Laney the artistic soul

[fiction]

Laney never tried in school and dropped out before the eleventh grade.  She worked odd jobs now and then, but mostly loafed around your parents' house trying to find herself while you worked your ass off in school, got good grades, and had no fun.  You eventually went off to business school, where you learned key phrases like "value added" and how to network convincingly with people you can't stand.  You did everything right.  Laney did everything wrong.

But this Thanksgiving, everyone is ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the brilliance of Laney's success.  They are sitting in the living room watching a movie that Laney starred in.  Or rather, they are watching a movie clip that features Laney's hands groping at someone who is freaking out and trying to get out of a blind alley.  Laney's hands star as a zombie's hands, and everyone is so impressed, they watch the six-second clip over and over.  You roll your eyes, but no one notices because everyone's looking at the TV screen.

"They had a closeup shot of my face, where I'm drooling and stuff, but they had to cut it during production to keep the length down."

"I always knew my Laney was an artistic soul!" your mother declares.  "My daughter Laney, the Hollywood actress!"

"Probably slept with someone in order to get the role," you mutter.  No one hears you.  You feel a little bad inside for thinking it, but then not that bad as you see Uncle Trevor hitting rewind to play the clip again.