The Paparazzi Project

by Kristina Springer

  I spend most of the morning in bed napping and only venture out to the living room for an afternoon talk show marathon. About ten paternity tests and six newly named baby daddies later, I’ve had enough of the show. I switch over to the news to see if anything more dramatic than my current problems is going on in the world today. There’s a reporter standing in front of an angry mob protesting somewhere in Egypt when another anchor interrupts the report with breaking news: former child star Lauren Stone has just been caught shoplifting at a jewelry store on Rodeo Drive. I stare at the TV, stunned. Is this seriously what breaking news has come to? No tsunami wiping out the west coast, tornado hitting the Midwest, or bombs blowing up a subway. We’re interrupting news for shoplifting former child stars. I turn off the TV.

  I’m woken from my second nap of the day to hear Tessa coming into my bedroom. “Thanks, Mrs. Peterson, I’ll just drop off Livvie’s homework and be out of here in a flash,” she tells my mom.

  I sit up in my bed and cross my legs.

  “You look awful,” Tessa says, handing me a steaming mug. “Here, chicken soup from your mom.”

  “I do?” I ask, reaching a hand up to my face. Oh yeah, I did cake on the makeup this morning to make myself look extra pale.

  Tessa plops onto the bed next to me. “So how long do you plan on faking sick?”

  “I am sick,” I protest, setting the mug down on my desk. “Sort of. Did you see Chas today?”

  “No, but the gossip was flying. Everyone was talking about the Tattler. The jokes about Talia’s mom were nonstop all day. I heard one guy ask her if it was just chem goggles her mom was partial to or is she just as happy in swim or ski goggles. Talia looked like she wanted to punch him in the nose and then high-tailed it out of the cafeteria at warp speed.”

  “So she’s taking it hard?” I say. I mean, of course she is. How’d I expect she’d react?

  “Oh yeah, I’d say she’s probably humiliated. But that was bound to happen. You would too if it was your mom in her underwear crawling all over Dr. Harris.”

  I screw up my face. “Ew, Tess. Go get the bleach so I can scrub that image from my brain. And besides, my mom’s married.”

  “So is Talia’s.”

  My jaw drops open. “What?”

  Tess smiles and nods.

  “Whoa. I assumed she must be divorced or something.” Ugh. I really don’t feel so well now.

  “Okay, forget about Talia and the pictures. I know what will cheer you up,” Tessa says. “Guess what Joey did this morning? He picked me up a half an hour early for school with bagels and my favorite coffee drink, a half-caf vanilla soy latte. He remembered my drink. Isn’t that the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  I give her a look like she’s crazy. “Gee, thanks. That’s just what I need. A cheery speech about the wonder that is your new boyfriend. Whoosh, there go all of my problems.” I wave at my invisible problems floating away.

  “Okay, okay, what’s done is done. No sense in worrying about it now.”

  I sigh heavily. “I guess you’re right.”

  Tessa purses her lips like she’s thinking about something.

  “What?” I ask. “Is there more? Did something else happen?”

  “Oh, no. Sorry. I was just trying to remember if my black top was clean. Joey’s picking me up in an hour and I have to run home and change.”

  “You’re killing me. You know you’re killing me, right?” I say.

  Tessa laughs and stands up. “Aw, drink your chicken soup, and I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

  “School. I guess I have to face the music.” I’m hoping everyone gets the gossip out of their system today so there aren’t any big scenes tomorrow. At least Talia won’t know it’s me who spilled the information on her mom. Unless Chas tells her I took the pictures. But why would he do that?

  “Worry about it tomorrow, okay? I’ve got to jet.” Tessa walks to the door. “Talk to you later. And feel better soon, Livvie,” she says with a wink before she turns and leaves.

  Chapter 27

  I’m walking down the hall Friday morning, nervous as all heck. The tabloids are giving their final summation reports in IPC today. I haven’t seen Chas or responded to any of his calls. I don’t know, I guess I’m afraid if he takes one look at me or we talk, he’ll hear it in my voice that I’m the one behind the blog and that I put up the Talia story. I have no idea what he’s showing for our summation report today, nor have I really thought about it. I’m too nervous about seeing him and Talia to think about the assignment.

