[November 27] [2009]
The main office building of Preston Boutique felt as though it were moving at twice its usual pace that morning. Every floor carried its own urgency, yet all of it pointed toward a single goal. Everything had to be perfect in three days.
On the ground floor, preparations for the upcoming modeling show had taken over most of the space. Temporary runways were marked out with tape, and lighting rigs were adjusted repeatedly as technicians searched for the right balance. Assistants moved quickly through the area with tablets in hand, checking schedules.
Models walked in steady lines, turning at precise angles while coordinators observed them closely. They corrected posture, timing, and even the slightest hesitation in each step. Designers remained nearby, adjusting fabrics and refining fits so that every piece sat exactly as intended. A sleeve would be tightened, a hem adjusted, and then checked again. Nothing remained untouched for long.
Makeup artists worked with the same level of focus. Under the bright lights, they blended tones with careful precision, stepping back to evaluate their work before leaning in again to refine the smallest details.
At the center of it all was Sarah, completely in her element. She moved from one group to another without slowing. One moment, she reviewed a lineup of outfits, rearranging the order for a stronger visual impact. The next, she watched a model walk and caught a slight imbalance, correcting it with a few clear instructions.
The show carried significant weight. It was not only about the new collection, but also about the audience that would be watching. Celebrities, investors, and critics would all be present. Their reactions had the power to influence the future of the brand. Sarah understood that clearly, and she worked to ensure that when the curtain rose, everything would feel complete and perfect.
Upstairs, on the second floor, the atmosphere felt different, though the intensity remained just as strong.
The internship competition brought its own kind of pressure. 5k and two Miami tickets that cover all costs, and recognition, well, that's a big deal for new interns.
A row of interns sat outside the evaluation office, each holding onto their own mix of confidence and doubt. Some reviewed notes on their phones, while others stared ahead, trying to steady their thoughts before being called in. Every few minutes, the door opened. One intern stepped out, and another name was called.
Haley sat among them with her hands resting in her lap, her fingers loosely intertwined. She was wearing a designer suit, hair tied back properly, and she appeared calm at a glance, though a subtle tension remained in her shoulders. It had been there since she arrived and had not eased.
Her mind kept returning to the same thought, circling it again and again without settling.
This was her shot.
It wasn't just another attempt or something she could laugh off if it didn't work out. It mattered to her because this was her chance to prove that she could also do and win something in her life.
Her models were Gloria: a high-end sexy party dress, Claire: Classic office dress, and Mitch and Cam: Tux combo.
Together, they created something that felt complete in a way Haley had not expected when she first began planning. She had so many ideas to rope them into posing for the shoot, but it turns out that they were really excited when Haley pitched the idea, so she didn't need to use her plans. Though Claire was a little disappointed that she didn't get to wear that sexy party gown.
Phil booked a professional studio for the shoot, and they spent an entire day on the photoshoot.
The photos had turned out well. Better than she had hoped.
She had reviewed them more than once, studying each image closely. At times, she had caught herself lingering on certain shots, a small smile forming before she could stop it. There was a sense of pride there, unfamiliar and difficult to hold onto without questioning it.
Now, sitting among nineteen other interns who all wanted the same outcome, that confidence felt less certain.
...
//Haley's confession//
Haley sat in the lobby chair, her hands resting in her lap, though her fingers kept fidgeting like they had their own nervous energy.
"Okay… so this?" she said, gesturing vaguely as if the entire building counted as one overwhelming thing. "This is a lot."
She let out a small breath and tried to laugh, but it came out uneven.
"I thought I'd be excited. Like, 'oh my God, this is my moment, I've got this, I'm gonna walk in there and just… win.'"
She paused, then shook her head.
"Yeah, no. That's not what's happening."
Haley leaned back for a second, then forward again, unable to settle.
"My heart has been doing this weird thing all morning where it feels like I drank five coffees, but I didn't, and now I can't tell if I'm about to pass out or throw up or… both."
She took a quick breath.
"And everyone here looks so put together. Like, actually put together. They have folders and plans and confident faces, and I'm just sitting here like…"
She forced a bright, fake smile.
"'Hi, I styled my family and bribed them with emotional manipulation.'"
Her lips pressed together, then softened.
"But… the photos are good."
