why do you care?" he replies with that attitude that makes you want to choke a younger brother to death.
"Because I clean the damn toilet in this house," I argue, too tired for a fight.
"I'm gonna piss everywhere even more," that smug little shithead of a little brother replies smugly.
I don't say anything. I simply go to the kitchen to get myself breakfast while imagining how I'm going to get back at him in the future.
When I enter, my mother is making eggs with bacon while my father is cutting some fruit.
"Good morning, sweetie. Take a seat—your food's getting cold," my mother says warmly. She has always been my biggest cheerleader, encouraging me with her warm smile and kind eyes. She was in her late forties and had decided to take a year off work a few months ago. She worked as a bank teller when someone came in and tried to rob the branch she was working in. Luckily the robber was arrested and is now in prison but it was still enough to traumatize her and make her quit.
"Here, I made your favorite—eggs sunny-side up with bacon and avocado," she says, putting my plate in front of me.
"Thanks, but you know you didn't have to, right? The role is pretty small," I reply, a bit embarrassed by the attention.
"Maybe, but it's still a speaking role, and you don't get those often, so it's a pretty good start," my father says, jumping in. He has always been a serious man, working a typical nine-to-five as an elevator mechanic, he was in his early to mid forties and was now the breaddwinner of the family, so he had taken on more work ever since my mom had to quit. Even though he couldn't drive me to my audition, he still made it a point to encourage me in his own way.
"That's right. I told you you should've gotten an agent before," my mom gently chides.
"I know, but it's not my fault—he sounded weird," I shoot back. "He was adamant about us meeting in person, and when I did, he kept saying I was good-looking. What was I supposed to think?"
"But you are good-looking, baby. That's a bonus in this industry—you know that. Plus, you're tall, and you speak English and Spanish. That's a lot more than most up-and-coming actors," my mother says placatingly. "You know, you keep whining about how your time hasn't come yet, but you're way ahead of most actors. You know that, right?"
"Yeah, I know," I sigh. As always, she's right. Most actors would kill to get an agent from one of the four biggest agencies in Hollywood.
"As long as you're able to grab the opportunities you're offered, it's only a matter of time before you become famous. You know that, right?" my father interjects.
"Yes, Dad, I know that," I reply, smiling. My parents have always been as supportive as they could be. They supported me when I joined drama club in middle school, helped pay for extra acting classes, and helped me finish all my coursework when I decided to finish school early last year.
"Good. And don't forget to thank Mr. Riley later," he continues.
Mr. Riley—James, his first name—is my agent. He contacted me about a year ago, saying he was from United Talent Agency and wanted to sign me. At the time, I had mostly done commercials—two for cars and one for LEGO when I was younger. The only movie credit I had was in The Hunger Games. I played a tribute from some random district who gets killed in the Cornucopia battle at the beginning of the Games. Once the movie came out, I got the call from James.
He's in his late twenties with a bit of resting bitch face. He had just graduated from the mailroom at UTA to become a real agent and was calling every young actor in California who didn't have representation—which included me.
I obviously said yes. I wasn't stupid. While an agent from a big agency wasn't a guarantee of good roles, it was a step in the right direction. Since then he had mostly gotten me extra work, this was my first role where I had lines.
After finishing breakfast, I went to take a shower. Once I was done, I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't usually care much about styling myself, but the role I was auditioning for sort of required it. I wiped my hand across the mirror and took a look at myself.
"Yeah… definitely good-looking," I think a bit smugly. "Let's hope that works in my favor."
My agent was definitely right—I was good-looking.
My body was well built. Ever since I was a kid, I did gymnastics, which sculpted my body like no other sport. Last year, James suggested I start doing MMA since it could help me land roles as well. Both sports gave me a lean but toned physique that very few people my age had. My biceps were defined, my shoulders were wide, and my abs were sculpted. Add to that my 180-centimeter height, vivid green eyes, and thick black hair, and by most metrics, I was a catch.
"Should I just Google 'prince-like haircuts' or something?" I wonder. In the end, I decide to just dry it and part it down the middle. I put on my dress shirt, suit jacket, matching pants, and black dress shoes. I take another look in the mirror.
Yeah—definitely princely.
(Break)
"Alright, Mom, I'm ready," I say after spending a few minutes struggling with my tie.
"Finally," my brother says. I don't know why he's coming with us—he isn't even interested in acting.
"Why are you even here?" I ask, gently slapping the back of his head.
"Mom and Dad said if I came, they'd get me a new game for my PS3," he says, swatting my hand away.
"Alright, no fighting. But before we go, let me take a picture of you in your suit—you look so handsome," my mom gushes.
"Mom, we're gonna be late," I complain.
"Alright, alright—but you have to promise me you'll let me take pictures if there's time when we get there," she says.
"Fine. I promise," I reply, heading outside and getting into the car. The rest of my family follows, and soon enough we're on our way to the Disney Studios. It helps that we live in Burbank, so the drive isn't too long. Still, I pull out the script James gave me and reread it.
"Angelina Jolie is the main character and a producer, so it should be a good production. Plus, Sleeping Beauty is a super well-known fairy tale, so it should make plenty of money," I think, imagining Maleficent making a billion dollars at the box office.