Famous
They asked him questions, microphones pressed to his face from every direction, lights flashing, film cartridges running out, memory cards filling, fans screaming and signs waving in the air. Night lights lit the red carpet brightly, the white so great it seemed like an oasis of light in the late night darkness. A white board was behind him, designer's names, symbols, and products displayed on the temporary wall ranging from Gucci to Louie to Armani.
The celebrities, all accessorized to the max in designer dresses, long, short, extravagant, simple, black, white, solid, print, glasses, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, diamonds, sapphires and rubies adorning their bodies, stilettos, pumps, flats, gym shoes, business shoes, loafs, on their feet, purses, clutches, shoulder bags and bags large to small on perfectly rounded shoulders.
Smiles bright, white, shining as brightly as their lives themselves were plastered on faces, never leaving, poses and answers to questions always being thought of, for there was a never a second where you were truly alone. Paparazzi follow their every move, recording faults, searching for blemishes, asking questions that could only have negative answers, and if not, they would twist and contort the words when they were printed in the press, front page headlines.
Most wanted, most popular, most talked about, stood in a straight line, all casts of the same movie, another play off the instant Shakespearean classic, Romeo & Juliet. Buzz was hugest for this movie, though, more uncontrollable than the frenzy for Harry Potter, crowds more irrepressible than those for Star Wars were. Expectations were larger than the original play itself. The reasons varied from the director being the Super Pervert Sr., world-renowned author, playwright, visionary, and casting god. He cast people who embodied the audience's dreams from the sound of their voice, their attitude, height, and presence.
The producer was someone many thought was Super Pervert Sr.'s handpicked apprentice, a man who personified mystery, from the lax posture he held, the numerous black tuxedos, white—starch white—suits and the books he was always reading. What most sent the mysterious ranks on haywire was the mask he wore that covered his mouth an entire side of his no-doubt handsome face, only revealing one coal black, nonchalant eye. His name, most people wouldn't know if it weren't for the mini movie that he produced with his friends and posted on YouTube, that of which sent his popularity among directors, actors, and actresses alike to chart-topping highs.
Super Pervert Jr.—a man of few words, many actions, but many more women, constantly hanging around his arms, almost rivaling the number Super Pervert Sr. had wrapped around his finger, waiting for his every beck and call. The duo could make a film about a rock, an ant, and a grasshopper transform into an Oscar. With them alone, the upcoming movie hit the News Trending list on Twitter, Facebook, and Google at number one within days, before the general summary was even announced.
When it was, there was some type of otherworldly frenzy of excitement and anticipation for the movie.
Paparazzi encircled Boy, questions blared at him in that reporter monotone that droned in his eardrums even in his sleep. He was that famous. So famous that men and women from Europe, Japan and America all yelled at him in their unique languages, their translators by his side, waiting for him to ask whatever they had said.
However, one particular girl, way in the back, lazily handling the small memo book formally used for note taking, a cell phone pressed between her shoulder and ear, had caught his attention, almost like a skylight illuminating her and only her, everyone else in the sidelines dissipating into nothing.
For some reason, he felt obligated to point her out, moving the microphones out of the way, pushing the irritable newsmen and reporters, some automatically making the path for him, and a smirk found a way to the Uchiha's infamous lips when the rosette finally noticed him, the slow of her mouth enough to tell him that the conversation she was holding on the telephone was becoming of less and less importance.
He stopped right in front of her, and a hush made its way onto the red carpet.
"You're a reporter." Boy stated, for questions were foreign to his dialect, almost like a poison to his tonsils. They did not happen.
Girl let her sea foam green eyes widen shortly and she stared at the movie star, in complete shock for who-knows-how-long, gawking at his utter beauty. Closing her agape mouth, she hurriedly ended her conversation, telling Ino that whatever was going on with her split ends was going to have to wait, and swallowed deeply.
"Yeah," she answered, "a junior reporter, actually. It's a school project and I'm trying to get extra credit by coming here, and I figured, hey, why not ask one of the super mega cool stars of the movie everyone's talking about a couple questions? It's not going to cost me anything, well; it did cost about thirty bucks to get this fake reporter's pass, but, you know, a few dollars is nothing in comparison to the opportunity of a lifetime—"
Boy interrupted Girl, gorgeous obsidian eyes boring into hers. "Ask the question then," he smirked, "we'll see how much extra credit I could get you."
Before Girl's legs totally turned into mush, before her legs started jiggling like Jell-O that's not completely done, before her knees decided to crash in upon the weight of her upper body, she laughed lightly. "What?" She asked, letting the awe take over her. It wasn't everyday that someone of such a high caliber would take their position away from the red carpet in shoes like those and pick a paparazzi-wannabe. Girl knew this, she knew this very well, and had only just now registered the cameras zooming in on her confused face.
Instantaneously she put on that prettiest smile she could, and turned on her microphone. She mumbled a light curse when the light wouldn't turn a bright green, as if it just wanted to stay red no matter how many times she flicked the switch up or down. Her hands scrambled trying to check for batteries, and she dropped it, a loud echoing screech resounding.
"Fabulous," Boy hummed, seeing that Girl was just short of having an embarrassment induced panic attack. A few reporters decided to laugh at his remark, a rumbling hum of low laughs. Girl smiled, grateful for the aversion from her clumsiness. Being the great student that she was, she pulled a smaller, mobile microphone, thin and miniature, just barely big enough to surpass the size of her hand.
Finally composing herself, adjusting to the constant flash of the cameras, white and yellow blurring her peripheral vision, Girl flipped to an open page of her notebook. "Um, so," she started, "I…" Looking up and into the handsome teen's face was an extreme mistake, for when she looked up, she was immediately drawn to never-ending black eyes like wells. Her heart began to pound within her chest, and impulsively she giggled.
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
A/N: CHA. I love this. So, next chapter? It's already written. If it's posted or not really matters on how much you guys like this or not.
So…
Review!
~hotoffthefryer
