Chapter Eighteen

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Near to You

18

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I’m staring at the mess I made. As you turn you take your heart away.

The Mess I Made - Parachute

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            Before I could respond, Jules rushed up to me, grabbing me by my arm.

            “Get ready,” she muttered in my ear before releasing me onto the carpet. “It’s about to explode.”

            What she didn’t know was that my world had already exploded. I glanced back over my shoulder. He was shocked, but mostly confused. He didn’t know what was going on and he was desperately looking to me for the answer.

            He was about to get it.

            As soon as my foot touched the carpet people began to scream, and my eyes were blinded by what seemed like a million flashes. I should have brought sunglasses. I grimaced, certain that these photographs would turn out horribly.

            “Who are you?”

            “Aren’t you that girl from the photograph?”

            “What is your relationship with Zayn Malik?”

            Questions were shot from every direction and I was terrified. What was I supposed to say? Who was I supposed to answer? I looked to Jules for support and she merely gestured for me to turn around. I took a deep breath before facing the cameras once more.

            I tried to keep my face as open and as pleasant as possible so they would get at least one good photograph out of the entire experience, however impossible it might be. By this time the woman who had been conducting the interview with Zayn a few minutes before had been clued in as to who I was and waited for me a few feet away, Zayn still standing near enough to hear our conversation.

            “What a big entrance,” she remarked, the smile she had never leaving her face.

            “I know,” I replied bashfully. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so bright, or so loud.”

            “So tell those watching who you are for me,” she suggested.  “They are probably very confused about all the fuss.”

            “My name is Michelle Lewis,” My hands began to shake. “But a lot of people know me by my penname M. K. Lewis.”

            It took a few moments, but after the news spread, the journalists on the outskirts of the carpet began to shout different questions.

            “Why was this so secretive?”

            “Are there any more books in the process of being published?”

            “How can we be certain you’re the real MK?”

            The final one shocked me. Somehow I had always expected that they would just accept the information with open arms, not try to discredit me.

            “But you may be familiar to a few others,” she said after a few cursory questions about new books and my anticipation to see the film. “You were recently linked to one of the five members of the hottest boy band at the moment.”

            “Um.”

            My eyes widened. I knew Zayn had been standing behind me the entire time, and it had taken what little decorum I had not to turn around and face him, to explain to him why all of this was happening. I should have told him before today, but I thought that at least that I would have a little more time.

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