A few weeks later, whilst the boys are filming the third episode of season twelve, they bring me along with them, so I can see the set and get to know my way around.

I familiarize myself with the area pretty quickly. I have the honor of eating lunch with Richard Speight and Rob Benedict, and I must say, they are exactly how I thought they would be: like two small children trapped inside the bodies of grown men.

They joke and laugh at each other, and being around them lifts my spirits greatly. I even find myself laughing at some of their witty remarks and childlike behavior.

I watch from the sidelines in amazement as the actors make the quick transition from themselves to their characters on camera. As I observe them, I realize that maybe me auditioning for this probably was not the best idea.

I mean, these guys are proffesionals; they have been doing this forever. Me, I have never done anything like this. Well, in the fifth grade, I starred in a play but I suppose that is different than this.

In some weak attempt to avoid these negative thoughts, I leave my position as a viewer from the sideline and take another independent tour around the set. I pass by all the Impalas, which I saw earlier in The French Mistake, and then I walk by the trailers.

Most of the things I have seen today are not unfamiliar; I have seen them in special features and The French Mistake. Like now, I am passing by Jensen's trailer, and I wonder if the inside looks like it does in that episode.

I move on and stop in front of Jared's trailer, taking notice of how his looks remarkably similar to Jensen's, at least on the outside. He probably would not mind if I was in there, and even so, he probably won't find out anyways.

Glancing around to find zero people in sight, I step into Jared's trailer, closing the door behind me. He will be working on that scene for a while, so I doubt if he'll come back in here anytime soon.

I glance around, awe-stricken by the quality of everything in here. The leather couch that lines one wall, the shiny black fridge, the table that seems to be made out of glass.

Making sure not to touch anything, I very stealthily and quietly step further inside to look for a bathroom. To my expectations, of course there is one. I step inside and shut the door quietly behind me, just in case, and I cannot really say that I am surprised to see how awesome even the bathroom is.

As I wash my hands and splash water on my face, I awe at the fact that the water just comes right out of the faucet when I put my hands under it. I have used these kind in a store once or twice, but it's been a while.

I freeze and pull away from the sink as I hear the door open, the front door of the trailer. I tiptoe around in the bathroom— which seems smaller now— and attempt to look for a hiding place. Panic rushed through me as I hear footsteps again, closer this time.

Shit, shit, shit.

I eventually cram myself into one of the tall cabinets, my breathing rushed and shaky. If I don't expose myself, my heavy breathing will.

Shifting a tad bit in my position, I hold my breath and the door swings open. The person seems to glance around for a moment, and when satisfied, leaves again, closing the door once again. I let out a sigh of relief and move my legs, trying to remove the shooting pains that started in them when I shoved myself in here.

In the process of trying to get out, I knock many things off of the shelf beside me and they clutter loudly to the floor. I wince, heart rate picking back up again when the door swings open hurriedly.

"I'm sorry," I apologize to Jared, for coming into his trailer and knocking things over that do not belong to me. I had no right to touch any of this.

But he just laughs. He does not seem at all fazed by it, not the least bit. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, but he just shakes his head a little.

"It's fine," he finally says. "What are you doing in here?" Huh, that's weird. I expected him to be upset that I was in here, but he just seems curious as to why I ventured about his trailer.

"I don't know," I reply honestly, shrugging and looking at the ground. I mentally curse myself as I feel the heat rise up to my ears and cheeks. No matter how hard I try, I cannot come up with a valid excuse at to why I am in here.

"Well, come on out here," Jared says. "I'll make you a sandwich or something." He turns, heading for the fridge, and I hesitantly follow him. I normally would reject this, but I do not want to arouse any suspicions. "So, how do you like it so far?" He asks, referring to the set and the actors.

"It's awesome," I reply, just the right tint of enthusiasm etched into my tone to make it sound even more real. I mean, it is awesome, but somehow I cannot figure out how to tell anyone honestly. Maybe I am just too used to lying by now.

Jared slides the sandwich over to me from across the table as he gives me a quizzical look. "Really? You've been acting kind of weird today. And then you come in my trailer while we're filming?" I look down at my sandwich as I try to muster up a good lie. "I mean, I would think if you liked it, you would be out there watching us more."

Hmm. And they say actors aren't like the characters they play. I'm pretty sure Jared is as smart as Sam, maybe even smarter.

"Charlie?" I look up at him as I realize I zoned out for a moment. "Are you okay?" I shrug, suddenly wondering just how bad it would be to tell him the truth. Not the whole truth, of course, just feed him bits and pieces.

It can't possibly be that bad.

"Maybe I shouldn't do this," I confess, taking another bite of the sandwich and behaving as though everything is normal. Jared furrows his eyebrows. "I mean, I have zero experience, and you guys are practically proffesionals." I pause. "Plus, my character would just end up dying. Everyone on this show dies."

Jared shrugs, raises his eyebrows, and nods in agreement. "But still, it could be really fun," he remarks, trying to swing me his way.

"Yeah, if I don't screw it up." There must have been more to show than just my tone of voice, because Jared frowns as if he sees what is going on. I sure hope he doesn't, though.

"It'll be fine," he argues. "We can help you."

And for a moment, I'm not sure if he's talking about the show, or my situation.

No, he can't be talking about my situation, because if he knew about that, he would have approached me about it right after he found out. That's the type of person he is. A good, kind soul.