IMAGINES: Celebrity Encounters Starring You

by Anna Todd

  You sit up from your spot on your bed and roll your eyes. “I’m not famous.”

  You push your sleeves up to your elbows. You stand up and amble over to where Haley is playing your video, wondering how many of those one thousand new views came from her. “You haven’t been playing this over and over again to give me the illusion of internet success, have you?”

  You eye her with a skeptical gaze. It would not surprise you if she did this—at all.

  “I would totally do that because you’re my best friend and I love you, but this was all you.” Haley claps you on the back. “And don’t tell me you’re not famous because I would like to pretend I’m best friends with a celebrity, thank you very much.”

  You laugh and don’t argue, just so she can have her dream, if only for a little while. You aren’t famous, a fact of which you are well aware. Twenty thousand subscribers on YouTube doesn’t make you a celebrity. You have a way to go before you hit that level, and even then you probably won’t look at yourself like more than a wannabe cover artist.

  “Dude, but think about it. What if Shawn Mendes actually saw this and messaged you and became your best friend?” Haley nudges you playfully. “Okay, well not best friend, because that spot has been taken by yours truly, but you get what I mean.”

  You shake your head, pretending that this thought has never crossed your mind, even though it has on multiple occasions. Sometimes you wonder what it would be like if Shawn came over to your house and just hung out like it was the norm. You wonder what it would be like to play a song with him or maybe a game of soccer. You know the chances of these things actually happening are, well, none, but you can’t help yourself. Shawn Mendes is your all-time favorite singer, and, hey, you’re allowed to dream, right?

  You both look over at your bedroom door as someone knocks and pushes it open. Your mom pokes her head through the opening and smiles. “Hey,” she says. “Your uncle is heading out to buy ice cream. What kind did you want?”

  You look to Haley, not relishing the pressure of selecting an ice cream flavor for twenty people.

  “I’d go with cookie dough.” Haley nods as though she’s agreeing with herself. “I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like cookie dough. And if someone doesn’t like cookie dough ice cream, that person and I can’t be friends.”

  You and your mom both grin. “Cookie dough it is then,” your mom says with a smile. “The party is in a couple of hours, so try to make yourself look like you haven’t just rolled out of bed before then, okay? And maybe a change of clothes would be good.”

  Your mom is still smiling, but you know it wasn’t a request. Glancing down at yourself, you wonder what your mom’s deal is. You’re just going to be hanging out with friends, so is there really a need to get all dressed up? You don’t think so, and you’re tempted to remind her that it’s your birthday party, but too quickly your mom is gone, and following her just to argue a point you’ll probably lose doesn’t seem worth it.

  “God, I wish I could sing like you,” Haley mutters as your bedroom door shuts, like the conversation with your mom hasn’t happened.

  For a moment you don’t comprehend her compliment because you’re too distracted by your need to get dressed again, but then it registers and you smile. “Your voice is great, though.”

  “Yeah, but you’d win The X Factor if you entered—which, by the way, I still expect you to do.” She sighs. “I’d probably get to, like, round two or three. If that.”

  You’re about to tell her that she’d beat you in The X Factor, no contest, when she twists around again and flashes a knowing grin. “And, by the way, do as your mom says and change your clothes. You’ll thank us later.”

  YOUR PARTY IS IN FULL swing, and as you lean back against the kitchen counter and swallow a bite of the cake your father made, you think, once again, that it was stupid that you had to change out of your favorite comfy shirt when you are just hanging out at the house with people who have seen you in said shirt multiple times, stains and all.

  “Are you ready to open presents?” your mom asks, dumping her empty paper plate into the trash can and wiping her hands on a napkin. As she tosses that out too, she looks at you for an answer.

  You shrug. “Sure.”

  “Okay, everyone!” she says, raising her voice. “We’re going to open presents in the living room!”

