I peer over at a pile of magazines. Normally I love to read them to see if I'm in there, but today I'm overwhelmed by fear that the photo was released. Oh I can't help myself, I'm just so interesting, I must be in there. I scan through the title pages until I see one that has little white writing on the side saying “5 Astounding Facts about Aaliyah”.
OMG OMG OMG! Tell All Magazine wrote about me! They have so many subscribers! I scan through the table of contents then flip to page 89 where the title is written in curly pink letters.
- She's Irish. Yes, the accent in the back of her voice is from Ireland.
- Her hair is naturally ginger. To go along with that Irish background, she looks Celtic af.
- She has no family left. Sad, isn't it?
- She's on the up and coming show Utopia Dystopia
- She's incredibly conceited. Aaliyah Greene cares about no one but herself.
I drop the magazine onto the floor. How could they say that about me? Conceited?
“Ms. Greene, is everything alright?” I peer up and that woman, who calls herself Ursula, is standing before me. Ursula, what kind of name is that? Though I shouldn't be one to judge, why doesn't she just change it? I mean no offense to her or anyone else with that name, but it's really not my type. Nor is she.
“Get. Me. Kamala!” I scream on her name.
“Uh- right away Ms. Greene.” Ursula rushes off and out of the room. I doubt she's coming back for a while.
“Oh great, Miss Conceded is throwing another diva tantrum.” I hear a familiar voice say in a hushed tone. Am I really conceited? No, I can't be, conceded is a flaw of which I have none.
“Aaliyah, what's wrong?” Phew, it's Kamala. Finally someone with some decency is around here.
“Look at this!” I throw the magazine page in her face while pointing to number three. “Can you believe they said that about me? We have to do something about this. What do you think we should do, you seem competent, what should we do, huh?”
“Well- uh- maybe, since they think you're all about yourself, you should try doing something nice for someone.” Her tone stated that sentence as a question, but that's a great idea. Wait- I should tell her that.
“That's a great idea! Ooh and I know just what I could do. You see Aaron over there,” I point, “he's got the screen time, but he needs the look and attitude. I'm going to turn him into a star!” I grin.
“Erm, I don't know if changing someone is such a great idea.” I shew off the idea until she turns to me and says “What if he becomes bigger than you? How will you deal?” The thought hadn't occurred to me, but suddenly I'm filled with anxiety. I already had ideas as to how I'd help him and how that'd help me.
I must remain confident. “Nonsense, he won't become bigger than a star like me, and if he does, I'll burn him.” I skip along towards Aaron. I can see in my peripheral Kamala making a halfhearted attempt to stop me, but as she gets up, Jack calls her over.
“Hey Airy!” I put on my cheeriest smile and bat my fake eyelashes at him.
“Wow, hey Aaliyah, no one's ever called me that before. Maybe that could be our thing? What can I get for you? Am I in your way?” Aaron seems nervous. Obviously, it's jitters from getting one-on-one time with a star like me.
“No, Silly!” I slap his arm playfully. “I'm her to talk to you.”
“Oh? What do you need?” His expression is light, but I can tell he wants this conversation to be over with so he can return to his coffee. His reluctance might be a problem, but nothing I can't fix with time.
“So. I heard you're new to the acting game, you used to be a... softball coach?” Shoot, I didn't think this one through. I know nothing about him.
“Teacher.” He scowls.
“Right, right. Same/dif. So anyway, new, nonetheless. And I was thinking, since I'm practically a veteran, I could teach you about the glamorous world of acting. I could give you a makeover, and teach you how to talk like a star, and how to deal with the paparazzi. Oh, and we'll need to give you a winning smile. Some whitening strips should help with that.” As I speak, I become more and more excited about this project.
Apparently though, Mr. Too-Cool-for-School doesn't feel the same excitement. “No, thanks. I'm good.” He smiles at me and starts away. 'No, thanks' he says, 'I'm good' he says? I don't think so.
I rush after him and tug on his arm to spin him around. “But you have to let me help you. You just have to!” He sighs and nods. This is going to be fun.