OCTOBER 2019 — LOS ANGELES

Theadora returns to L.A from charleston with two suitcases, a new tattoo idea she'll never get approved, and a pilot script from showtime in her inbox.

the show is titled yellowjackets and her character doesn't speak much. gabriella walker is quiet, feral. a girl who's been missing for years and has learned to survive not with softness, but with bite.

thea knows how to play her and accepts the role before the second audition. something inside her says it isn't just a part, but a piece of her she hasn't named yet.

she calls taylor, finally. just to tell her.

she answers on the first ring and theadora can breathe.

⸻

DECEMBER 2019 — VANCOUVER, BC

Theadora luella james is not afraid of anything.
except maybe spiders. and in-person auditions. and first days and meeting new people. but other than that, she's pretty fucking fearless.

she keeps repeating that to herself in the hair and makeup mirror, even as the blood-spatter brush flicks red droplets across her cheekbones. her hands are tucked under her thighs to hide the fact they were shaking. fingernails bit half-moons into her skin and jaw aches from how tightly she's holding it, but she can't unclench. not yet. not until she got through this day.

the hair and makeup trailer buzzes with its usual morning shuffle — trail mix crunching, coffee machines sputtering, the quiet chatter of artists doing their best work. theadora sits in the chair like a statue, trying not to breathe too loud, to take up too much space. her neck itches where the fake blood had begun to dry.

she doesn't know a soul here, not really. she'd been to the second table read, but she'd missed the first since her character wasn't in any of the scenes. by then, everyone already had inside jokes and someone to sit next to. she smiled when appropriate, nodded along when people joked, but didn't offer much else. she didn't know how to start when everyone already seemed so sure of themselves.

but gabriella walker isn't shy. gabriella is the embodiment of survival.

"morning, ella!" a stylist chirped suddenly, throwing open the trailer door. theadora squints against the flash of light—and then in walked ella purnell. stunning, cool, london-born. thea had watched miss peregrine's three times the week she found out she'd be acting alongside her.

"hi!" ella greets cheerfully as she steps up into the trailer, grinning wide. her reflection catches thea's. "theadora, right?"

theadora blinks, startled. "oh—just thea's fine."

"thea!" ella repeats brightly, setting her bag down and hopping into the chair beside her. "so glad to finally meet you properly. i'm ella."

"i know." thea laughes before catching herself. her cheeks turn pink. "i mean—yeah. i've heard so many good things."

ella smiles like it was no big deal, like she hadn't just cracked open theadoras panic shell. it helps, but only a little.

"you're all set, thea," the makeup artist says.

"oh—thank you!" she stands quickly, grateful for the out but also weirdly wishing she could stay longer now that someone had spoken to her like a human being and not a five year old. she gives ella a shy smile and wave then ducks out of the trailer.

her boots thud across the gravel as she makes her way to costuming; the wardrobe trailer is mercifully empty. she slips into her costume with practiced ease—layers of torn linen and frayed cotton meant to resemble a girl who hadn't had a proper change of clothes in four years.

gabriella's look was simple: a dirtied nightgown clinging to her frame, worn in all the wrong places. thea's arms were smeared with fake grime and her hair hadn't been brushed in hours. she looked half-feral in the mirror. good.

her stomach twists again as she walks toward set.
her first scene—her very first scene—is with the entire ensemble cast. showtime didn't mess around. there'd be wide shots, close-ups. dialogue and screaming and stunts. she had one chance to convince them all she belonged here.

she finds her mark, the prop rifle already waiting. her fingers curl around it—heavy and cold, familiar in a way that made her nervous. the director gives a thumbs up from the monitor. "and
...action!"

enter gabriella.

she cocks the rifle; fake tension, real sweat. her chest rises and falls in tight, controlled bursts. across from her, her on-screen father looms—ray, tall and grim-faced, pressing her back against the wall with his lines sharp and cruel: "you couldn't kill a rabbit if it was starin' you in the face beggin' you to."

her nostrils flare. "but you're not a rabbit, are you?" she hisses, every syllable sharp and bright like broken glass.

he lunges, she fires. the crack echos even though the rifle wasn't real and ray collapses to the floor in a spray of stage blood.

she steps over him, sobbing now—not quiet sobs, but ugly, open-throated wails. she slams the butt of the prop down, again and again, until it cracks into the matting beneath his body. blood flecked her face, chest, hair.