  Everyone makes a beeline for the living room, and you shove the rest of your cake into your mouth, feeling triumphant when no crumbs or frosting find their way onto your shirt. Haley and a few of your other friends notice and laugh, giving you thumbs-ups for your accomplishment. You return the gesture and follow them into the living room, plopping onto the hardwood floor, in the midst of the presents and your friends, who have settled onto the floor along with you. The adults have chosen to sit on the two couches and the chair, or to remain standing.

  “Am I good to go?” you ask of no one in particular.

  “Go ahead!” your mom replies, looking excited. She’s always pumped to see you open your gifts, but this year something is different, and you feel your own giddiness grow, wondering what exactly you’re about to receive.

  Not needing any prompting, you reach for the gift closest to you, knowing by the crummy wrapping job that it’s from Haley.

  She grins as you examine the paper. “I wrapped it with my love.”

  “It’s very beautiful love, indeed,” your friend Taylor muses.

  Haley laughs. “Thanks, Tay.”

  You shake your head, open the gift . . . and gasp. “The Shawn Mendes hoodie!” You’ve been wanting this forever, and you can’t believe you’re finally holding it in your hands. “Thank you so much!”

  The rest of the presents go by pretty quickly after that. You receive a few iTunes cards, a couple movies you’ve been wanting to see, a video game, a prepaid credit card, a pack of picks for your guitar, and other items that you either wanted or needed. Once you finish opening the gifts, you stack them all in a neat pile—except for the Shawn Mendes hoodie, because you have to wear that now—and thank everyone for everything.

  You’ve just finished stacking everything when you hear a knock on the front door.

  Your mom perks up, an ecstatic expression crossing her face.

  Your eyebrows rise. “Are we expecting anyone?”

  Haley jumps up, her expression mirroring your mom’s. “Front door—now.” She grabs you by the arm and hauls you off the floor.

  You allow her to drag you to the front door, though you have no idea what the rush is or who could possibly be waiting outside. Everyone you invited is here already, and you seriously doubt you’re party-crashing-worthy.

  When you reach the door, Haley shoves you toward it, gesturing madly for you to open it. You’re tempted to tell her to calm down—sheesh—but you just glance out the door’s window and try to get a good look at who’s out there. You can’t see anyone, though.

  “Dude, just open the door,” Haley orders.

  You roll your eyes but comply, twisting the handle and tugging the door open. The person who knocked steps into view, and you freeze, your mouth going slack as you stare stupidly at his face.

  “Hi,” Shawn says, smiling.

  You gape. Shawn freaking Mendes is at your front door. This can’t possibly be real.

  Haley elbows you, and you blink. “Hi,” you reply, unable to help the dopey smile that takes over your entire face. You’re two seconds from squealing, and you pray that, when you do, it won’t be obnoxious and ear piercing.

  “I’m Shawn,” he says, though an introduction is obviously not required. “Is it your birthday today?”

  “Oh my God,” you breathe. You laugh, thinking that this can’t possibly be real, that you’re dreaming, that you’re going to wake up any second and this amazing moment will be over. But a moment goes by, and nothing happens, and you realize that Shawn Mendes is actually standing in front of you.

  “Are you going to stare at him like a dork, or are you going t
o invite him in?” Haley hisses, elbowing you in the ribs again. It’s then that you realize she was in on this. No wonder they made you change your shirt.

  “Yes,” you hurry to say, attempting to look nonchalant as you take a step back and open the door wider. “Come on in.”

  Shawn smiles and enters your house, and you ogle shamelessly as he passes, still unable to believe what is happening. He has a guitar strapped across his back, and your squeal threatens to overpower you.

  Are you going to have the chance to sing with Shawn Mendes? Holy crap.

  “How has your birthday been so far?” He smiles again. For a moment, you don’t hear him because you’re too busy staring and thinking, Holy crap, he’s wearing that same gray T-shirt he was wearing in that one video.

  But then you realize you’re gaping like an idiot again, and you say, “It’s been really good! Best birthday ever, actually.”

  Your voice comes out high-pitched, and you mentally slap yourself. Get yourself together.