Her voice dropped a little.
"They're actually really good."
A small, almost surprised smile slipped through.
"Like, I look at them and I'm like… 'wait… did I do that?'"
She gave a light shrug.
"And for a second, I feel… proud."
The smile faded just a little as her eyes drifted off.
"And then I look around this hallway again and I'm like… okay, but what if it's not enough?"
Her gaze dropped to her hands.
"This isn't like school, where if I mess up, I can just… try again or joke about it or pretend I didn't care."
She shook her head slowly.
"I care. Like… a lot."
Her fingers tightened together.
"I brought my whole family into this. They showed up, dressed up, and they actually took it seriously."
Her voice softened.
"My mom… my mom took it really seriously."
She exhaled quietly.
"And if I walk in there and I don't get first place…"
Haley hesitated, searching for the right words.
"I don't know. I just keep thinking everyone's gonna look at me like…"
She stopped, then tried again.
"Like it was cute that I tried."
A brief silence followed.
"And I don't want it to be cute. I want to win."
She looked up now, more grounded, more certain.
"I want to actually be good at something. Not just… lucky, or fun, or whatever people think I am."
Another pause.
"So yeah…"
She gave a small nod.
"Super chill. Not nervous at all."
//Haley's confession End//
...
The office door clicked open, and one of the interns stepped out, clutching their folder a little too tightly. Her expression was hard to read, somewhere between relief and disappointment.
The assistant glanced at the list in hand, then looked up.
"Haley Dunphy."
For a second, everything around her went quiet.
Haley blinked once, then straightened slightly. Her fingers loosened from each other as she grabbed her bag. She stood up, smoothing down the front of her outfit without even thinking about it.
This was it.
As she took a step forward, something clicked in her mind.
A voice.
Gloria's.
...[Little flashback from this morning]...
"You walk like you already belong there," Gloria had said, standing in the living room with one hand on her hip, watching Haley pace back and forth like a nervous intern instead of a confident woman.
Haley had stopped mid-step, looking at her. "I don't belong there yet."
Gloria tilted her head and gave her that look, the one that said she was not having it.
"Then pretend, mija. Pretend until they all believe it," she said, walking over and fixing Haley's shoulders without asking. "Back straight. Chin up, but not like you are smelling something bad. Just enough so they think, 'Who is this girl? What does she know that I don't?'"
Haley had let out a nervous laugh. "What if I trip or say something stupid?"
Gloria smiled, big and bright, the kind of smile that could light up a whole room.
"Then you smile even bigger, like it was all part of the plan," she replied. "Ay, confidence is about looking so good that nobody cares when you do. You already did the hard work, Haley. And you're very beautiful. Now you just walk in there like the room was waiting for you."
She tapped Haley lightly on the forehead.
"So stop thinking so much and show them who you are."
...[Flashback End]...
[Present time]
The memory faded as Haley reached the office door.
Her grip on the handle steadied.
'Breathe. Chin up. You belong here.' She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was a simple yet modern office, and the pressure felt heavier somehow. A long table stretched across the center, with three evaluators seated behind it. Laptops open, notes ready, eyes lifting toward her the moment she entered.
Haley didn't rush. She walked in at a measured pace, letting the door close softly behind her before stopping at the designated spot.
"Hi," she said, her voice clear and steady. And there was that confident smile on her face. "I'm Haley Dunphy."
One of the evaluators nodded, gesturing toward the chair. "Have a seat, Haley."
She sat down, placing her bag beside her without fumbling. Her hands rested lightly on the table, still for once.
"So," another evaluator began, glancing at her file, "we've reviewed your submission. Tell us about your concept."
...
[Meanwhile... 17 Again Set]
While Haley was busy with the Q&A, Jack was busy with the shooting.
It was Jack's final day on the 17 Again shoot.
The scene: Frustrated that he could not save his marriage, Mike decides to once again pursue a scholarship and move on with his new life. During a basketball game, Scarlet has flashbacks to high school and finally realizes Mark's true identity – her estranged husband, Mike. She runs away, and Mike abandons the game to chase her down – just like he did in 1989 – thus also abandoning his chance at a new life as a basketball star.
"Action!" Christopher's voice cut across the basketball court, sharp enough to snap every performer into motion as the noise of sneakers, crowd extras, and bouncing ball filled the gym set.
