ADA

"Make way! Paparazzi Queen entering the room!" my brother, Aiden, calls as I plop down at the dinner table.

I'm sure my parents thought it was adorable giving us matching names even though I'm three years older than him. It's actually annoying. We can never tell which one of us they're talking to.

I grab a dinner roll and toss it at his head, trying to shut him up.

Aiden catches it in one hand without looking. He takes a big bite and wiggles his eyebrows. With his brown hair, hazel eyes, and long limbs, we might look alike, but he definitely got all the coordination genes.

My parents are in the other room, and I'm really hoping to keep them from finding out about the rumors for as long as possible, preferably for forever. They weren't thrilled about me pursuing a career as a celebrity photographer instead of going to college in the fall. I don't think landing myself in the tabloids is going to help.

I wish they could be supportive like Grams. She was the one who watched me and Aiden after school everyday while my parents were at work, and she's the one who spent hours daydreaming with me about my future and all the celebrities I'd photograph.

She'd be so excited about my pictures getting published. I can imagine her singing one of her old show tunes and dancing around the room. She'd have stayed up with me all night, staring at my name in black and white on all the websites. If anyone understood the importance of chasing dreams, it was Grams.

Seeing the pictures I took all over the celebrity gossip sites today is exactly that, a dream come true.

Having all those photos of me everywhere though, that was not. It almost makes me wish I never had to set foot outside again.

"How's the professional stalking business going?" Aiden takes another bite of his roll.

I glare at him. "How's the sweaty, gamer nerd business going?"

He sticks out his tongue, displaying a mouthful of partially chewed food.

"You're gross."

"Speaking of gross, what was all that green crap?"

I groan. Talk about the worst picture ever to have go viral. I look like the monster from Swamp Thing. The press hasn't figured out who I am, but it won't be long until someone tags me in those photos.

"Could you please not say anything about the pictures? Mom and Dad haven't seen them yet. I'd like to keep it that way."

Aiden's eyebrows shoot up. "I hate to break the news to you, sister, but they already know."

"What? How?" I dart a glance over at the kitchen door.

"I mean, I know they're old, but they do have eyes and, like, cell phones. Those pictures of you and Liam Anders are everywhere. How do I have to explain this to you? Aren't you supposed to be a reporter?"

"Photographer." I plonk my elbows on the table, dropping my face into my hands. This day has been such a rollercoaster—from arguing with a celebrity and almost getting fired to selling my first photos and gaining a huge lead over the other interns. I don't have the energy to fight with my parents right now.

"Ada, good. You're out of the shower. We need to talk," Mom says as she walks into the room, Dad close behind her.

I straighten up, giving them my best everything-is-completely-normal smile, but my fingers reach for my star charm, twirling it nervously.

They do not smile back. Dad's forehead is furrowed, and Mom's mouth is a thin line.

"Let me explain—" I start, but Dad cuts me off.

"Please do, because I'd love to understand why the agency my teenage daughter is interning at is selling pictures of her to tabloids instead of pictures taken by her."

I suppress an eye roll. I turned eighteen months ago, but he insists on acting like I'm still a child.

"Huntley didn't sell those shots. It was someone else."

Mom and Dad stare at me, waiting for an explanation.

I sigh, launching into the story of what happened this morning with Liam and Mia. I tell them how I got shots of the whole thing, and how someone snapped pics of me in the process then sold them—along with a bogus story—to the press.

"Whoa," says Aiden, "that's, like, the most intense first day ever. Is Mia Harlow hot in person? Please tell me she's hot in person."

I glower at him, "Could you stop being a sleaze weasel for five seconds?"

My parents both frown, clearly not happy about the situation.

"Look," I say, pleading, "I'm sure the rumors will blow over by tomorrow. Besides, no one can even tell it's me in those shots. I'm barely recognizable."

This is a small exaggeration. Anyone who knows me will be able to recognize me. But the worry lines forming a "v" between Mom's eyes smooth the slightest bit, and dad's fists start to unclench.

I might not need their permission to do what I'm passionate about anymore, but I also can't afford to live on my own. Life will be easier for everyone if they get on board with this.

The timer on the oven beeps. Mom pushes a strand of her short, blond bob from her eyes. "All drama aside, we're celebrating your big first day. I made lasagna." She hurries into the kitchen.

Thank the Hollywood stars for that. After the day I've had, I need a good carb load.

But when Mom sets the dish on the table, and I lean in to take a whiff of the cheesy goodness, I stop short.

"What is that?"

"It's lasagna made with zucchini noodles and Daiya cheese. It's vegan. Very healthy."

That sounds like the worst thing ever, but Mom looks so proud of it, I can't bring myself to hurt her feelings.

"Great." I plaster on a smile and glance over at Aiden and Dad. They seem about as thrilled with this development as I am. Aiden's nose is scrunched up, and Dad's face is stiff like he's trying not to show what he's really thinking.