  I take my seat in class and face the front. A few moments later, Chas is here.

  “Livvie! Hey, how are you feeling?” he asks, slipping into the chair next to me.

  Oh, thank God he isn’t mad. “Good, thanks.”

  “I was worried about you,” he goes on. “You didn’t return my messages.”

  “Yeah, I was um, pretty weak.”

  “Well don’t worry about our report. I improvised. I figured since it was the last week I could do a sort of month in review and show never-before-seen shots. You know how they do after a reality show is over and there’s that one extra episode of lost footage from the season? I did something like that.”

  Yeah, I do know exactly what he means. So weird that he know so much about it. Maybe the Talia blog wasn’t as big a deal as I’d thought. Chas would have said something to me by now if it was or if he was mad at me or anything.

  “Sounds good,” I say.

  Mrs. B. comes in and starts class, and I don’t see Talia anywhere. Maybe she’s avoiding people like I was yesterday. We’re watching the final summation reports, and most of them are pretty good. Chas’s was okay. He did what he could with no pictures from me all week. Mrs. B. didn’t complain, at least. Chas takes his seat once he concludes his presentation.

  “Not bad, right?” he asks me.

  “No, it was fine.”

  “I wish we would have gone out with a big bang, but it was still okay.”

  Mia, one of the other tabloid people, heads to the front of the room to give her report. “I’d like to start the report showing you some pictures of Denise Bengston and a girl from the senior class, Lara Davies, wearing the same Gap jumper,” she says.

  Ah, a “Who Wore It Best” piece. Good one.

  “As you can see,” Mia continues, “Denise’s pink flats with a flower on the toes give the look a playful and fun feel, whiles Lara’s dirty Ugg boots give it more of a rolled-out-of-bed look.”

  Denise is beaming. She seems to be in a better mood this week. I guess if you can’t feel good about yourself by being a decent person, you can find happiness in your society-approved footwear choices.

  Mia goes through a few more shots of Joey and Drew and then moves on to a funny piece about a betta fish custody battle going on between Garret and Madison. Just as she’s outlining the visitation schedule, the door slams open.

  Talia.

  I catch my breath. Everyone is looking at her, and no one says a word. Not even Mrs. B. Talia’s face is flushed and her eyes look raw like she’d been crying.

  “Well,” she begins, her voice wobbly, “I hope you’re happy.” She sniffs hard and rubs her nose on her sleeve. Tears trickle down her cheek; she wipes at them.

  I keep my eyes focused on Talia. I can feel Chas staring at me, but I can’t look at him. I feel my chin start to quiver and bite my lip to keep still.

  “You and your blog, whoever you are. You wouldn’t take the stupid thing down, would you?”

  Mrs. B. stands and takes a few steps toward Talia. I don’t think she knows what to say.

  “My dad left,” Talia continues. “This morning. He packed his bags and left. My mom’s been locked in her room, crying her eyes out. My little brother keeps crying and asking me when Daddy’s coming back.” She chokes on a sob.

  The room is so quiet I can’t even hear anyone breathing.

  “But no matter, right? You had your fun posting about my mom and ruining our
lives, right? No big deal.” She throws her hands up in the air. “I know, I know. It was my idea. The whole stupid project was my idea. It’s my fault. All my fault.” She sobs, dropping her head into her hands.

  Mrs. B. rushes over to her and wraps her arms around her in a hug. She walks her out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

  My cheeks are wet. I didn’t even realize I’d been crying. I wipe at them quickly. I glance at Chas, and he’s got an “I told you so” look on his face.

  “I didn’t…but it was stolen…I—” I can’t even continue. It’s all a lie. This is my fault. I feel awful.

