ADA

Standing in the crowd of photographers and fans gathered outside the Met is like lighting the fuse of a firework and waiting for the detonation.

Everyone's so caught up in the hype of seeing the actors, they've thrown the rulebook for basic human decency out the window. The paps shove their way through the mass of people, jockeying for the best angles. The fans are almost as assertive as they try to maneuver into prime selfie-taking position.

If I hadn't challenged Liam to come out here in front of millions of people online, I'd be running in the opposite direction, despite the collection of blisters covering my feet from my jog through Central Park.

Agnes said I had to make this convincing, so I thought calling Liam my boyfriend on social media would help. I wasn't wrong. My comment definitely kindled the rumors about our relationship, but Liam's set them into an all-out blaze.

The social media alerts started coming in so fast, I thought my phone was going to literally blow up. When I saw the numbers next to my follower counts, I almost blacked out. I have over fifty thousand followers on both Twitter and Instagram. The idea of that many people knowing who I am and seeing the pictures I post, I can't even wrap my mind around it.

"You know these people are going to lose their shit the second your boyfriend shows his face, right?" Chrissy says, scanning the crowd.

She's standing almost uncomfortably close to me in the swell of people, but personal space is a sacrifice I'm willing to make. We got here early and managed to score ourselves a prime spot. I'm not moving.

"It's going to be chaos," I say, elbowing the guy behind me, trying to make him back off. His sweat-soaked, hairy arm keeps brushing against my back. It's icking me out big time. I drop my voice. "And you know he isn't really my boyfriend."

"What's all that about him taking his clothes off for you in private then?"

"Shhhh," I hiss. The last thing I need is for the rest of the paps to figure out who I am and start snapping pictures of Liam and me. One of Huntley's photographers needs to sell the shots if I'm going to get points. Since Chrissy's the closest one, it'll have to be her. I didn't just brand myself with a phony relationship status for nothing. I'm already dreading having to explain that one to my parents.

My eyes scan the crowd, but no one's paying any attention. There's got to be fifty other paps out here.

Two of them are pushing each other, fighting for a place at the front of the pack. A security guard gets between them before they come to blows. I didn't think being a paparazzo was going to be all flashbulbs and rainbows, but I have to admit, I didn't realize it would be this intense. It'll all be worth it when I get to do what I love for a living though.

"You're gonna need to get these shots and get them to Agnes ASAP if we've got any chance of selling them," I say to Chrissy. "These guys aren't playing."

"We? What are you—" Chrissy starts but gets cut off as the horde jostles forward, knocking her into me. The security guards gesture for us to back up. We shove backward against them, reclaiming our positions.

"What do you mean we?" she asks.

"Agnes didn't tell you?"

I thought Agnes would've mentioned our deal to the other interns, but apparently she left that to me. Crap. I hadn't thought about how they'd react. I doubt they're going to love the idea of me getting points for their pictures.

"Tell me what?" Chrissy asks.

"I made a deal with Agnes. She's going to give me points for any shots Huntley sells of Liam and me together."

Chrissy doesn't say anything for a beat. When I dare to glance up at her, she's studying me, eyes narrowed.

"That explains your Tweet then," she says flatly.

"I figured if any agency was going to make money off these rumors, it should be Huntley," I explain. "And Agnes thinks Liam's hiding something. She wants me to try and spend time with him, so I can help her expose it."

Chrissy's expression clears, and she nods. "It does seem strange that he's posing for pictures with you. Like, what's that even about?"

"I have no idea, but I need to figure it out." A strand of damp hair falls into my face, and I push it behind my ear.

"That's exactly why I wanted to get into this business," Chrissy says. "To uncover all these celebrities' dirty secrets and reveal them to the people who worship them like they're freaking gods." Her expression turns serious. "My little sister was hospitalized last year for an eating disorder. She said she wanted to be as thin as the movie stars she saw in magazines. I'm going to show everyone what these people really are. They're dangerous."

"That's awful. I'm so sorry." My heart breaks for Chrissy and what her family must have gone through.

Chrissy nods. "We've got to tell everybody the truth about them."

"Right," I say, even though my reasons for wanting to be a paparazzi couldn't be more different. I want to show the world the sparkly lives of the stars and let them experience a little of that magic through my pictures.

Before I can think of anything else to say though, someone in the sea of bodies shouts, "It's them!"

It's like they dropped a boulder in a wading pool. Everyone begins screaming as waves of pandemonium ripple out, catching us in their wake. The crowd rushes forward. It's all I can do to stay on my feet as I brace my legs and hold on.

"Faye! Ariani! Over here!" the man standing next to me yells so loudly my ear rings. I lean forward, trying to get a shot off as Faye Donovan and Ariani Shahzad make their way down the line of fans and photographers, stopping to pose for selfies and sign autographs.

Exhilaration washes over me like dust falling from a shooting star. This is what it's all for. This is the kind of moment I want to capture and share.

"Liam!" The guy beside me hollers, bellowing in my ear again. I flinch. Seriously? I wonder if all photogs are this rude or if it's just the ones here tonight.

Liam's standing just past Ariani and Faye, talking with a little girl, who looks to be about seven. He's stooped down, smiling at her, lips quirked in this charmingly lopsided grin. He signs a large, rectangular piece of paper the girl probably tore out of coloring book. There's no trace of the arrogant, patronizing jerk I had the displeasure of meeting.

If I didn't know better, I might mistake him for an actual human being. I take the shot.

