"Ugggghhhh..." Today is going to be the absolute longest day. The paparazzi have been talking loudly outside and tapping on my windows since eleven o'clock last night. The security guards trying to contain and quiet them aren't doing a very good job.
"Mr. Easter, are you awake? Mr. Easter! Your birthday party is in three hours and there are reps from Seventeen, People, and US Weekly here for interviews on your eighteenth birthday!" I swear that my personal assistant, Jaymie Carson can talk faster than anyone else I know, which is surprising to most people, because I know lots of magazine reporters that know every second equals money. Sometimes I can't even understand what they're saying on the slow-motion speed of the sentence. Jaymie can rapid-fire words at anyone and still retain so much authority in her voice, she can get anyone to do anything she wants. So, of course, this means that I have to get out of bed.
In twenty minutes.
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After breakfast, fashion selections with my stylist, hair, and makeup, I am absolutely exhausted. I can barely stand upright, let alone go to a full-out Beverly Hills birthday party. I can't even think straight, so I don't even realize that Jaymie brought in my girlfriend Serephina until she ruffles my hair (carefully, of course, as not to upset the hair and makeup team) and sits on my lap. She's wearing a tight purple top with ruffles that accentuate what us teenage guys like to look at, and let me tell you... her's look good. She'll be the life of the party with her $1200 Dolce and Gabbana jeans. I know the price because I was the one who bought them for her as a birthday present. Am I not the best boyfriend Sere could have found?
"Why aren't you downstairs, baby? The guests are starting to arrive and you have been MIA the whole time! I've been talking to reporters about us, and you won't even come help? You're a celeb and you need to act like one! How about this: you and me, dinner, La Nourriture after the party at, let's say, seven?" La Nourriture? That's one of the most expensive restaurants in Los Angeles, not to mention that it's a forty minute drive. Getting there on time would be number one on my list, but then what about appearances? "For your birthday. Everything on me." Wait... she got a job? "Well, on Daddy's credit card." Oh, that makes perfect sense.
"I don't know, Sere. You were talking about all that publicity and everything, and I don't want them following us to anything special."
"Please? For me?" Why does she have to be so sexy?
"Fine, but if they follow us it's your fault." And with a knowing and triumphant smile, she leaves me alone in my dressing room, wondering how she's going to pull this off.
