Just Your Average Box Set (Just Your Average Princess, Just Your Average Geek, & Just Your Average Celebrity)

by Kristina Springer

  Chas folds the paper and lays it on top of his books. I wish he would have crumpled it up and thrown it in her face. Unless he actually likes her. But what would he want with her anyway? She doesn’t have anything I don’t. Except really clear skin. And perky bosoms. OMG, did I just say bosoms? Who am I, Judy Blume? I bet they’re not that perky on their own anyway. Bet she uses one of those water bras. Or what are those little insert thingy-majiggies called? Chicken cutlets. Yeah, bet she’s sporting chicken cutlets. Better be organic.

  “Thanks.” He gives her a tight smile and turns his attention back to me and the laptop.

  “Okay, later then,” Brittany says with a shrug and walks away.

  Dismissed! I smile.

  After Brittany exits the library, Chas turns to me. “She’s so obvious.”

  “She is?” I ask. “I mean, she is.” I think. Well, she’s certainly untidy, leaving all these bits of notebook scrap on our table anyway. I sweep the mess into my hand.

  He nods. “Acting like she’s suddenly interested in me. You know she just did all of that because she must have found out we got dirt on her.”

  My jaw drops. “You think? But how would she know? I don’t think she heard us talking.”

  “Maybe she saw you taking her picture. I don’t know, but she’s never made an effort to talk to me before. It’s a little too coincidental that she suddenly wants to give me her phone number as we’re putting together the summation report with her as the main story.”

  Oh my gosh, he has no idea how hot he is. He just got fifty percent more adorable!

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I agree. “Here, let’s finish writing the report before we run out of time.”

  Chas crumples up the paper with Brittany’s phone number and tosses it in the nearest garbage can.

  Awesome.

  ***

  By the time I finished giving Chas all of the pictures I’d taken and helped him write the copy to go along with Brittany’s picture, his study group had arrived. What a bunch of smarty pants they were too. I don’t know the one girl’s name but everyone called her “Harvard” because she already got early admission there. And I do my best to never get in a conversation with the one guy, Ralphie. He’s on the debate team and loves nothing more than to get you to debate something with him. He once caught me in the lunch line for fifteen minutes discussing the pros and cons of the spork. My soup was cold by the time he stopped talking long enough for me to break away. Though his point about the difficulty of eating salad with a spork was spot on. And the other guy, I don’t even know his name but he seems way immature if you ask me. He’s one of the kids who is always coloring on his arms. My little sister doesn’t even color on herself anymore. I think they believe they look cool, like they’re making a sort of tattoo but really, they just look silly.

  I head for my car in the school parking lot, happy with how the report turned out. Chas still had more work to do on it tonight before turning it in, but I thought the pictures we agreed on were perfect. My “assignment” (He gave me an assignment. Just like a real tabloid would give to a real paparazza. God, he’s so darn cute.) for this week is to get solid proof that Garrison is, in fact, a couple. And not just the hand-holding. He doesn’t think that shot showed enough. He said for all the readers knew, Madison was passing Garret some change for the soda machine. Chas wants a shot of like Madison and Garret coming out of a crappy motel and she’s in sunglasses and a tilted red wig. I told him that was never going to happen. I mean, who even rents a hotel room to a couple of sixteen-year-olds? But he said that was just an example and I should strive to get something along that vein and for me to think creatively. He’s a tough, but irresistibly hot, boss.

  Chas also asked that I spend some time tailing Talia around. He said there wasn’t enough interest in her from what he’s gathered from the other tabloid students. So that’s what makes her more interesting. I just love how his mind works. If we get a good shot of Talia doing something, it’s likely to be the only shot since no one else has gotten anything on her. I hope that’s all it is and not that Chas himself is interested in Talia. Not that he would be interested in me or anything. Even though he did say I was refreshingly cute. Or was it cute that I was refreshing? Anyway, I don’t want to help him learn more about Talia if it’s because he likes her.

