New York is made up of four boroughs and one island. Manhattan is a delta — or more accurately, an island. Beside it stretches Long Island, which means exactly what it sounds like: a very long island. The portion of Long Island closest to Manhattan has been carved into New York City proper, home to Spider-Man's home borough, Queens, and Brooklyn, where the basketball team plays.
In other words, a large chunk of Long Island is officially "New York." The remaining stretch, farther from Manhattan, is still just called Long Island. In reality, it's all one continuous landmass.
So Natalie's school wasn't far from Maya at all — she was hardly some small-town girl. Long Island was tycoon territory, wall-to-wall private estates, the kind of landscape that looked like an oil painting of the countryside. Moguls commuted into the city by day and retreated to their pastoral paradise by night. A pretty sweet arrangement.
Natalie's family was clearly very well off.
Natalie looked at Maya curiously. "Did you audition?"
"I did. Got passed over immediately. Now I'm just waiting around." Maya shrugged. "Nat — did you come alone?"
"No, my mom's waiting downstairs. I wanted to make an impression on the director — show him I'm independent, strong-willed. That's who Mathilda is."
Now that Maya was no longer a competitor, Natalie spoke freely.
Maya, arms crossed in her student-council-president way, gave a slow nod. "Fair enough. Though whether the director actually picks up on that is another matter."
Natalie spread her hands. "All I can do is try. Honestly, I didn't even want to come today. I never planned on becoming an actress."
Maya gave her a puzzled look — wasn't that a bit contradictory?
Natalie caught the expression and explained, "That's just how I am, Maya. If I'm going to do something, I do it to win. Sure, I didn't plan to audition for Léon — but since I'm here, I'm going to land this role."
Maya watched the fierce conviction on the younger girl's face and felt a quiet admiration stir in her chest. People who succeed always have their reasons. That personality of Natalie Portman's — that refusal to do anything halfway — was exactly the kind of quality winners were born with. Whatever controversies lay ahead in her future, the woman would live her own life on her own terms, and live it well.
The two of them kept talking, swapping details about themselves. Maya had been born in January 1981 — twelve and a half now, about to finish the school year. Natalie was born in June 1981, only two months older, but still in elementary school.
Real elementary school, not the combined elementary-middle hybrid that Maya attended.
On that subject, Natalie heaped praise on Maya's legendary reputation, rattling off her achievements one after another. Maya sat there, quietly glowing, the corners of her mouth drifting upward despite herself. Her impression of this girl rose steadily. She had already made up her mind: she was worth keeping around.
They were deep in conversation when the middle-aged Black woman called Natalie's name. Maya reached over and patted her new friend's arm, murmuring, "Don't be nervous—just relax."
Natalie smiled back with soft, bright eyes, gave a polite little nod, and pushed open the audition room door alone.
Maya figured Natalie would be fine. A girl this earnest and endearing — who knew? Maybe the world had shifted enough that even she might get cut. Just in case, Maya stretched her perception into the room, half-worried the director might reduce her new friend to tears.
The moment she tuned in, she froze.
The quiet, sweet-faced girl who had just walked through that door was gone. In her place stood someone else entirely. Natalie's expression had darkened with the weight of hard years. Her large eyes — clear and sharp — held a layered complexity that no eleven-year-old should have known how to wear. The careful Upper East Side composure evaporated; what replaced it was rough, wild, entirely unselfconscious.
"Now, we'll have Mr. Reno run a scene with you," Luc Besson called out, cutting off the casting director before she could speak.
Maya blinked. The scene he'd selected was the same one she'd been given.
Reno turned to pour a glass of milk. Natalie's gaze tracked his back — childlike wonder threaded through with something unmistakably tender. Her voice was clear and slightly coaxing: "Léon, pour one for me too. I want to drink with you."
Reno turned, glass in hand, to find little Mathilda draped across the sofa, head tilted up, lips curved in a small smile. He crossed to her and handed over the glass, then went to his chair by the window — the one beneath Silvery Queen—the potted plant— and sat in the shadow. The afternoon light poured through the glass, spilling across the plant's broad green leaves, then across Mathilda on the sofa with her milk. Léon, half in shadow, might have been smiling—
"Maya. Maya."
Who's calling me? Who am I? Where am I, and what am I doing? What happened to Mathilda and Léon?
Jennifer found Maya sitting on the little bench in the hallway, blank-faced, staring at nothing. She called her name three times and got nothing. Finally, she walked over and smacked the back of Maya's head with a flat thwack, snapping her back to reality.
That — that scene just pulled me in completely.
Good lord. Maya stared. I was Mathilda. I forgot I was myself. And she's what, sixth grade? She has exactly as much performing experience as I do — folk dances and school recitals. How is the gap this enormous?
Deep inside Maya's mind, a tiny twin-tailed version of herself waved two small fists and screamed in outrage.
"Maya, you know you looked like a complete space cadet just now, right?" Jennifer said, cheerfully rubbing it in. "You got passed over — it happens. Don't mope about it. Take it from me, you'll get used to it."
"Jennifer — did you get cut again?"
Jennifer's expression fell instantly. "Watch your mouth, young lady. For your information, I just landed the role of the female lead's mother. Tonight we're celebrating at the French place on the corner. Now come on — the back exit is faster. Jack's waiting."
"Wait — can you go ahead and grab a table? I want to stay a few more minutes."
"For who?"
"Someone I just met. She's still in there auditioning. I just want to say goodbye when she comes out."
Jennifer gave a small shrug, scooped up baby James — who was craning his head around in all directions — and headed down the other stairwell.
Three minutes later, Maya was already regretting it.
She'd been inside less than five minutes herself. She'd assumed Natalie wouldn't take more than ten. Seven minutes had already passed. She'd told herself two more minutes, tops.
Her perception told a different story. Natalie was currently explaining her interpretation of Mathilda's character to the French director at length — and worse, he was listening with genuine interest, asking follow-up questions.
Maya exhaled slowly. Fine. She'd already waited this long. Leaving now would just mean wasting what she'd already given.
She sat back down on the bench.