The game resumed at full intensity, players moving in tight formation as Mike pushed forward with controlled aggression, his eyes tracking every pass while the scoreboard flickered above them under bright arena lighting. Sweat clung to foreheads, jerseys pulled and shifted with each sudden turn, and the crowd extras roared on cue, creating a pressure that pressed down on every movement happening on the polished floor.
Christopher Miller stood near the monitors with his arms loosely crossed, watching the rhythm of the scene carefully while Phil Lord leaned slightly forward, focused on the timing of emotional beats rather than just the choreography of the play.
"Sweep the focus once around the crowd, then put it on Jack. Let him carry the focus through the transition," Christopher called out through the headset as the camera tracked closer toward the center of the court.
Jack's character Mike received the ball and drove forward through a narrow gap between defenders, his expression locked into frustration that had been building throughout the sequence, every step carrying the weight of a man who had spent too long trying to fix what kept slipping through his hands.
Leslie's character Scarlet stood near the sideline, her presence slightly distant at first as she followed the game with distracted focus, her posture tense in a way that suggested something beneath the surface beginning to surface with each passing second of observation.
A quick flash of movement from earlier moments flickered through her mind, the way Mike spoke, the way he moved, the familiarity in his frustration that did not match the version of him she thought she knew, and that thought began to settle into something heavier as her gaze sharpened.
Jack drove toward the basket again, then slowed for half a beat as if the world itself had begun to feel slightly off balance around him, his attention drifting without warning toward the sidelines where Scarlet stood frozen in place.
Christopher raised a hand slightly from behind the monitors, signaling the camera operator to hold steady on the emotional shift rather than the ball movement. "Stay on Jack's face, do not cut away from him now."
Phil nodded once beside him, watching the monitor as the rhythm of the scene subtly changed, no longer driven by sport alone but by recognition forming in layers too subtle to name directly. 'It never gets old to see how good he's with his expressions... I'd love to work with him in the future.' He thought.
Scarlet's breathing shifted as memory and present alignment blurred in her perception, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took a step back from the edge of the court, the sound of the crowd fading under a growing internal realization that tightened her expression.
Mike stopped completely for a fraction of a second, the ball still in his hands as the noise of the game seemed to drift away from him, replaced by something far more personal pressing against his awareness, pulling his attention toward her with increasing force.
"Keep going, keep going," Christopher said quietly, urging the scene forward without breaking its flow, his focus locked on the unfolding shift that was about to change the direction of the sequence.
"Mike…" she realized the truth and then ran toward the exit, just like how she did in 1989.
Mike dropped the ball and ran after her, just like he did back then. "Scarlet! Hey, Scar... Wait!"
Christopher lifted his hand slightly, signaling the camera to tighten in, his voice calm but precise as he guided the moment forward. "Hold the emotion, stay with them, do not cut away until it breaks."
As soon as he entered the exit area...
"And... Cut!" Christopher called out.
The court relaxed all at once.
Crew members moved back in, resetting positions for the next take.
Christopher leaned back with a satisfied exhale. "That's it. Another single take."
Phil smiled, glancing toward the playback. "Perfect finish."
Jack stepped off the court, running a hand through his hair as he grabbed a towel and a water bottle from the sideline. His breathing stayed controlled, but the tension slowly left his shoulders as the weight of the final scene settled.
Done.
After three months of nonstop training, gym, learning basketball and then two months of nonstop filming, long work hours, night shoots, sometimes both day and night, constant adjustments, it was over.
He took a few sips of water, then had a little chat with the directors and reviewed the scene, and then he walked toward his trailer, looking forward to a few quiet minutes before saying goodbye to the cast members.
As he walked outside, he noticed a familiar girl...
Willa stood near the trailer, leaning casually against the side, like she had been waiting there for a while. When she spotted him, her expression brightened, and she gave him a small wave.
Jack raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise showing as he walked over.
"Hey," he said, stopping a few steps away. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
...
[AN: So, finally got the treatment yesterday, and it hurts a lot lol. Still on meds and painkillers. The infection was kinda bad. Anyway, I'm okay except for the pain, dry mouth and the fact that I have to live on soups for the next two weeks or so. So, I plan to take a few days off to rest.]
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