IMAGINES: Celebrity Encounters Starring You (61 page)

Ugh, wow, your neck hurts. Little by little, you lift your head up, feeling the ache and hearing the cracks your back makes as you try to sit up, only to feel your shoulder give a sharp jolt of pain. You let out a slow moan and lift your hand up to rub the ache away, only to see you’re still tightly clutching your cell phone.

Blinking, you finally look around you and a large fist of dread punches you right in the gut as memories of what happened come flooding in.

You were driving . . . You were texting . . . You were driving
and
texting when suddenly the car in front of you stopped, making you crash into . . . Oh,
shit.

Quickly, you unbuckle your seat belt and throw the door open, each second feeling painfully slow as you head toward the car you hit. Are they okay? Are there kids inside? What have you done? If only you didn’t look down right at that second . . .

You feel as if something is squeezing your throat—you can barely breathe, you can barely see, and your heart is hammering faster than you thought possible. All background noise fades away as you pound on the other car’s window and scream with all your might. “Hello! Are you okay in there—”

“Are
you
okay?” you hear a smooth voice ask from behind you.

You whirl around to see a very pretty female about five and a half feet tall, long brown hair, dressed up in such an interesting sort of style, and you start to realize . . .

“Demi Lovato?” you say.

“Indeed,” Demi says.

“Did I just crash into
you
?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Indeed,” she repeats, shakily lifting one hand up to grasp yours while her other hand clutches a phone. You stare at the hand she’s offering and notice the small tattooed words that peek from her wrist:
STAY STRONG
.

Right. Stay strong. How can you possibly stay strong when you just freakin’ crashed into a car because you were doing something so idiotic and irresponsible? Ugh, this all feels so surreal.

Speaking into her phone, she says, “Yeah, Selena, I’m all right. Give me a minute.” Then she pulls away and frowns up at you. “Are
you
okay?”

“I . . . I . . .” You can barely get the words out. What, are
you
okay? Who cares when you just crashed into some celebrity’s car! Not just anybody’s, but the musician’s . . . the singer who was going to your workplace for an interview!

Oh, you are
screwed.
“Miss Lovato, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” But you’re interrupted by an EMT yelling at you to sit down, saying something about injuries . . .

Wait—EMT? Injuries?
You were so caught up with what was happening to you, you didn’t realize the ambulance and police were already at the scene.

As the medic checks you over, a policeman pops out of nowhere. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Jeez, where did they all come from? Have they been here all this time?

“I don’t really know,” you mumble, feeling a whole different kind of scared. “I was just in a hurry to go to work and I thought I was still driving right at the speed limit.”

The officer just nods as he jots things down on his pad. “So you don’t really remember what else happened?”

Well, you do . . . But,
ugh
.

“I got a text from one of my coworkers,” you admit with a heavy sigh. This is nothing to be proud of. You notice the EMT glance at the officer, a knowing look flying across their faces as they lock eyes. Assholes.

Except not really, because you were the idiot who didn’t keep their eyes on the road!

“Yes, go on,” the officer says politely, looking back at you.

You look down, feeling the weight of humiliation and idiocy coming down on you. “I looked at my phone just to read and reply to the text, but I guess that’s when I hit the car.”

“All done,” the EMT announces, handing you a bag of ice. “You can place this on your forehead every few minutes to ease the swelling. You’re lucky there wasn’t any serious damage. Also, does your car airbag work?”

You don’t know. Oh, man, are they going to nail you for that too?

Suddenly you hear a commotion and someone yells, “Oh my goodness, Demi!”

You turn around and see Demi Lovato on the ground, looking paler than usual.
Oh, crap.

“Back off!” People are pulling you back as they make their way toward her. The EMT who helped you was already by her side with the others, feeling for her pulse and nodding.

“She’s still alive! But we need to get her to an ambulance!”

No! What the hell, you just spoke to her a few minutes ago!

