Kiss & Sell (14 page)

“That was
epic
!” McCartney exploded as I walked through the door of my changing room. “I mean, seriously. I’ve never seen you like that before! you were funny and totally chill…you couldn’t tell that you’re totally a freak over public speaking.”

I shot her a look. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t act all shocked. You know it’s true,” McCartney said, brushing off my response. “Anyways, the point is, you were great.
I’d
totally kiss you.”

My mom and I both stopped to stare at her.

“If I were a
guy
,” McCartney finished. “I’d kiss you if I were a
guy
. Sheesh, get your mind outta the gutter, perve.”

I shook my head and started to stuff my things back into my bag. As I retrieved my makeup from the counter, I replayed the interview in my head. And I had to admit, McCartney was right. Once the camera’s red light had started to blink, it was like someone turned a switch on inside me, allowing my inner rock star to shine through. My head had cleared, and before I knew it, I was smiling at Kara and the old guy like I’d been on the show a million times before.

I had to give most of the credit to Kara though. She’d been gentle with me, remaining just as nice on the air than she’d been when we were talking one on one. Any other reporter might’ve asked me inappropriate questions or treated the segment like an interrogation rather than an early morning entertainment piece. But Kara had done the opposite. She’d been
kind
.

“Yo, space Cadet,” McCartney said, snapping me back to reality.

“Huh?”

“I was asking if we were still heading over to times square…because I sort of told Phin we’d bring him back something from MTV,” she said as the three of us headed out the door.

I looked over at my mom questioningly.

“It’s fine with me, but we need to leave in about an hour,” my mom said, pulling out her phone which had just begun to ring.

McCartney gave me a high five and started to rattle off all the things she
had
to do while we were walking around 42
^nd
street, including singing with the naked Cowboy, taking a picture with a ny cop and eating a hot dog from a street vendor.

“I don’t think you’re actually supposed to eat those things,” I said, making a face. “I saw this thing on TV once and they found all sorts of gross stuff in the street meat. They even found a rat in one of the hot dog bins.”

“Why do you want to ruin my dreams?” McCartney said dramatically.

My mom flipped her phone shut and rejoined us as we walked toward the elevators.

“Was that Grandma? Did she see me on TV?” I asked her.

“Nope, and there may be a change of plans,” she answered slowly. “That was the booker at the
You Snooze, You Lose
show. They saw your segment and want you to fill in for a cancelled guest they had today.”

“You said yes, right? Please tell me you said
hell yeah
, Mrs. S,” McCartney blurted out, eyes wide.

My mom raised her eyebrows at McCartney’s choice of words, but didn’t say anything else.

“I thought you wanted to go to times square?” I asked my friend.

“I want to go where the stars are, and it sounds like that’s going to be next to you,” McCartney said. She turned her attention back to my mom. “When do we go?”

My mom hesitated before answering. “They’d need us over there within the hour if we want to do it,” she said, looking straight at me. “But we can always skip it and go to times square like we’d planned. It’s up to you, Arielle. What do
you
want to do?”

I looked from McCartney to my mom, and then down the street as I thought about my options. A few feet away, a girl exited her tiny NYC apartment and strutted down the street like her life was a walking photo shoot. She was young, confident and clearly going places. Suddenly I knew my answer.

“Let’s do it,” I said, turning back to them. “It’s not like a little spotlight ever hurt anyone, right?”

WE WERE BACK
in another waiting room—same deal, different network—and I was frantically getting dressed for my second TV appearance of the day. We hadn’t had to wait long for the car they’d sent over once Mom had called them back and told them we’d do the show. As we made our way across town though, I realized we had a problem. In a world where celebrities never wore the same outfit twice, it would be embarrassing to make two public appearances while wearing the same thing. So, before heading into the studio, we ran into the nearest store and picked out a different top to go with my jeans.

Presto change-o!

Fifteen minutes later, I was ripping the tags off my new pink shirt—I figured hot pink would stand out on TV—and slipping it over my head. Admiring my quick change in the mirror, I plopped down in an empty white chair and started to pull my hair back into a ponytail.

“I can’t believe we’re going to be on
You Snooze, You Lose
!” McCartney squealed as she clapped her hands excitedly.

“
We’re
not going to be on the show.
I’m
going to be on the show,” I said as I studied my reflection.

“Same dif,” McCartney answered.

“Not exactly. You’ll be back here where you’re safe from making a fool of yourself in front of millions of people.”

I fished my cell out of my pocket as I felt it buzzing and read an incoming text.

PHIN:
I SO hate you right now for going on SNOOZE without me! Can you ask Big Johnson how he could break up with his super-hot girlfriend? Is he insane? Good luck, A!

“McCartney?” I asked slowly, looking up from my phone.

“Yeah?”

“How does Phin know that I’m gonna be on
You Snooze, You Lose
?”

McCartney instantly looked guilty. “I don’t know.”

“McCartney…”

“Okay, okay.
Maybe
he found out because I tweeted about it while you were in H&M?” she answered sheepishly.

“McCartney!” I screeched. “You know I don’t like that whole social media stuff. Nobody needs to know what I’m doing every single moment of
every single day
. It’s like we’re creating a world of voyeuristic gossip-mongers. And trust me, no good will come of it.”

