Things get complicated when the world knows who you are. When they quickly learn where you live. When they decide that following you is normal. When blocking your car is a completely rational thing to do— which is ridiculous, I mean, it's not like my car could flatten you like a pancake or anything. It's a shame that making people pancakes is not allowed... I really wanted to make a breakfast buffet out of few people.

Carter couldn't walk to school, trapped in the house or risk getting tackled for information. And he couldn't afford to shed any blood. It was too precious. He was too precious. That left me driving him, and my car was... temperamental, barely functioning.

I had dug out a black wig, shoved on a green beanie, and threw on a pair of sunglasses, hoping it was enough to leave the paparazzi that waited outside of the underground parking garage confused. My car slowly puttered out of the parking garage, jolting and letting out large puffs of smoke. Carter sat in the passenger seat, baseball cap pulled down over his face, body stiff with fear as I slowly inched through the crowed of paparazzi.

The pictures of me posted online were blurry, and all of them showcased my signature rainbow hair and tattoos. None of which I currently had. We squeaked by the paparazzi, who mostly muttered in irritation, waving their hands through the air as my car continued to puff out smoke like a bad magician attempting to escape in a bucket of bolts.

Carter let out an uneasy breath once we turned the corner, no paparazzi following us. "This is not going to be fun..." he said quietly, pulling off the cap and shoving it into his bag. "Those people are scary." 

We drove quietly for a few minutes, his fingers playing with the straps of his backpack, something on his mind.

"Is that what you do?" he finally asked.

I sighed. "It's not what I want to do."

"But you do it, right? You follow people around and write lies about them." His voice, which was normally so calm, hand an edge to it.

"I don't want to do it Carter. I'm just trying to—" The car began to shutter, shaking the entire frame.

Not now, car. Keep it together.

"—I'm just trying to make sure we have what we need. That you have what you need, Carter."

Smoke began to bloom up from the hood.

"So it's my fault that you write bad things about people?" Carter asked, sounding hurt.

I shook my head, squinting through the smoke, trying to see. "No!"

The car died, sputtering out a pathetic final growl before stopping next to the curb at the side of the road. I glared out the windshield. "None of this is your fault. I took a job I shouldn't have and that's on me. I wanted to make sure we had all the money we needed and at the time..." I leaned my head on the steering wheel. "It was all I thought I could get. So no, none of this is your fault. I did this. And now we are stalled on the side of the road in a crap car because you aren't safe enough to walk to school and..."

I turned to look at him. "I'm sorry Carter. You are wonderful and don't deserve this... any of it."

He offered me a half smile, nodding before staring down at his feet, brow furrowed. "It just sucks Em. I don't like what they are saying about you."

"Makes two of us kid." I squeezed his hand. "But we can't control what others say about us. All we can do is not give them the power to hurt us with it. They don't deserve to have that kind of influence over us."

I reached to open my car door. "Guess we better walk from here, huh?"

Carter yanked my arm away from the door. "No!"

He looked suddenly terrified and it took me a second to figure out why. Flashes surrounded the car a moment later. The paparazzi had found us and we were now trapped in an immovable car.

Crap.

Carter slunk down in his seat, baseball cap back on his head, voice small. "What do we do?"

I followed his lead, doing my best to keep my face from view. "Time to call for backup."

...

Carter was in the middle of eating his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which was supposed to be for lunch and watching the paparazzi outside like a kid watching a bunch of fish in a fish tank, when backup finally arrived.

Bodies were shoved aside, a pair of blue eyes glaring at anyone who dared to try to get in the way. A similar pair of eyes, bright green mirrored the other set, and had a far more gentle approach to the weeding out of people.

Tate Dalton, the kinder of the Dalton boys, opened Carter's passenger door with a bright smile. "Hey kid. Need a ride?" Carter shoved the rest of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich into his mouth, nodding, already taking up Tate's infectious smile.

Tate Dalton, ex bodyguard, turned personal driver, who now apparently worked for the studio, was known for his warm, goofy personality, and his romantic relationship with Allie Winters, CEO of the fashion company, Royal Winters.

I would know, I had written about them enough. Unlike many others, Tate was impossible to say anything negative about. The world loved him, and for good reason. He was incredibly kind, always.

Tate was a six-foot-tall guy in his early twenties with chocolate brown curly hair that swept away from his face and framed his strong jaw. He seemed to be coated in a smiling disposition as he threw Carter over his shoulder, causing Carter to squeal as he lugged him away from the car, shouting as he went. "Out of the way! Make room! Precious cargo! No touching our my grumpy side kick will do something scary and we don't want that!"

I scrambled out of my side of the car, Aiden Dalton, said grumpy side kick with the angry blue eyes already waiting for me to emerge. Where Tate Dalton was sunshine, Aiden Dalton was a wall of angry ice, if ice could be angry. He was unflappable, and had one soft spot, for his bride to be, Laliana Summers.

The man was known for his 'resting angry' face and a set of ice blue storm eyes that looked like they belonged to someone who'd destroy you if you looked at him sideways. He set a glare free on the closest photographer who stumbled back, knocking several others over with him, like a stack of pins at the bowling alley. No one dared get near Aiden when he unleashed that look. 

Then we were off, moving for the car the Dalton's had come in. The back door opened and I came face to face with Laliana Summers who looked up at me with a bright smile as she peeked her head out the back door.

"HI!"

I scrambled in, noting that Carter took up the other spot on her other side. I had to stifle a laugh. Carter was staring at Laliana, awed. He loved her. Something that Tate and Laliana had in common. The world loved them.

"Hi..." I replied, smiling warmly back at her. 

"I'm glad you called! It's a zoo of baddies out there!" Laliana said looking past me, wide eyed.

