Loving a Celebrity

Chapter 11

The first time I was stormed by paparazzi was when I had just turned fifteen. At the premiere of blockbuster Kiss Ass (the protagonist being yours truly), I was mobbed while stepping out of my fifteen-foot-long hot pink limousine. Some reporter from the newspapers tried to shove a cheapskate camera in front of my face. I heard that an ambulance arrived two minutes later. Talk about over-reacting; I merely broke his nose.

At this point in time, with about fifty cars surrounding my gold-plated Ferrari, I figured I had two options. Option one, I let them take photographs and have them splashed all over the tabloids the next day. Option two, demonstrate some of my suave karate moves. Getting sued would be inconsequential - lowering someone's gamete count would be considered self-defence, as always said by my trusty old lawyer. So, I chose the latter option.

"Get back into your cheap cars, you dweebs," I threatened, standing on my patent leather seat, "before your chances of procreating get severely lowered."

Unfortunately, no one heeded my astute warning. The cars slowly fanned out like some villains from a James Bond movie, practically surrounding my poor Ferrari. Except that it wasn't likely I was going to pull a dramatic escape from the clutches of these douches.

"What's going on?" AG warbled, "I can't see anything! Are the Martians finally invading earth? Oh noooo, I didn't apologise to Collie for making him fetch the stick an extra time yesterday, don't take me, I'm innocent! Please!"

I rolled my eyes, nearly losing my balance on my 5-inch high heels and falling flat on my nose.

"Who's Collie? Your boyfriend?" Ryan asked stupidly, looking like he swallowed a peppermint. Ryan hates peppermints for no apparent reason except that it 'tastes bad'. Weirdo.

"No, my dear Sherlock, Collie is obviously a dog," I growled. What did I do to anyone to deserve this fate of being suffocated by stupidity? All I did was to have more swag than anyone else in the world.

"Oh," he frowned, like he was trying to calculate the exact number of hours Kim Kardashian had been married for. Even that wasn't hard, the answer was 1728, give and take a few hours. And why was my brain coming out with all these weird facts at such a critical moment?

"Shut up guys, we need to have a plan," I wailed, slapping my forehead. If the paparazzi made us answer a single question, they would warp the answer into something completely different.

The cars stopped simultaneously, doors opened ever so menacingly as polished shoes appeared. Then-

"MS. LEXINGTON, ARE YOU CHEATING ON MR. MARTIN?"

"RYAN, HOW ARE YOU AND CHARNA GETTING ALONG?"

"HUGE NEWS, BOB."

"SO THE RUMOURS ARE CONFIRMED THEN?"

Cameras flashed. My eyes were blinded, but I maintained that smile. A cacophony of voices sounded out, also causing me to become deaf. Come on, use your brilliant mind to think out of a brilliant plan, Charna.

I took in a deep breath, and screamed.

"Get out of my way you sniveling nincompoops! One scratch on my precious car and I'll sue you till you're broke and crawling on the streets!" I punctuated that extremely accurate statement with a death glare. The cars shrank back, until I could actually see a strip road in front of my car.

Victory.

I jumped down from my seat, gripped the steering wheel and stepped on the accelerator - hard. My baby roared to life and we zoomed through the narrow gap between two cars like a red carpet.

"Adios, losers!" I yelled, blowing kisses to the paparazzi before breaking out into laughter like a hysterical maniac. I could distinctly make out the angry chattering of the crowd and the slamming of the car doors. Talk about a James Bond moment.

-

"So where are we heading?" Ryan screamed, as the streets gradually became a blur of lights.

"No idea!" I yelled back, checking my rear-view mirror. They were gaining on us. I couldn't believe it; the people at Ferrari told me they had given me the best engine capacity available. Frankly, I had no idea what that meant, but I guessed it meant that my car could drive the fastest. At least, it could drive up to 400 kilometres an hour.

"Turn to your right!" AG screeched from the back, her fingernails digging into my shoulder.

"How would you know?" I screamed in frustration, swiping off her hand.

"Watch it, I'm not wearing a seat-belt! And I live around here, duh!" She yelped, her fingernails almost poking my shoulder bone out.

I gritted my teeth and turned right, entering a street with ramshackle houses on either side.

"Left! Now right! Right again! I SAID RIGHT! Left, left, aaand, we're here," she grinned like a Cheshire cat, her arms akimbo, "see, we lost them I'm so awesome, right?"

I took in the tiny two-storey... quarters that could hardly fit my bathroom. The roof was in severe need of repairing, with half of it having fallen off. The lawn was hardly in better shape. Weeds sprung from the ground freely, shielding half the house from prying eyes. I think the Addams family's house had seen happier days.

"You... live here?" Ryan asked haltingly, stealing a glance at me.

I shrugged. Well, Halloween sure came early.

"Umm, yeah," she said a bit sheepishly, scratching her head.

I watched as white dried scalp fluttered onto my bumper. Gross.

"Okay, let's have a sleepover! Come on in!" She skipped to the pavement, beckoning us to follow her.

"Dude, I should have brought my knives along, just in case," I muttered, walking up the pavement.

"Nah, I think it's fine. She doesn't seem very dangerous," Ryan whispered back, flicking my nose. I scrunched it up.

"If there's a report on our murder a few days later, I'm going to say 'I told you so' in hell. And don't flick my nose," I held my fist in front of his face.

"Okay sister, whatever you say! Now come on in, this sleepover is going to be so much fun!" He grinned, shoving me to the side, "Race you there!"

"Dork," I yelled taking off my high heels to run after him.

I know it's kind of stupid, but as I wheezed down the path, the only thing on my mind was: I hope that jerk is okay.