“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, holdi
ng 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!”
The audience began to clap for me as I walked out onto the stage and headed toward the show’s host. As I put one foot in front of the other, “This Kiss” by Faith Hill began to blare from unseen speakers, startling me at first. Recovering quickly, I sped up my walk to match the beat of the music.
I eased myself into the chair next to Big Johnson’s desk, which was considerably more comfortable than the first news show’s had been. I tucked my legs up underneath me and turned my upper body to face the large man. Up close, I was surprised to see how much makeup it took to make him not look so…old.
Phin’s gonna die when I tell him that his hero wears eye liner. Maybe that was why he broke up with his model girlfriend…he caught her stealing his makeup!
I forced myself to focus as the commotion around us began to die down, and the studio became quiet again. Not sure what to do with myself, I reached over and took a sip of the water that had been placed on the table in front of me. I wasn’t actually thirsty, but I remembered that most celebrities used their mugs as accessories when they were on talk shows too, so I figured it was just what you did.
“Great to have you on the show, Arielle,” Big Johnson said, leaning across his desk to shake my hand.
“Thanks for having me,” I answered, smiling at him and then at the audience.
“Now, Arielle, you’ve got a pretty interesting story.” I nodded my head. “You’re fourteen and you’ve never been kissed.” He wasn’t asking me. He was making a statement, and didn’t even wait for me to confirm it before continuing. “Well, I think we’ve all felt like we were the last of our friends to do something. Do you mind telling us what you decided to do about it?”
“Uh, sure,” I said, sneaking another glance at the audience. But instead of seeing a sea of faces, I was blinded by the bright lights shining back at me. At least this way, it was easier to ignore the fact that I had a crowd of people hanging on my every word. “Well, my friends thought it would be a good idea to sell my first kiss…on eBay.”
I watched as the woman standing off-stage raised one of her signs, prompting people to hoot and holler in response.
“Wait, let me get this straight,” Big Johnson said, holding up his hands to silence the audience. “You’re selling a kiss? What, you just woke up and thought, ‘I think I’ll kiss someone today—I might as well make a buck doing it?’”
More laughter.
I tried to fight off the rising blush in my cheeks, and forced myself to chuckle along with Big Johnson. Remembering what the cute intern had told me, I decided to push back a little. “And what’s wrong with that?” I joked, breathing a sigh of relief as I got the response from the audience that I’d been hoping for. “Nah, it wasn’t really like that. Basically, I was sick of being the last one I knew to have that experience. That’s when my friends came up with G.A.A.K…”
“Gack?” Big Johnson asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “Is that some sort of new aphrodisiac the kids are using these days?”
I had no idea what an aphrodisiac was, but based on the audience’s reaction I had a feeling I didn’t want to know. I breezed over that question and continued to explain.
“It stands for Get Arielle a Kiss. And I know it’s dorky, but my friends, McCartney and Phin, wouldn’t stop calling it that. Anyway, my mom told us about how her books were selling on eBay and my friends started to freak out.”
“Now, we should mention that your mom is an author and a celebrated marriage counselor. So, what did she think when you told her you were selling yourself on eBay?” Big Johnson asked, leaning toward me imposingly.
“Not myself. Just my kiss,” I corrected him like I was scolding a precocious little kid.
“Is there a difference?” He asked, looking to the audience for support.
“Of course. First off, I got permission from my mom to do the eBay thing and she even helped come up with the parameters for it,” I said, picking up my mug and taking another sip of water.
Geez, it was awful hot under these lights. Or maybe I was sweating because of the round of questions that were being thrown at me. Either way, I was glad I’d gone with the extra strength deodorant.
“What are the rules of selling a kiss on eBay?”
“First off, I can’t kiss anyone that is more than two years older or younger than I am,” I said, ticking off pointer finger on my right hand. “Number two is that the money I make off the winning bid has to go to a charity or an organization of some sort. That way I’m not taking money in exchange for, well…kissing services.”
Big Johnson threw his hands up in the air like I’d just said something crazy. “You don’t actually get to keep the cash? What’s the point in selling a kiss in the first place if you don’t even get the money?” He asked genuinely curious.