  And I have to follow Denise to get information for Tessa. It wouldn’t hurt to do a follow-up on Brittany too. Like a look at her dimply thighs now after having that muffin shot. That might work. Yikes, I’m evil. What’s this project doing to me? I highly doubt one muffin would dimple the girl’s thighs anyhow. But what if we Photoshopped them in? After all, the real tabloids do that kind of thing, don’t they? So mean.

  Wow, I have a full week ahead of me. Garrison, Talia, Denise, and Brittney. I’d better get to work.

  Chapter 6

  It’s Friday morning, and I’m nervous as all heck. Summation reports are due today. Everyone is really excited to see them. It’s all anyone from class talked about yesterday afternoon: wondering what pictures would be chosen and what stories would be written. All eight tabloid students are presenting their reports to the class. I haven’t even seen Chas’s completed report yet, only the one story I helped him with.

  We all take our seats, and Mrs. B. starts class. She’s going on and on about why we sometimes say one thing and mean another. And how girls are often the guiltiest of this. Like, when a friend says, “Do you mind if I date your ex-boyfriend?” and you say, “No, go ahead,” but what you really mean is, “If you do, I’ll not only never speak to you again, I’ll also talk about how evil you are to all of our other friends for a really long time.” Normally it would be a fun, lively discussion but everyone is on the edge of his and her seats, waiting for the summation reports to begin. Except for Chas. He looks tired.

  “You okay?” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” he replies. “Just a little wiped. I was up late last night studying for a test,” he explains.

  “I wish I had a coffee on me that I could offer you.”

  “Thanks,” he replies. “I don’t drink coffee anyway. But really, I’ll be fine.”

  I sure hope so.

  “Keep in mind that I’ll be doing journal checks every Monday,” Mrs. B. is saying ten minutes later. “I won’t grade them until the end of the project, but I do want to make sure that you’re writing at least two to three entries a week. Got it?”

  Everyone is nodding. Yep, we got it. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

  “All right then, let’s get on to these summation reports, shall we? Who would like to go first?” she asks brightly, scanning the room.

  Yes! Here we go.

  The first four tabloid students present their reports on the SMART board for the class to see and then pass out printed copies to everyone, including Mrs. B. So far they’ve been pretty funny. There were plenty of shots of Madison and Garret. They were the big newsmakers of the week. There was even one of them doing the Lady and the Tramp thing with a long red licorice rope. Please. It couldn’t have been any more staged. The two of them went on and on about how they weren’t a couple though. What a load. They remind me of the celebrities who are trying to promote a movie, so they fake date and call paparazzi before they go somewhere to tip them off that they’ll be there. So obvious.

  A couple of people got shots of Brittany, but talk about snooze-worthy! She wasn’t doing anything unusual. One was her waving her pompoms around at cheerleading practice. And one was her adding an extra scoop of cucumbers on her salad at lunch. Gee, I just don’t know how she’ll live that one down. She seems to be enjoying seeing herself up on the screen so far. What will she think when she sees my muffin shot of her?

  There was a curious shot of Denise Bengston though. It was a picture of her running to her car with the hood of her light jacket pulled down on her head and all of that poofy hair tucked inside. You could still totally make out her face in the image. The title of copy for that shot said, “What’
s Denise Running From?” and I’m wondering just that thing. Because from what I can tell in the background of the picture, she was coming out of Mike’s house. At least, I could make out his mailbox. His mom painted it white with black spots and put a cow’s face on the front and attached little pink udders to the underside. Not many mailboxes like that. I haven’t decided whether or not to tell Tessa about this, but I will definitely spend more time following Denise this week.

  But Chas was right about one thing; I didn’t see a single shot of Talia Daniels.

  Mrs. B. calls Chas to the front of the room, and he heads up, throwing me a nervous glance. I smile reassuringly. His report will rock; I’m confident.

  He launches the report on screen, and there are several gasps from girls around the room. Chas gives me a surprised smile.

  “Told you,” I mouth.

  “Um,” he clears his throat. “So, the front page of my report is Brittany having a muffin at the coffee shop.”

