Paper Airplane

10

                We were ten minutes late, and Brady threw a small fit about it.  But eventually Lucy’s comments to him lightened him up, and we were in the SUV on the way to the diner where we were supposed to have breakfast. 

                It was one of those places celebrities are often spotted at, clearly.  I’d have loved it if we would have went to a really inconspicuous, generic place like we did for dinner that first night.  But this was a bit of a publicity stunt; apparently Brady’s been out of touch too much and needed to be seen out and about. 

                The food wasn’t all that great, truthfully.  My omelet was watery and flavorless, and my hashbrown had so much seasoning salt on it that the cuts on my bottom lip stung every time I tried biting it.  When we left, I was grateful until I remembered that we were attending a CD signing next. 

                “So what am I supposed to do?” I asked, sighing, as Lucy and I followed my brother and a couple security guards through what felt like a maze of doors, hallways, and curtains.  I wasn’t sure where we were – some music store in the middle of the city that seemed to be larger than the White House. 

                “You are going to stand with me at the end of the table,” Lucy said, linking her arm with mine.  “Believe it or not, some people are going to be here to see you, too.”

                I didn’t respond, leaving my mind to ponder that one as we continued on.  When we finally reached what must be the front of the store, we were greeted with what appeared to be thousands of teenagers – boys and girls alike – screaming their heads off, yanking at their hair, waving, and banging on the front windows.  My eyes widened instantly while Lucy pulled me along after her.

                Crazy.  It was the only word that came to mind every time I looked back towards the windows.  Brady’s fans are undoubtedly crazy.

                My brother was being the idolized celebrity he is and returning as many waves and smiles as he could.  He took his seat behind the long table and then looked in our direction.  His brows rose expectantly, wondering just like I was why Lucy had stopped walking.  I peeked over at her to find that she was grinning, her eyes totally focused on something.  When I looked in their general direction, I found out why.  Two girls had made a sign praising Lucy’s handiwork on my brother, and they were holding it pressed against the glass, waving our way.  After a moment, Lucy returned the wave and then flashed a thumbs up.  I smiled.

                We took our seats at the end of the table, leaving plenty of space around Brady for the inevitable swarms of fans he’d be attracting.  Black sharpies were laid out on the table in front of us, and I picked mine up to fidget with.  I needed something to distract me.

                My thoughts were all over the place.  Not only was I entirely intrigued with this experience, but I was also uncomfortable and longed for nothing other than my room back at Brady’s place.  Not only was my stomach becoming unsettled – which could be from nerves or possibly the undercooked omelet I’d scarfed down earlier – but I also felt like I desperately needed fresh air.  And not only was I distracted with all these things, but I also couldn’t stop thinking about the reasons people could be here to see me.  And I wasn’t very fond of the list I came up with.

                I’m pretty much famous for my bad hair days.  I’ve run into a glass door.  I’ve knocked over children.  I am Brady McAllister’s talentless little sister.  I have pink hair.  I cause a public disturbance everywhere I go.  And the newest: I’m apparently secretly dating Harry Styles.