Mom's a criminal defense lawyer with a firm downtown. She works a lot of hours, and her job gets super stressful. Her blood pressure was high when she went in for her checkup last year. Ever since then, she's been on a health kick.

Now she's all into yoga, mindfulness, and eating whole foods—whatever that means. She's always trying to get me to go jogging with her or join her meditation group that meets along the Hudson River waterfront. She even painted all the walls in our brownstone in tranquil blues and greens so we'd be more 'zen.'

"Smells great, hon." Dad smiles, but it's more like a grimace.

Mom dishes out the lasagna. I pick up my fork and start poking at it warily.

"So," Dad turns his attention back to me, "are you dating this Liam Anders guy?"

His question catches me so off guard, the fork slips through my fingers, clattering to my plate.

"Dad! Are you serious?"

"What? There are stories all over about my daughter dating some actor, and I can't ask?"

I stare at him, unable to think of words to explain how ludicrous it is that he'd think Liam and I could ever date.

"They just met today, dear. I doubt they've started dating already," Mom says as though she's trying to be the voice of reason.

Ugh. Parents. My head flops back against my chair. "We are obviously not dating now or ever. And we didn't meet so much as yell at each other."

"He yelled at you?" Dad sits up straighter, looking like he's contemplating hunting Liam down.

"Calm down before you start Hulking out over there." I take a bite of my lasagna. The cheese crumbles in my mouth. I force myself to swallow. "Getting yelled at by celebrities is part of the job. You can't beat up every star in New York who doesn't smile at me when I take their photo."

"And you're sure this is what you want to do? Because I'm sure NYU—" My dad starts, and I swivel my eyes to the ceiling.

Here we go again. We've had this conversation a thousand times. He's an economics professor there, so it's physically painful for him that I don't want to go to college.

I did apply early decision back in November—under extreme duress, I might add—and got in. I deferred for a year, but I have no intention of going. I've known I wanted to be a paparazzo ever since that first movie premiere Grams took me too. I'm not about to change my mind now when it's all about to happen for me.

"I'm not going to NYU. I want to be a photographer. And apparently, I'm pretty dang good at it. The pictures I took totally blew up today."

"Yeah, so did the pictures of you," Aiden chimes in, not helping.

Dad opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but Mom interrupts, shooting him a look. "Sweetheart, you know we want you to chase your dreams. We just want to makes sure this is the right dream for you."

The look in her eyes is so earnest and concerned, I can't even be annoyed with her.

"It is," I say.

"Well, then," she squeezes my hand from across the table. "I want to see these photos."

I can tell by the tightness of her smile that she isn't totally behind me yet, but at least she's trying.

"I'll go grab my camera."

I push my chair back. The skin of my bare feet clings to the cool surface of the hardwood floors as I pad toward the hallway.

The intercom buzzes, and I detour to the living room. "Hello?"

"Hey, A! It's me!" Elodie's bubbly voice chirps through the crackly speaker.

I almost sag in relief. I'm in desperate need of some quality best friend time. I buzz her in.

"You are so famous!" Elodie squeals as she walks through the door.

I peek over my shoulder. "Uh, ix-nay on the amous-fay," I mutter.

"What?" She scrunches her face, looking confused. "Ooh, got it. Why?"

"My dad's not happy about my picture being all over the internet."

"Uh-oh." Her eyes dart toward the dining room.

"Yeah. Uh-oh." We start toward the hall. "We'll be in my room," I call over my shoulder.

"Okay, honey, but I want to see your photos later. Hi, Elodie." Mom waves from her chair.

"Hey, Moms. Hey, Pops. Hey, Aiden."

"Hey." Aiden pushes a piece of lasagna around his plate with a fork.

Dad nods at her, still frowning.

We walk down the hallway, passing a procession of black-framed school portraits of Aiden and me on either side. It's like watching a time-lapse video. I lean against my door, sagging with relief as I snap it shut behind us. I breathe in the vanilla bean candle burning on my nightstand. It's my favorite scent and reminds me of the lotion Grams used to use. After the craziness of the day, the combination of the smell and the sea-foam colored walls is like a balm to my frazzled nerves.

"I bring sustenance. Cream cheese muffins." Elodie holds up a paper to-go bag, waving it in front of my face.

I snatch the bag from her hands. "You are the best best friend ever."

"I know." She glances around, looking for a place to sit down. There are clothes strewn across my bed, the desk chair, and most of the floor. The collection of classic movies I inherited from Grams has exceeded the limits of my bookshelf. Stacks of DVDs litter the floor in front of it. "You should try cleaning up sometime."

"Hey, I'm a creative type. Being messy is one of our personality traits. Google it." I scoop the clothes off the chair and dump them in my closet so she has somewhere to sit.

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that." She examines the floor-to-ceiling corkboard hanging on my wall. It's crowded with pictures, mostly of celebs at premieres, but there's also some of my family.