"cut!" thea stands there for a second, panting. somewhere off-camera someone claps. then another. then more. she wipes her brow with the back of a hand and turns.

the cast stands nearby, watching with impressed eyes and opened mouths. a few of them nod at her. one of the crew fist-bumps the guy playing ray as he gets up, grinning through his fake bruises.

ella meets theadoras gaze. "that was incredible," she mouths. thea flushes, heat rising all the way to her ears.

by lunchtime she'd shot two more scenes and managed to survive a stunt rehearsal. the craft services table offered little she wanted—her stomach hadn't unclenched since call time. she picked at a bowl of rice and drank two bottles of water instead.

she sits at the edge of the lunch tent, scrolling her phone, pretending not to notice her castmates grouped together. it wasn't that they were unkind—just established. loud. easy with each other in a way theadora couldn't match on day one.

"mind if i sit here?" it's ella again, holding a plate piled high with curry and pita bread. thea blinks. "oh—yeah, no. go ahead."

they eat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before ella speaks again. "you're really good."

thea looks up. "thanks."

"i mean it," ella continues. "that scene this morning—you were terrifying, and heartbreaking. i was like, okay, i need to step up my game."

thea laughs nervously. "it's weird. i usually do, like ...lighter stuff. adventure, ensemble fun. this is different."

"it suits you," ella says. "you're really...grounded. i don't know how to describe it—it's like you're holding something back but in a good way." theadora chews slowly, unsure how to respond to that. "you should come hang out with us later," ella adds casually. "some of the girls are going for drinks after wrap, but if you're free earlier, we'll probably run lines in the green room."

thea hesitates. she isn't twenty one, and they all probably know that. but she nods. "maybe i will."

after lunch, the second half of the day blurs with fake blood reapplications, forest set-ups, and camera resets. at one point thea finds herself lying in a pile of pine needles while someone adjusts a reflector above her.

during a quick break, one of the producers passes her and said, "you're a star, kid." she didn't know how to respond, so she just smiled.

later, ella catches up with her between takes. "are you okay?" she asks gently.

thea blinks. "yeah, why?"

"you just looked like you were somewhere else."

shes not wrong—theadora had been floating somewhere behind gabriella's eyes, trying to hold everything steady—her nerves, her breathing, her need to not mess up. she'd barely touched her food, barely blinked. her body ached and her heart thuds like a drum she couldn't silence.

"i'm just—trying to make a good impression."

ella smiles soft, like she understood the suffocating need to be liked. "you already have."

by the time they wrap the sun had dipped low, casting a dusky pink over the trees. thea returned to the makeup trailer to clean off. the fake blood clung to her skin stubbornly, staining the edge of her collarbone.

she stares at herself in the mirror, and for a second, she isn't gabriella or theadora. just a girl with tired eyes and a story on her shoulders. someone who'd spent all day pretending to be brave, and for once, maybe didn't have to pretend anymore.

⸻

DECEMBER 2019 – VANCOUVER, BC

Theadora didn't realize just how much her body hurt until she was alone.

not just tired—hurt. her arms ached, her neck throbbed from holding so much tension, and the smear of fake blood still clung under her fingernails despite two aggressive attempts at scrubbing it off. every inch of her felt bruised from pretending.

now, she closes the door behind her and leans against it, breathing out slowly. the hotel suite is silent except for the low hum of the mini fridge and the occasional click of the radiator as it kicks on to chase the cold from the room.

the silence makes her dizzy; she hadn't spoken since wrap. she'd thanked a PA, nodded at ella, mumbled something polite to costuming. but she'd been drifting — lightheaded, untethered, trying not to shatter from the inside out.

this wasn't outer banks; there were no beach bonfires or cast dance parties in between takes. no jd pulling her into some dumb tiktok or madelyn curling up next to her at lunch to watch reality shows on an ipad. no one had called her "kid" all day, which she supposed she should be grateful for, but instead it just made her feel more alone.

she peels off her jacket, then her sweatshirt, then the undershirt she'd worn under costume. each layer stuck to her skin — fake blood, sweat,nerves.
in the mirror her ribs look sharper than she remembered. she blinks once and looks away.