Something bashes against my lens, making my Nikon smack against my nose. My eyes flood and pain throbs through my face. A body slams into me from behind, and I stumble, almost losing my footing.

Chrissy's hand wraps around my arm, steadying me. "Are you okay?"

I nod. Tears stream down my smarting face as I whirl around. Hairy-Arms is practically on top of me, his long lens where my head was only seconds ago. That must be what hit me.

Sweat stains bloom across his shirt, and he smells like he showered in drugstore cologne before leaving the house. He's zeroed in on Ariani and Faye and doesn't spare me a glance, let alone apologize.

"Excuse you." Chrissy's glare is red-hot as she steps directly in front of his lens. "Did you not notice you just hit my friend in the face?"

"Outta the way, Toots." His voice drips with condescension as he tries to step around us. "I'm with The Trib."

Chrissy looks at me, shaking her head in disgust.

"Then you should've been here earlier," I cross my arms over my chest, "so 'The Trib' could've gotten decent photos."

I step closer to Chrissy so we're shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the guy out.

He blinks at me like he can't believe we're not letting him past.

"Listen, Cupcake—" he says, jabbing his meaty finger at me.

"My name isn't Cupcake, or Toots for that matter. And we aren't moving."

The guy's jowls quiver as he stares me down. Then he turns, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he starts trying to push his way through the mob.

"Can you believe that guy?" Chrissy watches as he barrels his way toward a group of fangirls, who don't budge an inch.

"Such a slimeball." I shake my head, turning back to see if the actors are within shooting range yet.

I stop short, gasping and fumbling my camera in surprise. It slips through my fingers, and I let out a grunt as it bangs into my stomach, catching on the strap around my neck.

None other than the Liam Anders is standing right in front of me.

"You make friends wherever you go, don't you?" Liam says, jerking his thumb in the direction the guy stormed off.

He's wearing the same white t-shirt and pair of jeans from the other day. In the incessant flashing lights, I can make out a small scar cutting across his chin that I've never noticed before. I haven't seen it on the show. They must cover it with makeup. I don't know why they would though. Somehow the tiny imperfection makes him even more handsome, which is inexplicably irritating.

I look over at Chrissy. Her lens is aimed at both of us. I breathe a sigh of relief. I was worried she wouldn't play along after she found out I'd be getting points for these shots too. I'm sure the money she's going to make off them would be hard to pass up though.

"Actually," I force a sugary smile. "I'm a very friendly person when I'm not surrounded by jackasses."

"Riiiight. I've heard having no respect for other people's privacy is a real crowd pleaser."

"Oh, calm down, James Dean."

Liam scoffs. "Wow. Way to cut me deep there."

My temper flares at the condescending tone in his voice, but I need to keep my cool if I have any hope of uncovering his secret. I've got to get him talking.

I lean in closer to him. "There are millions of girls in this city. Why have your picture taken with me?"

"Well, I doubt any of those other girls would look as good covered in green juice," Liam says, loud enough for everyone in our vicinity to hear as he winks at me.

He's performing for the photographers again. I know that. But that wink—it has my stomach doing somersaults.

"Did he say green juice? Wait! Is she the girl from the pictures?" Someone shouts from behind me.

I close my eyes, bracing myself. Like dominoes falling one-by-one, everyone realizes who I am.

"That's her?"

"Is that Liam's girlfriend?"

"He's dating that girl?"

Chrissy's camera isn't the only one trained on me anymore. The guy next to me whips around so fast, he almost smacks me in the face with his lens too. I suddenly have a newfound empathy for any insect under a microscope.

I wonder if this is how celebs feel day in and day out with the paparazzi following them around. But that's different. They make a living off their own celebrity, which we help them create. They get to live the lives the rest of us dream about. They ask for this.

I try to breathe through the anxiety building in my chest.

Liam has a hand clamped over his mouth like he's trying to hide a laugh, but his shoulders are shaking.

"How's it feel to be on the other side of the lens for a change?" he asks.

I step toward him, so we're only inches apart. "What's your game here, Superstar?"

"What's yours, Ace?"

We stare each other down. My heart is pounding, whether from irritation, panic, or something else, I don't know.

"Liam, is that your girlfriend?" someone yells.

A smile twists Liam's lips as he calls back, "No comment." He stares me dead in the eyes as he says it like it's some kind of challenge.

I want to tell everyone here what a liar he is and wipe the smug grin off his face. But I can't. Not without admitting I'm a liar too. And not without wrecking the deal I made with Agnes and my best chance at securing this job.

The crowd presses in. They stand on tiptoes, trying to get a peek of me. The mob was suffocating before, but now it feels like I'm being buried alive. My palms are sweating, and my fingers tremble against my Nikon. I glance in the direction I saw Faye and Ariani earlier. I haven't gotten any shots of them, but there's no way I'll be able to with all these people surrounding me.

The frustration and fear must register on my face, because when I look back at Liam, he isn't laughing anymore. Something else flickers in his eyes. Pity. It only pisses me off more, because this is all his fault. If he didn't have to open his big mouth, I could've taken my shots and left without anyone figuring out who I am.

"You're such a jerk," I scowl at him, raising my camera, so it's inches from his face. I snap a picture, and the flash explodes in his eyes. He reels back, blinking.

"Ma'am, you need to leave." The bodyguard with the long, red mustache steps forward. I hadn't noticed him out here in all the pandemonium.

"I was already going." I shoot Liam one last withering glare before turning and shoving my way through the mass of paparazzi swarming around me.