  Mrs. B. comes back in the room and also looks visibly upset. “Well, this project didn’t turn out like we’d thought, did it? We took a chance, tried something different, and it got carried away.” She clears her throat. “We’re going to skip the rest of the summation report presentations. You can just turn into me what you have. Oh, and your journals. Spend the rest of the period writing up your final thoughts and leave your journals on my desk when you’re finished.”

  The whole class is dead quiet, and people are busily writing. I just want to finish up and never think about this project again. As soon as I get home, I am killing the blog forever.

  Livvie’s Reflective Journal: Final Entry

  Our project is officially over, and when it first started I was nervous and thought it might be trouble. But then as I got into it I thought it was the most interesting and fun project I’d ever done in any class. I felt like I learned so much about people. Some of it was heartwarming, like how cool of a person Drew Higgins is by going to the library once a week to help those kids learn how to read. It was fun to catch people doing nice things when they don’t know anyone was watching. But then it was awful to watch people in pain, like Brittany Griffith when she flipped out in the cafeteria and everyone stood around taking pictures. And today with Talia, that was the worst. This was supposed to be just a project. Seeing her and her family really get hurt was awful. Maybe if the person who put the pictures up had thought about how it would affect Talia and her family, he or she wouldn’t have posted them. I’m sure he or she thought it was the right thing to do. Talia shouldn’t receive better grades because her mom’s seeing a teacher. Even so. That was truly terrible. I guess it’s a good thing that no one took pictures today.

  At times, I thought the project was pretty insane and stressful. I think following people and tracking their every move is exhausting. And sorta weird. And I realized that I don’t need to know every little thing about a person just because he or she is a “celebrity.” Sometimes I couldn’t believe I was taking pictures of the things that I was. Like, what type of salad someone orders. WHO CARES? It’s not my salad. I’m not going to eat it. And I don’t think it’s fair to them that I know either. It’s so stalker-ish. When did we become so obsessed with what other people were doing instead of just being happy doing our own thing? It freaks me out, to tell you the truth. And I’m kinda over it. I can’t speak for others in class but I know for me, I’m not going to pay attention to the real tabloids anymore. Order whatever kind of coffee you want, I’m not looking. Wear no underwear out to the club. I don’t care. It’s your business, and I don’t want to know about it.

  What about you, Mrs. B.? Do you wish you could go back and never have us come up with our own project? This project?

  I guess that’s it for my reflective journal. I don’t want to think any more about what’s happened over these last four weeks, and I’m ready to move on in the present, minding my own business.

  I close my notebook, place it on Mrs. B.’s desk, and put my head down on my arms for the rest of class. I feel dreadful and don’t want to interact with anyone for a while.

  The bell finally rings. I stand up and gather my stuff.

  “Hold up, I’ll walk you,” Chas says.

  I search his face. Is he mad at me? Is he going to yell at me once we get in the hallway? I nod, and we head for the door.

  “Livvie?” Mrs. B. calls out.

  “Yeah?”

  “Here’s your journal back. I’m done recording your grade.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I take the journal from her and walk out with Chas.

  We’re walking through the passing period chaos, and Chas reaches for my hand. I can’t even look at him.

  “It’s not your fault, Livvie. You can’t help that someone stole your camera. You didn’t put the pictures on the blog. I know you’re feeling bad, but there’s nothing you could have done.”

  Oh, God. If he only knew.

  “Thanks,” I say half-heartedly.

  “Meet me later,” he says. “We’ll talk more then.”

  I nod, keeping my eyes downward. He kisses me on the cheek, and I walk into Chemistry class. I sit down and look at my books, my IPC reflective journal on top. I flip it open to my last entry and notice Mrs. B. actually wrote me back this time.

  You asked me my reaction to the project Livvie, and my reaction is the same as it was when we first started it. No good can come from putting your whole life on display. Giving people access to judge your day-to-day life and relationships can only cause harm in the end. Pour vivre heureux, vivons cache - Jean-Pierre Claris de Florian. If you want to live happy, live hidden.

