"So Miss Kristen Elisabeth what exactly are you hoping to do with your fanfic account? Glory? Practice?" The pushy lady shoved a microphone in my face. I backed up and snarled at her.

"Who do you think I am? If you didn't know already, I write because I love it." I rolled my eyes at her. Does this lady really think I would be that shallow? The wild look in her eyes and sloppy ensamble increased my annoyance at her. The coffee stain on the lapel of her blazer looked extremely unprofessional. Fanfiction was my own little world that I try to spend time in with my charcters. Well, not mine. Nobody knew about my aspirations to be a writer in real life. I wanted to keep it that way for awhile.

She laughed nervously. "Um, so how do you feel about Massington?" She fingered the rough corderoy pocket on her pants and waited for my response

"Love it. Dempsey is just so fake and weird." I shuddered. "Massington is a must. All my fics root for him." I smiled proudly. After my kerflop of a one-shot, bore of Dial B and semi-hit of a seperate series story, I finally found a catch in my own version of PSILY. I was actually on my way to start chapter seven when I was stopped...

"So what can you tell us about yourself?" she fished for conversation. I watched her weight shift uncomfortably.

"Well let me give you the basic list" I started to jot down my list on the conveniently placed napkin on top of the mailbox next to me. After I scrawled down the basics I handed the donut-glaze smeared list to her.

-brown hair

-green yes

-select soccer player

-single

-plays clarinet

-massington obsessed

-currently doing a project jointly with a friend

-loves purple and greens

-red lap top

-thirteen

-good grades:)

As her eyes scan the list they sparkle with enhusiasm. Or maybe that's just how they look when the sun hits them. Suddenly I remember it's Monday. One Tree Hill is new tonight! I'm only three blocks from home so I'm debating making a run for it.

" Thank you soo much for sharing" she shakes my hand. After she lets go I wipe mine off on the back of my jeans. She must have been nervous. "Can you just give me an hour to interview you completely?" she asks hopefully.

"Uh." I pulled out another pen to write my number when we hear a screeching hiss down the street. She whirls around giving me the opprotunity I'd been waiting for. And with that I made a run for it.