  “Looks yummy,” Mrs. B. says, smiling, completely unaware of the significance of this shot.

  Brittany is slinking down in her seat, looking like she wants to hurl. I glance around the room, and most of the girls are glaring at her or staring at the report with their arms crossed.

  Hmm. I thought they’d laugh about it, but I guess not. Chas starts to talk about the story with it, but I notice Brittany drop her head into her hands and suddenly I feel bad. She’s taking this a bit harder than I’d thought. I shake my head at him and indicate that he should go on to the next page.

  He understands and continues. “Yeah, well, you can read the story later, Mrs. B. It just talks about Brittany and the giant muffin. Anyway, we also got a shot of Garrison.” Chas says, air-quoting the name. He puts up the next page of the report, with the picture I took of Garret and Madison by the soda machine. Madison looks delighted, obviously eating up the attention.

  Chas flips through the report, page after page, and for the most part everyone is really good-humored about the whole thing. But I can’t help occasionally looking at Brittany and noticing that she hasn’t been too happy since everyone saw the picture I took of her.

  Chas concludes his report and takes his seat, and the remaining tabloid students give their presentations. In the last minutes of class, Mrs. B. reminds us that as we go throughout the coming week in our various roles, to keep in mind how we influence society through our different jobs: through the way we act in public, like celebs, what pictures we choose to take, like paparazzi, and what we decide to show the world, like tabloids.

  The bell rings, and Brittany rushes out of the classroom before anyone can talk to her. I gather my things slowly and head out the door. Chas is waiting for me.

  “Walk you to your next class?” He adjusts his backpack on his shoulder and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

  “Sure.” I scan the hallway for Brittany. But I don’t see her anywhere.

  “That went great, huh?” he asks as we start walking.

  “Yeah, you did an awesome job.”

  “Thanks, but you took all the pictures. I couldn’t do it without you.”

  “Yeah,” I say flatly.

  Chas gives me a puzzled look. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I shake my head and look down at our feet. “It’s just…”

  “What?” he presses on, seemingly concerned.

  I look up at Chas. “Do you feel bad at all? I mean, about Brittany?”

  “Nah. I mean, what’s there to feel bad about? It was just a muffin. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like we caught her selling drugs and now she’s getting tossed out of school and sent to juvie. You’re really sensitive about this stuff, huh?”

  “I guess,” I say.

  “You gotta keep a little perspective on things, Livvie. It’s just a muffin.”

  I smile, feeling a bit better. “You’re right,” I agree. “Just a muffin.” Anyway, for all we know, Brittany wanted us to out her muffin love. She knew what she was doing when she signed up to be a celebrity. If she didn’t want us following her around, she wouldn’t have volunteered.

  We reach my Chemistry class, and I turn to Chas. “This is me. Thanks for the walk.”

  He puts his hand on the doorframe like he isn’t going anywhere. “Sure. Hey, what are you doing this weekend?”

  My eyes widen and my heart starts beating triple time. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh. He’s going to ask me out! No one has ever asked me out before. What do I do? What do I say? I bite my bottom lip. “Um,” I stumble, looking for the right words, “I’m really busy with my little sister this weekend.”

  Ugh. Moron. Dork. Boyfriendless Loser. Why did I say such a stupid thing?

  Disappointment flashes across his face. “Oh. Okay, I’ll see you Monday then.”

  I nod. “See you.”

  I walk into Chemistry, furious with myself. What’s wrong with me? First time a guy—a super hot, smart, funny, and nice guy—tries to ask me out, and I block him before he can even get the words out. I’m so, so stupid.

  Chapter 7

  I can’t stop replaying the conversation with Chas over and over again in my head. I wish I could have a redo and this time say, “Nothing, you?” I don’t know. Maybe I completely misread him and he was just genuinely curious about what I was doing this weekend and not planning on asking me out. After all, I’ve always been more of the kind of girl guys want to hang out with for a laugh, not make out with in the back of the movie theater. But just in case he does actually want to date me, next time I’m going to slap a hand over my big mouth and just nod.