  The three of you enter the living room, and all of the teenage girls hop up from their spots, squealing loudly as they rush over to where Shawn, Haley, and you are standing. From the corner of the room, your mom grins, and you mouth, “Thank you!” She nods, and you smile.

  “Hey, guys,” Shawn says, accepting hugs from a couple of your friends.

  You want a hug too, but you don’t want to throw yourself at him and consequently make yourself look nuts.

  “So.” He turns his attention to you now. You pray your smile doesn’t look creepy. “I’ve seen a few of your videos on YouTube, and you have a great voice.”

  Did he just say what you thought he just said? Shawn Mendes has seen your covers—and likes them. Oh my G—

  “Th-thank you,” you stammer.

  Shawn holds up his guitar. “Would you like to sing a song with me?”

  You don’t answer at first because you’re too shocked that this question has actually left your favorite singer’s mouth, that your unacquirable dream is suddenly in your reach. Then you nod and say an enthusiastic “Yes!”

  “Great!”

  Your dad and uncle move off the love seat to give you and Shawn room, and the two of you settle on the cushions. You try to keep your cool, to pretend that this isn’t as surreal as it is, while Shawn gets comfortable. You cast a quick, disbelieving glance Haley’s way and see that she is holding up her phone, videoing everything.

  “So what song did you want to sing?” Shawn asks, tearing your attention away from your friend.

  “ ‘Stitches,’ ” you say automatically.

  Shawn grins. “I think I know that one.”

  Everyone laughs, including you, and his grin grows wider. Then, after a moment’s pause, he begins strumming his guitar. You watch, transfixed, as you wait for him to start singing. You just hope that when the time comes, your voice won’t betray you.

  Shawn sings the first verse, and you watch in awe, unable to look away as his fingers strum on the guitar and his head bobs to the beat. You’re so amazed that you almost miss the next verse—the point where you’re supposed to start singing. But you catch yourself at the last second, and you’re relieved when your voice comes out as it normally does.

  You sing the chorus together, and you feel your smile grow so large that it hurts, but you don’t care. Singing with Shawn is exactly how you imagined it and more. You never want the moment to end.

  As you sing, you tap your foot on the floor and sway to the beat, unable to help yourself. You brush fabric, and your heart soars, because now you’ve accidentally brushed against Shawn and you can’t believe you’re sitting so close that you can accidentally brush against Shawn.

  This is a dream come true.

  Eventually the song comes to an end and everyone claps. You grin, wanting to ask if you can sing another, but not wanting to seem pushy. Apparently Shawn is a mind reader because he looks at you, smiles, and says, “Now, don’t be afraid to say no—if I suck and you don’t want to sing with me anymore, I totally understand—but, hey, if you want to sing another song, the guitar is ready to go.”

  The two of you laugh. “Yes,” you say, because you’re not sure how well you’d do trying to joke back at him. “ ‘Something Big’?”

  “Sure!”

  Then you’re off again, singing about how you feel something big happening, and you do, you really do. Once that song is over, your mom offers Shawn a piece of cake, and you hurry to offer him chocolate-chip muffins also, if he wants any.

  “Yes to both!” he replies enthusiastically, standing up and following you to the kitchen to eat.

  You never imagined that one day Shawn Mendes would be standing in your kitchen eating the cake your father made or the chocolate-chip muffins you bought at the store. You will never be able to repay your mom for the amazing gift she’s given you.

  Eventually Shawn has to go, which you hate but understand. You and your friends follow him to the door.

  Before opening it, he turns around and flashes another smile. “Happy birthday.” Then he hugs you.

  You hug him back, wondering how long you are allowed to keep the embrace going before things get weird. It only lasts a few seconds, and then the two of you are pulling away. You, your friends, and Shawn say a final good-bye, then Shawn is gone.

  You lean back against the wall, staring blankly into space. Shawn Mendes came to your house. He wished you a happy birthday. He sang with you.

  Haley loops an arm around your shoulders. “And you didn’t think he’d see your video,” she teases.

  You laugh. “I guess I was wrong.”