Aiden playing video games, headset on, expression fierce. Mom in some intense yoga pose with her leg extended back, arching above her head. Dad sitting in the soft glow of the living room lamp, grading papers. Selfies of Elodie and me are scattered everywhere—us at the Empire State Building, us at Rockefeller Center, us sprawled out on my bed with mint-green face masks on. And there's Grams doing jazz hands and posing for the camera, right at the heart of it all.

I wish my memories of her were as vivid as that shot. The images in my mind seem to fade a little more everyday, but that photograph is as brilliant as the day I took it. That's the great thing about pictures, they're forever. People could still be looking at the shots I took of Mia and Liam decades from now.

"I want to know everything," Elodie says, spinning my chair around backward and plopping down. Her bluish-green eyes are bright against her black hair, which is in beachy waves around her shoulders. Her dad was Chinese and her mom was French. They died in a car accident when she was young, which is why she lives with Charlie in his apartment above the coffee shop now.

"About what?" I ask, taking a bite of my muffin and OMG. I could write poetry about this muffin.

"Gee, I don't know." She taps a finger against her bottom lip. "Let's start with the rumors that my Paparazzi Queen best friend is dating the Liam Anders!"

"Thanks for the nickname by the way." I set my muffin on my nightstand and flop face first on the bed, groaning into my pillow. "It's so ridiculous." I roll over on my back. "How can anyone seriously believe the two of us would ever date? He's a celebrity. I'm a paparazzo. We're, like, sworn enemies or something. Montague and Capulet status."

"So you're saying the two of you are what? Star-crossed lovers?" Elodie grins, and I immediately regret my choice of metaphors. "Because I can totally see it," she says. "There was some serious romantic tension happening between you two this morning."

"Elodie!" I snap, sitting up. "That wasn't romantic tension. It was plain-old tension."

Any swoony-eyed, fangirl feelings I had for Liam Anders disappeared the second he opened his mouth.

"I don't knooow," she sing-songs. "I think I might've witnessed your meet cute."

"Meet cute? More like meet puke. What is even wrong with you?" I toss a pillow at her.

She laughs, ducking out of the way. "It would be so awesome if you dated a celeb. I'm just saying," she says like it's a valid argument.

"Well, stop saying. If you hadn't brought me a delicious muffin, I would totally unfriend you right now. You know I'm not even interested in dating."

Grams always told me if I wanted to make my dreams come true then I needed to focus on achieving my goals first and not even think about guys until after. Her biggest regret in life is that she skipped an audition to go on a date with the man who became my grandfather.

They weren't together long enough for him to see my dad being born, and the actor who was cast in the role instead of Grams went on to win an Oscar only ten years later. Grams didn't want anything like that to ever happen to me.

"So does your new boss love you since you're all famous now?" Elodie asks.

"Hardly. I'm surprised she didn't fire me for showing up late."

"Those pictures of you two have got to be selling like crazy. There's no way she's going to fire you."

"Yeah, but Huntley didn't sell the shots, so they're not doing me any good."

My phone bleeps with the tone I set up especially for Agnes. I lunge forward, snatching it up from the bed. It's a group text to me and two other numbers I don't recognize—I'm guessing they belong to the other interns.

Agnes: Cipher cast rumored to go running in Central Park in the AM. I don't care what you have to do to find them, I want pics before you report to the office tomorrow.

Great. Running and another potential encounter with Liam. Sounds like tomorrow's gonna be as painful as today was.

"My boss wants me to go get shots of the Cipher actors tomorrow." I bury my face in my hands and moan. "What am I going to do if someone takes more pictures of me and Liam together? My parents are already freaking out."

"They'll get over it." Elodie picks at her shimmery blue nail polish. "I don't understand what the problem is. It seems like having your picture in tabloids should be scoring you some major bonus points or something."

Bonus points. It's like her words flip on a light switch in my mind. Bonus points are exactly what I need to guarantee I come out ahead of the other interns. And Elodie's right about the photos of Liam and me selling like crazy. Those pictures are everywhere.

If I could run into him again and somehow stage it to encourage the rumors a little, the rags would snatch the photos right up. And if I made sure Huntley got the shots, Agnes might be willing to give me points for the ones that sell. That's more than worth having to deal with my overprotective parents.

"Elodie, you're a genius."

"Obviously. But why specifically?"

"You just gave me an idea about how I can make this banana-pants situation work in my favor."

"Well, you're welcome." She reaches into the bag she brought, pulling out a muffin and taking a bite.

"All I've got to do is find Liam tomorrow, get the other photographers over there in time to take some pics of us together, and figure out how to make it look like he doesn't loathe my very existence."

"Piece of cake." Els says around a mouthful of muffin.

I grip the charm of my necklace between my fingers. I could really use some more of that luck, Grams.