  “Isn’t it pretty?” Tessa asks me, admiring her reflection in the mirror on the back of my bedroom door. Mike gave her a heart necklace this morning before school, and she’s been talking about it all day. You’d think it was a six-carat pink diamond. But it’s just this charm with a teeny tiny little stone in the center.

  “Sure.” I continue outlining the back of a picture with the glue stick I’m holding. I’m lying on my stomach across my bed working on a new collage. It’s all pictures of me taking pictures of other people. I’m going to call it ‘Ode to a Paparazza.’ “Is that a real diamond?” I ask, looking up at Tessa.

  “Uh-huh. Well, at least I think it is. I’m pretty sure he got it at the department store. But it’s still really nice. He’s never given me a present this good. He’s really trying to make things up to me,” she adds. She crosses the room and plops on the bed next to me. “So, where are these summation reports you said I could see? I can only stay for another half an hour or so before I have to run home and get ready for my date with Mike.”

  “Yeah, let me get them.” I push up off the bed and walk to my backpack hanging off the back of my desk chair. I pull out the stack of summation reports and then pause and shove back down the one report with the picture of Denise running out of Mike’s house. No need to get Tessa worked up yet until I know what’s going on.

  Mom pokes her head into my room—without knocking, of course. I once asked her if she would please knock on the door before entering and she said, “Why would I knock on my own door?” That’s her cute way of reminding me that this is her house and her door. In case I ever get too comfortable, I suppose.

  “Livvie, I’m running out to bring your sister to piano lessons now. You okay on your own this evening?”

  Of course I’m okay on my own. Aren’t I always? And if I wasn’t, would it matter anyway? If I say no, can you stick around tonight, she wouldn’t do it. She’d never miss one of Emma’s lessons. Instead she’d launch into a twenty-minute lecture about how we are privileged to witness raw talent first hand and need to encourage the growth of Emma’s gift, blah, blah, blah.

  “Sure, Mom,” I say.

  I hear her sensible heels click clacking back down the hall and her keys jingle as she pulls them off the hook on the wall then slams the door behind her and Emma. Emma has piano lessons three times a week, so it’s not like this is unusual. I suppose mom feels
like she has to say something to me before she leaves. Dad’s in surgery today, so he won’t be home for hours and I have the place to myself.

  Tessa’s so used to my mom breezing in and out that it doesn’t bother her that my mom doesn’t even acknowledge her presence. At least Tessa doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. “Why does a piano prodigy have to practice anyway? Isn’t that the point of being a prodigy?” she asks.

  I shrug, not in the mood to talk about my sister’s musical talent, and hand Tessa the summation reports.

  Tessa leafs through the pages, smiling. “Awesome. Ha! These are great…” she mumbles. She gets to the report Chas made. “Ah! Your picture! This is perfect, Livvie.” She flips to the picture of Brittany and the muffin. “Hot Chocolate Mess, that’s great. Did you come up with that title?”

  “Yeah, I helped him a little with the copy. He needed the female touch to really understand the irony of Brittany inhaling carbs.”

  “Geez, he just had to ask any girl who has ever met her. Do you know she once lectured me on the carbs in fruit? ‘Death by banana,’ I believe she said. I was like, ‘Girl, you’d better back off and let me eat my banana in peace.’”

  I laugh. “I believe it. She didn’t look too happy when Chas presented the report. I almost felt bad for her.”

  “Of course she wasn’t happy,” Tess says. “She doesn’t like everyone knowing she’s a hypocrite. You called her out on it.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. Tessa’s probably right.

  “These reports are freaking awesome. Seriously, you guys are being so selfish keeping them all to yourselves. The whole school should be able to read this. It’s hysterical.”

  “You think so?”

  “Definitely,” she replies.

  “It’s just a class project. I’m sure the whole school wouldn’t be interested.” Or would they?

  “What pictures have you gotten so far today? Anything good?” Tessa asks.

  “Um, not really. But I’m going to go out tonight. Maybe to the mall for a while, just to see if any of the celebs are hanging around that I can snap pics of.”