  I jerk my head up and look at the door. And then I run out of the room, leaving all my stuff behind.

  Chapter 28

  I race back down the hall and into the IPC room. Mrs. B. has her back turned to the door and she’s shoving notebooks into her bag. “Yes, Livvie?” she says.

  “You. That Pour vivre whatever phrase. You’re the anonymous tipster.”

  She turns to look at me, her face blank. “And you’re the secret blogger.”

  I feel the blood drain from my own face. What? Is this really happening? Did she just confirm that she’s the one who’s been e-mailing me? And she knew about me…the blog? “But, but,” I sputter out, “you ruined Talia’s life. You broke up her family.”

  Mrs. B. looks off to the side. “No, no, I didn’t. Well—” she looks back at me, “—technically I guess we both had a hand in that. But it wasn’t on purpose. I never would have done a thing like that on purpose.”

  I slump into the nearest chair and put my head in my hands. What is this? What’s going on? I’m so confused.

  Mrs. B. leans against the desk directly in front of me.

  I raise my eyes. “I don’t understand. You’re the teacher. You were feeding me information. What did you think I would do with it?” I know I’m sounding slightly hysterical.

  Mrs. B. briefly rubs her temple and lets out a dry laugh. “I thought I was teaching you a lesson.”

  “A lesson?” I repeat.

  She nods. “I knew you were the blogger pretty early on. Whenever the topic came up in class, you would stare so hard at your desk it looked like you wanted to crawl under it and hide.”

  That’s true. I pretty much did.

  “I thought I could do a sort of social experiment with you on the side,” Mrs. B. continues, “teach you about regurgitating gossip without factual proof or mercy. I wanted to see if you would just throw up whatever piece of news I gave you, no matter what it was, or if you would carefully weigh what to do with the information in each case. I wanted to see if you would look into the story and find proof or just trust an anonymous source.”

  “And I did,” I reply. “Look into the stories, that is.”

  She shakes her head. “Not at first. You put up that story about Joey and Courtney, and it wasn’t even true.”

  She’s right. I did do that.

  “And the story about Tony Hernandez and the freshman girl? Completely fabricated.”

  Ouch. I put that up on the blog too. Ugh! I’m such an idiot. “But wait, I followed Talia’s mom. I got evidence of their affair.”

  “That’s true, you did. But you had no mercy in that case. You didn’t think about the fallout and you put it up on your blog without any regret.”

  “
Oh no, that’s where you’re wrong. There is regret. There is a lot of regret. I feel awful. I never should have done it. I don’t know what got into me. I never should have created the stupid blog in the first place. How could I ruin Talia’s life like that? How could I put up those pictures of her mom and Dr. Harris online like that? How…”

  Mrs. B.’s eyes dart just past my head, and I turn to see what she’s looking at.

  Or who. Chas.

  Oh God, he heard everything. He’s staring at me, his mouth in an O. What must he think of me now? I’m the gossipy drama-fueler who is anti-what he wants in a girl. So much for being, what was it that he’d called me the first day we met? Refreshing? Yeah, I’m about as refreshing as a sweaty armpit right now. “Chas,” I begin, not sure what to say.

  Chas doesn’t say anything. He turns and walks away.

  I look at Mrs. B., tears stinging my eyes. She gives me a sympathetic look.

  “I’m sorry, Livvie. This honestly wasn’t my intention,” Mrs. B. says. I can tell she’s upset over the whole thing.

  I nod, wiping at my eyes. What am I going to do now? “Mrs. B., can I ask you a question? Did you know Talia’s mom was having an affair with Dr. Harris?”

  Mrs. B.’s eyes widen. “Oh, no. It never even occurred to me. I was as surprised as everyone else. Who would risk their job like that?” Mrs. B. shakes her head. “No, I thought she was just your average suck-up mother. We get them from time to time. They think if they keep bringing us cookies or offer to do our taxes for free or what have you that we’ll give their kid a better grade. I thought it was something like that. Not what it actually turned out to be,” she adds.