after a long, too-hot shower that didn't quite warm her up, theadora climbs into bed in clean sweats and a borrowed hoodie from madison bailey that she'd never given back. she tucks her knees to her chest and turned off the bedside lamp, leaving only the tv screen on as background light. she scrolls instagram absently, double-tapping out of habit. most of her feed was friends back in L.A., or outer banks fan edits, or photos she can't remember posting. her explore page was a dangerous place — red carpets she wasn't invited to, actresses she'd grown up watching now starring in things she used to dream about.

she clicks her camera roll instead. a blurry photo of her and chase in golf carts. madelyn asleep on a couch. jd holding a pancake stack bigger than his head. a photo bailey had taken of her last summer, curled up in a hammock, smiling without knowing it. her eyes well up fast; god, she missed them. she crosses her fingers for a second season and the firsts release date hasn't even been announced yet.

without thinking too hard she clicks on madelyns name and hits call. it's past midnight, but her hands are trembling with the need to hear something familiar. someone familiar.

it rings twice, then three times.

then — "thee?" clines voice comes through, scratchy with sleep and surprise.

"hey," thea greets softly. "sorry, did i wake you up?"

"it's okay." a yawn, then, "what time is it over there?"

"same as you, i think. i'm in vancouver."

a pause. then, gently: "How was your day?"

theadora lay back against the pillows and let herself breathe, the sound of maddie's voice softening something brittle inside her. "hard," she said, honest in a way she hadn't been all day. "it was...intense. good, i think. i didn't fuck up or anything, but it's not like obx. everyone knows each other already and it's serious, you know? like the scenes, the tone...it's just different." madelyn doesn't interrupt, just lets the silence hold. "i don't really know how to act like i'm not nervous around them," thea adds. "i feel like the kid again, the one everyone thinks is just lucky to be here."

"you're not lucky," maddie cuts firmly. "you're good. you work harder than half of the people i know, and you care more than most of them combined." theadora swallows but her throat feels tight. "did they give you any notes?"

"no," thea thinks back. "they clapped after one of my scenes."

"see?" madelyns voice lifts with warmth. "they already love you." theadora lets that sit. "do you think you did okay?"

thea blinks at the ceiling, voice was barely a whisper. "i think i left it all out there."

maddie smiles, audible even through the phone. "that's all you can do, babe. that's more than enough."

they talked for another hour, about nothing and everything all at once. maddie fills her in on obx reshoots and how rudy still doesn't understand how tiktok works. thea asks about home and her dog and new playlist. it feels like breathing underwater — hard, but somehow natural.

and when they finally say goodnight, thea feels a little less alone. she tucks the phone beside her pillow and closes her eyes.

⸻

DECEMBER 2019 – VANCOUVER, BC

Theadora arrives to set before the sun, breath clouding in front of her face as she steps out of the transport van, shoulders hunched against the cold. she still had the borrowed hoodie on under her coat—baileys, sleeves too long, thumb holes frayed at the seams. it smelt like home.

the studio lights were already glowing and snow had crusted overnight on the edges of the lot. a PA met her at the gate and led her inside, through the maze of temporary corridors that made up basecamp. hair and makeup was warm, humming with early morning energy and quiet voices.

"morning, sweet girl," christi greets as theadora enters, holding out a familiar script binder and waving her into the chair. "you ready to get filthy again?"

theadora smiles sleepily. "always."

they get to work — dirt under nails, grime on her cheekbones, blood spatter across the bridge of her nose. gabriella walker wasn't allowed to look clean. not yet.

halfway through her transformation the trailer door opens again and ella steps inside, holding two coffees in each hand and a plastic-wrapped muffin pinched between her teeth.

"cold as tits outside," she mutters around the pastry. she spots theadora and grins. "hey, kid. i got you something."

thea blinks, taken aback. "me?"

ella drops the muffin in the teen's lap and passes her the second coffee. "you looked frozen yesterday."

"oh—thanks. that's really nice of you."

"gotta take care of the new kid." ella winks ant settles into the next chair. "besides—your blood work yesterday was incredible."

theadora flushes, gripping the coffee with both hands. "thanks. that scene was...kind of a lot."

"you killed it. literally." ella chuckles, then softens. "you good with today's stuff?"

thea nods before answering. "yeah. i read through it again last night."

gabriella had no dialogue today. only the quiet, reactive kind of acting — watching the crash survivors stumble into the cabin, meeting them with fear and shock and suspicion. her face had to do all the work. no lines to hide behind.

that scared her more than anything.