You watch in horror as everything whirls around you. The EMTs bring this long stretcher and place her on top, then put her inside the ambulance. People left and right are trying to control the traffic jam that was already forming, what with drivers trying to take a peek of the famous Demi Lovato being lifted into an ambulance. You faintly hear the siren start up, but you still feel numb and scared.

And before you know it, they’re gone.

And you’re alone with the cop and traffic.

IT’S BEEN HOURS.
Here you are, sitting in the station house, getting judgmental looks from everyone. Your hands are marked with little crescents from your fingernails digging into your skin, and your thoughts are all over the place . . . you’re pretty much in it deep.

But here you are, hours later. You don’t know exactly how many, since everything is such a blur to you, but it’s been hours since you had an accident that cost you your job, and potentially someone else’s life. You didn’t bother calling your work; you were pretty certain Demi’s people would call for you.

You could imagine how it all went down:
“Hello? Hi, yes. Your guest Demi Lovato won’t be able to make it to the radio station because your intern crashed into her, and now she’s at the hospital, possibly dying and whatnot. Thank you so much. What’s that? No, no, we will not reschedule. Ever. And perhaps you should fire that intern.”

Damn, you’re an idiot. You groan, placing your hands on your face as you keep thinking to yourself,
I shouldn’t have done this
and
If only I hadn’t picked up the phone
.

Now what about Demi? Online it says she’s supposed to have a concert tonight, but obviously that’s not going to work out. You haven’t heard anything from her people, and you’re kind of both relieved and scared. Is she okay? Will she be okay? Is she even still alive?

Duh, of course she is . . . right?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the door opening; the same policeman who stayed with you the whole time at the scene of the accident comes walking in. He lets out a deep sigh and clears his throat. “You know the consequences for texting and driving, right?”

You nod. “Yes.” You’re bound to pay a hefty fine, but you’re not really sure what that fine increases to if it involves a famous person, one you send to the hospital.

He opens his mouth to say something else but stops when the door opens again, revealing another guy in a suit. This new stranger takes one look at you and raises an eyebrow. “Get up. They wish to see you.”

BEFORE YOU KNOW
it, you’re back in the police car and on your way to see Demi. You can feel your heart accelerating as each light passes, and you get closer and closer to the hospital. Ugh, why do they want to see you? Are they going to sue you? Oh, wow, what’s happening?

You’re pulled out of the car by the policeman and led inside the hospital. You feel like every eye inside the building is burning into the back of your skull, little whispers of those inside ready to grow into public rumors.

A tall, older doctor is in the middle of doing some paperwork and talking to a patient, but when he sees you with the officers, he immediately excuses himself and shakes your hand. “Dr. Taylor.”

“Sir,” you mumble, already feeling the weight of guilt once again.

“I believe the patient requested to see you,” he says, then moves to the side and gestures for you to go into the nearby room. He nods at the policeman and says, “Only this one. She requests that no one else be allowed to come in.”

When you don’t move for a moment, you feel a soft tug on your arm and glance at the policeman next to you, who smiles. He can obviously tell how much this is killing you and gives you a sympathetic look before nodding toward the room.

You timidly take a step inside and hear the door close behind you. Everything around you is still. Your palms are sweating, and
the silence is booming loudly in your ears. Curtains surround Demi’s bed, but you can’t get yourself to move your legs. It’s as if you’re suddenly paralyzed, unable to move or even talk.

“Is anyone there?” a smooth voice from behind the curtain asks.

You jump up slightly from the sound. “Y-yes! I’m . . . I’m here.”

You go to her and pull aside the curtain, but stop when you see the image in front of you. There’s Demi Lovato, looking
much
more pale than usual. She has a heart-rate monitor hooked up to her and a blanket covering her up to her chin.

“Hello,” she says politely.

“Hello,” you awkwardly reply. You can’t even look at her.

Seconds pass and you feel as if the walls around you are closing in, trapping you with this celebrity. What do you say? What do you do?

