Ki$$ & $ell

KI$$ & $ELL: Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

I had to practically force myself to walk over to the door and push it open. Last night’s dream was still fresh in my mind and I couldn’t help but worry it was a warning of what was to come. Still, it was too late to back out now. Even if I wanted to. Even if everything in me was screaming to head back the way I’d come and convince my mom to take me home.

            Nope, this was happening.

As I inched my way into the room, I could hear two people talking from a spot I couldn’t see. Walls were built up around what I assumed was the set, blocking my view. I looked around quickly and spotted an opening and tip-toed over to it. Peeking around the corner, I caught a glimpse of a pretty, young brunette, and a guy about my grandpa’s age sitting on stools behind a desk. As they spoke, a dozen other people moved around the room, fiddling with cords, aiming cameras, whispering into headsets, and otherwise taking care of all the things that had to do with taping the show.

“Here’s a new twist on the old kissing booth fundraiser, folks. When we come back from break, we’ll be talking to one local teen who’s really putting her money where her mouth is,” the woman read off the teleprompter near the camera.

She and the old guy looked at each other and smiled before the lights dimmed in the studio and someone yelled, “We’re at commercial!”

I started to have a major déjà vu moment as a guy with choppy hair and highlights made his way onto the set and began to touch up the anchors’ makeup (Yes, even the old guy wore makeup. And if it was supposed to help hide the wrinkles, it wasn’t doing its job.), while an older woman fussed over their hair.

“Who are you?” a male voice demanded from behind me.

I turned around, startled to see a slightly balding man in glasses, staring at me with his hands firmly planted on his hips.

“Arielle?” I said, blinking at him. Then, realizing that my name probably meant nothing to him, I added, “Um, I’m supposed to be interviewed next?”

“Ahhhhh,” he answered, a smirk creeping onto his face. “You’re the Kissing Queen.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that…” I started.

“A kid makes out for money and it’s called a fundraiser, but you try to do that as an adult and suddenly you’re jailbait,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Come with me.”

            I was too shocked by this to actually say anything, so I just scurried behind him as he soared across the room and onto the stage where the anchors were finishing with their touchups. Baldy pointed to the only empty chair and commanded me to “sit” the way someone would scold a dog. I did what I was told, because frankly, I was too nervous to worry about some middle-aged d-bag on a power trip. So, I sat there silently until the anchors noticed that they were no longer alone.

“Well, hello there, Sweetheart!” the male anchor greeted me brightly. “I’ll take one box of the Thin Mints and one of the Samoa’s. My wife’s thrown out all the cookies at home—she says that I’ve gained a few pounds—but I have a mini-fridge in my dressing room that I can hide them in.”

I stared at him blankly for a few seconds, before realizing that he thought that I was a Girl Scout. In what world could anyone mistake me for one of those sweet, little ankle biters? I felt myself start to sweat with embarrassment. When he started fishing through his pockets for what I imagined was the money to pay for the cookies I wasn’t selling, I finally spoke up.

            “Um, I’m not selling cookies,” I said, in a much quieter voice than I’d intended. Suddenly shy, I looked around to see if anyone else was listening to the exchange we were having.