  “You guess?” Haley snorts. “It’s official: I am best friends with a celebrity.”

  You’re about to argue, but then she’s gone, skipping away from the door and back to the kitchen, probably to grab her third slice of cake.

  You glance at the front door, in Shawn’s general direction, and smile. Then you follow your friends back to the kitchen so you can have some of that ice cream your uncle bought.

  Channing Tatum’s Dance Academy

  Bryony Leah

  Imagine . . .

  Friday night. You’re home alone, balancing a huge bowl of microwave popcorn on one knee and your laptop on the other. While Magic Mike plays out on TV across the room, you’re in the middle of reading a steamy Channing Tatum fanfiction online. It’s been a long day—you had an exhausting dance class on top of a busy few hours at school—so you’ve earned this relaxation time. And it’s going well . . . until the front door bursts open and your mom clatters into the room, red faced and out of breath from running.

  A huge grin is spread across her face. “Did you hear the news?”

  You sit up quickly, hurrying to minimize the fanfiction on-screen to save yourself from any embarrassment. “What news?”

  “About the dance academy!”

  You shake your head. “What dance academy?”

  Your mom practically bursts in front of you. “Channing Tatum’s Dance Academy!”

  You pause, registering this information. “Explain.”

  Mom inhales a deep breath. Then, her face aglow with excitement, she tells you all about a commercial she heard on the car radio while she was driving home from the grocery store: Channing Tatum is setting up his own dance academy in your city, and he’s on the lookout for an elite group of supertalented dancers to join him!

  “What?” You jump up from the sofa, sending the bowl of popcorn flying—but you don’t care, because this is the best news you’ve heard in your life. A dance academy? The chance to meet your favorite celebrity crush? Maybe even dancing with him?!

  “The auditions are being held next week!” your mom enthuses, catching you by the shoulders. “You have to go! You’re the best dancer any of us have ever seen—the talent scouts would be stupid not to let you in. You’ve worked so hard, you deserve this!”

  You know it’s true. Years and years of dance classes and performances, sweat, blood, and tears . . . yo
u’d be crazy to miss an opportunity like this.

  “And, even better!” She waggles her eyebrows. “You’ll finally get the chance to make Channing Tatum fall in love with you!”

  Your heart flutters in your chest at the thought, even though you know it’s total nonsense. But a part of you can’t help but hope that your mom’s words are true. You’ve been his biggest fan for years; your bedroom is more like an official Channing Tatum museum than a room in a family home; everyone at school knows you as the obsessive fan. . . .

  Channing is your whole life.

  Fit to burst with glee, you grab your mom’s hands and start to bounce up and down on the spot. “What are we waiting for? Let’s start practicing!”

  YOU KNOW THAT SOMETHING has gone wrong the moment an agonizing scream pierces the mumble of voices backstage. All stop what they’re doing to turn toward the sound, a hundred sets of eyes widening in horror as the scream turns into a wailing cry.

  “Uh-oh . . .” The makeup artist who was just about to start coating your face with powder bites his lip. “Sounds like Channing’s going to need a new partner.”

  Right on cue, light floods the area as the huge black curtains part to expose the stage—empty, save for a small huddle of people crowding around the fallen dancer at the front.

  Jenna.

  “Oh my God, she’s broken her leg!”

  “Yikes, that doesn’t look good.”

  “She’s never going to be able to dance tonight!”

  The voices rise backstage, every dancer wincing at the sight of Jenna’s awful injury. Your makeup artist lets out a low whistle and resumes his work; you’re forced to close your eyes so that he can dab at your face aggressively with his powder brush.

  Making it into Channing Tatum’s Dance Academy was hardly difficult for you; the moment you began showing off your moves at the audition you’d stolen the show. The talent scouts had loved you, offering you a scholarship right there. Two months down the line and you’re finally here, brushing shoulders with some of the world’s most talented dancers and working hard, day and night, to prepare for the opening show: a three-hour-long spectacular performance that will be aired live on TV. A huge number of celebrity guests have been invited, and the night is set to be incredible.