McCartney looked at me bored as I rattled on. “Okay, first off, I don’t even know what that means, but I hardly think that twitter is the root of all evil. Second…you’re in the public eye now! and that public is going to want to know what you’re doing,” she said, taking out her phone and punching on the keys furiously. “So, I started a twitter account for you.”

“
McCartney
,” I growled, sending a glare her way.

“You won’t even have to worry about it. I’ll take care of
everything
,” she insisted.

That was what worried me.

Before I could force her to delete the profile, a young guy popped his head into the room to let me know that I had five minutes until my segment. Once gone, I turned back to the mirror to make a few touch-ups to my makeup and then smoothed my hair back with my hands. In the reflection, I could see McCartney looking at me expectantly, her hands on her hips, waiting for some kind of response from me. I sighed and spun around to face her.

“Fine,” I said. “But nothing too personal and keep the updates to a minimum. There’s no reason why people need to know my every move. I’s like saying, ‘Hey stalker guy, let me make things easier on you. This is where I am. Come and get me!’ no, I prefer my weirdo’s to do their own leg work.”

“That’s not something to joke about, Arielle,” my mom piped in from her spot on the couch in the corner. “Stalkers can be dangerous.”

“I was
kidding,
Mom,” I answered. “Besides, I highly doubt anyone cares what I do on a daily basis. So if McCartney wants to waste her time writing about me,” I said, glancing her way and shrugging my shoulders, “She can be my guest.”

I stood up from my seat and smoothed down my new shirt. You’d think that pink would clash with my red hair, but I had to admit the pairing just made my eyes look brighter and my skin look extra sun-kissed.

“We’re ready for you now,” the cute, possibly-an-intern guy said, as he popped into my doorway again.

I made a face that I was sure matched how I was feeling on the inside: nervous, slightly sick and just a little bit excited.

“Wish me luck,” I said to no one in particular.

“Good luck,” they both sang out in unison. Then my mom added, “Break a leg.”

I took a deep breath and followed the cute intern out the door and down the hallway toward the
Snooze
set. We were only about fifteen feet from the door that would bring us to the where we’d be taping, when I heard voices.

Nope, it was just one voice, and a whole lot of laughter. The noise got louder as we got closer.

“What’s that?” I asked in a whisper.

“Live audience,” He responded.

“Oh,” I whispered again.

The cute intern shot me a lopsided grin and lowered his voice to match mine. “Why are we whispering?”

“I thought…” I started, my voice still low.

I stopped when I realized that the adorable guy in front of me was teasing me. My cheeks began to burn and I promptly turned my attention to the ground.

Maybe if I embarrassed myself enough now, God would cut me some slack and let me get through the interview without completely effing it up. Or was that just wishful thinking on my part?

I cleared my throat. “So, do you like working here?” I asked, recognizing how dorky the question was almost as soon as I’d said it. Of
course
he liked his job…it’s not like he was working at McDonald’s or anything. He was working for a friggin’ TV station. He probably got to hang around celebrities all day, and go on awesome
Trips, and eat all the free food he wanted from that gourmet restaurant, Kraft services. I’d overheard some people talking about what was on the menu for lunch and it sounded
amazing
. Yep, he’d hit the job jackpot.

“Working here
is
pretty sweet,” He admitted, smiling as he fiddled with his headset. Then he turned his head and spoke into the empty hallway loudly. “We’re on our way.” Pause. “Like two minutes.” Pause. “Gotcha.”

We started to walk again, and I listened to his side of the conversation as we passed door after door. Our feet began to make a rhythmic beat as they hit the tile, and after a few seconds I was able to forget where we were going. And what I was about to do.

“You ready?”

“Huh?” I asked, not sure whether he was talking to me or the guy inside his headset. “Sorry. Were you talking to me?”

“Yeah. You ready to go out there?” He repeated as he held the door open for me.

“I guess. Any advice?”

The cute intern stopped for a second and thought. It was clear this was the first time anyone had bothered to ask him that.

“Marc’s cool and really likes it when you joke around with him, so keep things light,” He answered. Then, choosing his next words carefully, he added, “How old are you, anyway?”

“Fourteen,” I answered, cringing at how young it sounded, even to me. “Why?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets then and took a step away from me. “Damn. Guess that takes me out of the running for that kiss.”

I began to blush as he turned around and walked steadily away from me.

“Okay folks, as you know, you can pretty much buy anything off the internet nowadays—hell, last week I ordered myself a crate of spider monkeys to be delivered next day air,” Host Marc Johnson, AKA, Big Johnson said.

I rolled my eyes from my place just off set, as the audience erupted into laughter that wasn’t really worthy of the joke. Apparently, this was what the cute intern had meant by “Live audience.” the little room was packed with about forty people, all crammed into these tiny plastic chairs seated right in front of the stage where
The taping was taking place. A girl stood in front of them, holding up a sign that said “Laugh” in big black letters.

At least it made the gut-busting laughter make sense.

“But when I heard what our next guest was selling, I knew I’d officially seen it all,” Big Johnson said enthusiastically. “Please welcome my first guest, 14-year-old Arielle sawyer!”