“The point is getting that kiss. Not the money. I think the allure to the whole eBay thing is that people like competition by nature. So, by giving people the chance to bid on something, they’re going to be more intrigued and involved with the whole thing, which brings me one step closer to getting what I want,” I said sweetly. “My first kiss.”
I hadn’t really thought of it this way before, but as soon as it came out of my mouth, I realized it was true.
“And we all know that guys like a girl who goes after what she wants,” Big Johnson said as he raised his eyebrows suggestively at the camera.
More than a little creeped out now, I quickly moved on. “And the last thing is: if I end up not wanting to kiss the guy who wins, then I don’t have to, and I don’t accept the money.”
Big Johnson shook his head as he took all of this in. “I guess the only thing left to ask is, what’s the bid up to?”
That was a good question. I really had no idea where the numbers were at. I started to panic slightly at not being prepared for such an obvious question.
And things had been going so well, too!
Just as I was about to admit that I didn’t know how much my kiss was worth, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I sneaked a peek at the screen and saw I had a text from McCartney.
“Uh, well…” I stammered, trying to buy myself some time. I smiled as I closed my phone without anyone being the wiser. “I think we’re up to around…$483.” as I actually began to comprehend what those numbers meant, my eyes widened with shock.
“Whoa!” the host exclaimed before whistling loudly. “That’s some serious money for a first kiss.”
“No kidding,” I answered before I could stop myself.
“Why do you think people are willing to pay that much to be your first?” He asked.
I looked at him blankly and then turned toward where I knew the audience was seated. “Honestly? I don’t really know,” I answered. “Insanity maybe?”
This got just the right amount of chuckles before the show’s music started playing, signaling that the interview was coming to an end.
“Well, thanks for coming on the show Arielle, and I wish you lots of luck on your next big sale,” Big Johnson said, shaking my hand before turning back toward the camera. “When we come back, Ryder Diggs, from Night Light will be here.”
Are you shitting me?
My mouth dropped open just as the camera panned my way. But I couldn’t help it. Ryder Diggs was here. Back stage. At this very moment. Maybe I could watch his segment from the side of the stage?
Cheers, far louder than the ones I’d received, exploded around us at the mention of the TV star’s name. And to be honest, I was barely able to keep the screams from escaping my own throat.
As I started to plan out what I would say if I ran into him backstage, the studio lights went out, making it difficult to see anything in front of m
e. I had to blink a few times before I could focus again, and when I finally could, my vision was littered with spots.
“Good job, kid,” Big Johnson said, not nearly as over-the-top as he’d been when we were taping. “You got guts and I respect that. Why don’t you stick around for the rest of the taping? You know this Ryder kid?”
Suddenly losing all ability to speak, I just nodded my head like a cheerleader on speed.
“Good deal. Janine! Can I get a mocha latte, stat!”
I watched as my new favorite talk show host walked off the set in search of his girlie coffee drink. Then I sat there, stunned, thinking about how much my life had changed in just a single day.
I was about to meet the hottest guy on television. The guy whose poster was currently hanging above my bed, and whom I frequently imagined myself marrying whenever I daydreamed. Which was pretty much all the time. I was about to have a close encounter of the celebrity kind and I had no idea how I was going to stay conscious long enough to enjoy it.
I WAS AFRAID that if I left my seat, they wouldn’t let me back on the stage. Either I’d get locked out of the studio or Big Johnson would take back his invitation for me to stay on through the next segment. And then I’d never get to meet Ryder. So I just sat there, alone.
At least the seat was cushy.
Still, I started to get antsy, and I knew myself well enough to recognize that hysteria wasn’t far behind. So, I did the only thing I could think of to keep myself from totally freaking out. I texted McCartney.
ME: Thanks for saving my @ss back there. I almost froze.
I pressed send. I didn’t have to wait long before she responded.
McCARTNEY: No problemo. And ALMOST froze? Hahaha, kidding. U were awesome! It’s like u grew a pair this morning. I’m impressed.
I smiled, appreciating the compliment. Then, running my fingers quickly across my phone’s keyboard, I got to the real reason I’d texted.
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