Undercover | H.S.

4.

I throw my phone in my bag and dig through my closet for an outfit for work. I've been working at a boutique in town called POPPI for a little over a year now. I finally decide on a pair of white skinny jeans with an unfinished hem and an off the shoulder yellow top. The colors bring out my tan and I'm pleased with the look when I check the mirror. I sit at my vanity and begin my makeup routine.

I'm no Jeffery Star or Michelle Phan but I'm pretty damn good at makeup when I put forth the effort. Twenty minutes later my cheeks are rosy, my eyes are lined, my lashes are lengthened and my complexion is flawless. I smack my lips together and blot my lipstick before rising from the bench seat.
I grab my car keys, phone, and bag before heading out to my car. The sun gleams off the gold paint of my old suv as I hop in and crank it up. Traffic is surprisingly not terrible on the drive over and I make it to the store in fifteen minutes. I throw my car in park and head in to start my shift.

So far, so good. Just an ordinary day. The picture couldn't possibly have hit the tabloids yet. The only people who have seen it are the die hard fans who see everything. People like me.

I say hi to my coworker Abby and set to work fixing a display and waiting for customers to come in. It's a Thursday so I don't expect it to be a mad rush day.

The hours pass slowly before it happens. A lady in her mid to late thirties walks in followed closely behind by her daughter who can't be more than 11 or 12. At first everything seems fine. I offer to put her selections in a dressing room as she chooses pieces and her daughters eyes stay glued to her phone. It's only when the woman heads in to the dressing room and the girl looks around for her, that she spots me. She looks puzzled at first as she tries to place me. She types something on her phone screen and then looks from it to me and back again. The realization hits her and I don't know what I am expecting to happen but we just stare at each other. Finally, her mother steps from the dressing room and asks my opinion on the white flare legged jeans she's trying on. As I assist the blonde woman I am semi-aware that her daughter is taking photos of me. I try to keep my breathing steady and my voice calm.

It's nothing. Everything will be fine. What's the worst that could happen? Some people find out where I work?

I try to shove to the back of my mind my true thoughts. That I know this fandom. I know what we are capable of. Though now I find myself ostracized from something I've always felt so a part of. When it comes to the band there are two sides: "the boys," literally the members of the band, their family and friends, and "the fans." I always knew where I stood. But now I find myself somewhere in between. I want to say something to the girl, to let her know I knew what she did. That I know what she plans to do with it. To ask what she thought when she saw the pictures, like somehow an outsiders understanding of what happened might help me understand it myself.

I stay silent though. I'm only thankful that she doesn't know my name.

That thought is ruined when Abby screams from the back, "Ellie, can you come help me for a second?"

I catch the smirk on the young girl's face as she goes back to typing on her phone. I finish her mother's purchase before thanking them for coming in and heading to the back to help Abby after they disappear through the door.

•

It's only been an hour when I notice it. It's subtle at first, just a few more customers through the door. I try to play it off to myself as it's later in the day and kids are bored and coming downtown to shop. Abby takes notice too "Man, these kids are a little young to be shopping here aren't they? They all look like they're still in children's sizes."

She's right. The oldest among them only look about 16. I'm sure their mom's or siblings that brought them here are around, but these girls have ditched their tag alongs and are instead in my store, stalking me. Most of them are at least attempting to be subtle but some are just flat out staring and taking pictures. Some give me looks as in "why was he with you?" Or "what do you know?"