⸻

By the time they get to set the faux-wilderness clearing had been built out with every eerie detail: snow, ash, burned-out trees, fake animal bones. a makeshift cabin loomed at the edge, smoke curling from its chimney.

"gabriella," the director calls, motioning her over. "we'll start with you alone inside the cabin, then run the wide of the girls busting in. let's walk it."

she followed him inside and shivers; the cabin is even colder than the air outside. everything is raw wood and rusted metal. a cot, cracked basin. a rifle on the wall, animal skins, a stained mattress. it smelt like mildew and dried herbs.

theadora crouched beside the small wood stove, where she'd be "cutting meat" during the scene—thankfully, it was just tofu, colored and textured to look like jerky. she practices the motion absently, waiting for her cue.

she thinks about gabriella, imagines being ten years old when she vanished. not stolen in a flash, but slowly pulled away—manipulated, relocated, cut off. four years of living in a cage made of trees and silence. four years without friends, without school, or music, or the sound of anyone but your father breathing.

what would that do to a person? what would it do to a girl?

the director calls "action," and suddenly, it didn't matter what theadora thought. she was gabriella now.

⸻

The door slams open. snow flurries in with the crashing bodies of teenage girls in bloodstained uniforms. one of them—shauna—trips and falls hard. another screams. gabriella bolts upright, knife in hand, eyes wide with feral fear.

"who the fuck is that?!" someone shouted from off-camera.

theadora doesn't blink as she backs into the wall, lips parted like she was tasting air for poison. gabriella doesn't speak, just watched, eyes flicking between girls like they're wolves in human clothing. she doesn't lower the knife.

the director lets the scene run. the camera pans. lines are delivered. voices rose. gabriella never moved.

"cut!" theadora exhales shakily, muscles trembling with the tension she hadn't realized she was holding.

ella leans over from where she'd been standing with the other girls. "that was fucking terrifying. you looked like a feral raccoon."

thea laughs, startled by how welcome the sound felt in her throat. "that's the goal, i think."

they reset and shoot again. and again. different angles, different reactions, variations in chaos. each time, theadora climbs deeper into gabriella's skin. her voice stays silent but her breathing changes. her face twitches with tiny, scared flickers. at one point, she genuinely cried and they kept rolling.

by lunch, she felt hollowed out. she walked to catering on autopilot. her body was covered in dust and fake blood and real sweat. she held her paper tray of rice and steamed broccoli, but couldn't bring herself to eat. her stomach buzzed with nervous energy and residual adrenaline.

ella sits down across from her. "you okay?" she asks gently.

theadora nods. "just tired."

ella doesn't push, just steals one of thea's baby carrots and starts talking about an article she read in the atlantic about trauma performance and method acting. thea lets her talk; it helps, keeps her here.

⸻

By the time they wrap that evening thea's limbs are lead. she strips out of her costume slowly, fingers too clumsy to undo the buttons without help. one of the wardrobe ladies gently tugs the nightgown over her head, whispering a soft, "You did amazing today, honey."

thea mutters her thanks.

back in the hair trailer, christi helps wipe off the grime as thea watches herself reappear in the mirror. she barely recognizes the girl underneath.

after changing into sweats she wanders to the transport van, coffee clutched in her hand like a lifeline. she didn't realize she was crying until she blinked and tears landed on the lid. she wiped them fast. too fast.

ella appears beside her, keys in hand. "need a ride?"

theadora looks up, relief flashing in her eyes. "that'd be great."

⸻

The ride back to the hotel was quiet. snow had started falling again, slow and silent. ella keeps the heater on high and lets the radio play softly in the background—mazzy star, or something like it. mellow, warm, a balm for thea's frayed nerves.

"you were incredible today," ella says, glancing at her at a red light.

theadora doesn't answer right away. just sits in the silence until the let turns green when she finally speaks, "i'm worried i'll never be good enough for this kind of role."

ella doesn't hesitate. "that's how you know you are."

the rest of ride is silent. at the hotel, theadora thanks the older girl for the lift and disappears inside. she wasn't expecting to return — her scenes were all shot in one week — so she didn't see a point in developing any real friendships with this cast. how wrong she was.