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. Well, that’s a good way to start.

Demi slowly sits herself up and nods.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m sorry I didn’t have both hands on the wheel, and I’m sorry I sent you here. At this time you’re supposed to be at the radio station promoting your new album and concert, but instead you’re here. I wish I had ignored my phone. It could have waited.”

She is silent for a moment, then suddenly says, “Thank you,” making you look up in surprise. She gives you a warm smile and shrugs. “That’s all I wanted to hear, actually.”

“That I’m sorry?” you ask. “Because I’ll apologize even more if—”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah. Thank you for apologizing, but I’m glad you realize your mistake about being on the phone while driving. You realize those text messages aren’t worth it when they can jeopardize you and those on the road around you. It can wait.”

Right. You’re dumbfounded right now. You honestly have no words to say.

You spot an empty chair next to her and head toward it. All this adrenaline is going to your head, and you feel like you’re about to faint.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Demi laughs, rolling her eyes and taking out what looks like a pocket-size notebook. “I’m all right. Dr. Taylor said this music tour is draining me to exhaustion and that, along with the shock of the accident, it caused my body to just shut down. Unfortunately, I have to cancel my upcoming concerts.”

You immediately look down at the floor, guilt coming back full force. “I’m sorry,” you mumble again. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

But what could you possibly do to help a celebrity?

One of the policemen comes in and eyes me suspiciously before he quietly goes to lean against the back wall. He pulls out his phone and stares into it.

“Actually . . .” Demi says, grinning at you. She flips open her notepad and grabs a pen from her bag. “Let’s find the silver lining in this for both of us.”

Was there one, though?
You don’t say anything. You only watch her jot a few things down on her notepad, and glance at the door every few seconds, wondering if the police are going to leave you here for very long.

“It can wait,” she says, immediately grabbing your attention.

“Yes, I know.” You look away, shaking your head. “I know, I’m sorry. I should have—”

“No, I mean that’s the new safety trend I’ve been working on with AT&T.” Demi interrupts you, taking her phone out and wiggling it in front of you. “We’re making ‘It Can Wait’ a thing to raise awareness in teens and adults about texting and driving.”

Oh.

“Think about it.” She sits all the way up and crosses her legs, facing you. “Like you’re browsing on Facebook and Twitter, and then out of nowhere you see ‘#ItCanWait.’ If you were a young adult, you would be curious and actually look into it, right?”

The more she speaks, the more excited she sounds. But what she’s saying does seem to be a very good idea.

She sighs, still smiling kindly at you. “I’m not going to sue you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

You’re not afraid of that. Actually, okay, yeah, you were. The look of relief might have shown on your face, because she gives you that wide smile all over again.

“But I do need you to help spread the word about this campaign,” she explains. “Think of it as your new job. You’re going to be one of the faces that caution people against doing what you did.”

“What?” you blurt out. “You’re hiring me after I hit you with my car?”

“It’s for a good cause.” She shrugs, putting her notepad and pen back into her bag. Then she stretches her legs out and lies back down, saying, “I’m lucky to be alive, you’re lucky to be alive, and there’s no sense in hating or crying over this. What we could do is learn from this mistake and just spread the word about not texting and driving, right?”

Whoa.
She is possibly the coolest celebrity you’ve ever had the fortune to meet.

“You’re still coming with me back downtown, though, kid,” the policeman suddenly says. You almost forgot he was there because of how quiet he was being.

“What?” You whirl around to face him, feeling scared all over again.

Is he joking? Did he not see the friendly interaction you were having with Miss Lovato? You are clearly on good terms.

“You still need to fill out some paperwork and figure out how you’re going to pay the fine,” he says to you before nodding at Demi. “Ma’am.”

Demi nods back and looks at you in sympathy. “I can’t save you from the law. I’m sorry. You do have to face the consequences for your actions. Hopefully the judge will take into consideration the plans I have for you.”

The cop starts leading you out of the room. “Let’s go, kid.”