Aiden slid into the front passenger's seat, silent, where as Tate turned and offered me a warm smile. "Operation rescue complete!"

"Luke will take care of your car," Aiden said as the sleek black car settled onto the road, tinted window's hiding us from the world outside.

"Luke?" I asked, distracted as several people tried to chase our car.

"Yeah, I thought that was weird too," Laliana agreed. "He doesn't normally work on cars these days, but we didn't want to leave it in the middle of the road like that."

"But... the cameras..." I said, watching the lights as they began to fade away as we sped up, the sharks falling far behind now that we were in a working car.

"Luke won't work on the car while the crazies are there," Tate said with a laugh. "That would be hilarious though! Can you imagine!" He waved one hand dramatically, slipping into an impersonation of Luke. "'Excuse me miss, but your camera is kind of blinding me while I work on the engine. Can you take a picture of my grease stained clothes later.' He'll wait until the paparazzi are gone, then he'll take care of it."

"I didn't know he had mechanic skills," I said surprised. Or that he would offer to fix my car.

"There's a lot to know about the guy," Tate said. "He likes his hobbies."

My mind spun. Why would Luke agree to fix my car? Wasn't he still sick? When did he get out of the hospital?

...

Dancing is all fun and games until you have to do the same exact moves to the same exact beat at the same exact time in every take of a movie scene while wearing uncomfortable clothes that leave little to the imagination under boiling hot stadium lights.

I was dressed like a glamorous pop star, my hair a wild mess of bed head, my eyes covered in smokey makeup, lips sporting dark red lipstick, all while wearing a black leather outfit that was skin tight and kept short. 

Delle was walking me and my fake backup dancers through a set of moves on the stage, going through each step with ease ahead of us so we could follow, while she shouted the next set of moves back over her shoulder like a drill sergeant. 

I was distracted as Delle walked us through the steps of a dance routine that my character was going to be performing in front of a stadium of people later on in the movie, once she became famous.

But unlike my backup dancers, I looked like a baby goat learning how to walk. And it was getting embarrassing. Everyone turned in unison, and I was left staring in the wrong direction as the song ended, my mind stuck on Carter and completely flustered by how terrible I was doing. 

After a week of Tate driving Carter to and from school and filling me with assurances that no one messed with Carter while he was on school grounds, I was still left unsettled by how everything played out. The idea of Carter having to be taken everywhere with extra protection, without me being able to be there with him, left me wracked with guilt. 

Our conversation about my gossip job had left a bad taste in my mouth, something that was still bothering Carter, becoming a larger problem the longer he had to be carted around while paparazzi tried to take his picture.

I did this. He's in this position and it's my fault. I thought of his face, how terrified he was as we were swarmed and how bad I felt over the part I played in bringing that fear into his life snaked around me, squeezing me so tight that it was hard to breathe.

"Em?" Delle said, pulling me back to the choreography as the song began again.

I blinked, rubbing the back of my neck, flustered. "Sorry."

"Where is your head?" Delle asked, walking over and poking me in the forehead. "The steps aren't hard and you look like I've asked you to solve long division while blind folded."

She searched my face and filled in the blanks faster than I could answer. "Ah..." She motioned for the others to take five.

 Once they were out of earshot she turned back to me. "The article. You okay?"

I shrugged. "How'd you cope? When it was you that every story was after?"

"You mean when you were one of the key writers about me?"

I shot her a look. "You gave me permission for that..." Sinking to the ground, I sighed, no longer having the energy to defend myself. "But yeah..."

Delle crouched before me, leveling me with her own look. "I dealt with it. I leaned on people. Didn't let some ridiculous neon pink website determine who I am. And you need to find the strength to do the same because things are just getting started."

Pulling me to my feet, she gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder, making it clear that physical affection wasn't one of her strengths. "It's gonna be okay. But for now, focus on what you can control. Dustin wants this choreography figured out ASAP. Because they are going to throw you into your first pop star number soon and you can't afford to go into shooting looking like... well how you do now."

She gestured to the empty stadium around us. "Not when we are going to be filling this place up and you are going to be singing and dancing at the same time while a whole lot of people watch you from the stands."

"... Great," I muttered pulling down on the edge of my outfit, irritated by how self conscious I felt in it. "I just wish this thing was longer. Is it supposed to be this short?"

Delle took a step back and analyzed the clothing. "Huh... Allie doesn't normally make things that short. Weird. Maybe Dustin asked them to make alterations." She smirked. "I don't miss dressing ridiculously." 

I hugged myself, trying to cover the outfit up. "I knew I looked ridiculous!" I hissed. 

Delle shrugged. "No more than usual." She shot me a sharp smile when I glared. "What? You walk around like a pixie out of a picture book. You nearly blinded Allie with that hair of yours the first time she saw you." 

Kevin, the Casting Director scrambled up the stairs of the stadium stage, out of breath as he approached us, pushing his floppy hair out of his eyes before struggling to straighten his glasses. "Miss Springs..." he said between deep breaths, hands on his knees. "I..." he muttered something else, but it was lost to the sound of him loudly scrambling to gather more air.

Delle settled down on the edge of the stage, shaking her head as she watched him try to get more words out, looking mildly amused. "You okay there buddy?" 

Kevin nodded, finally catching his breath. "Perfectly fine." He looked at me. "Miss Springs. The Director wants you to attend a publicity event to help with..." he paused, glancing away, flustered. "The article incident."

Ever since that first XOXO Daily Gossip article came out, things had gotten heated. Fake stories of me attempting to run Luke over with my car, me attempting to shave his head in a mad, unstable frenzy, me throwing drinks in his face have all surfaced. Events that were impossible considering that for the last week, we had been working on separate scenes. I hadn't seen or spoken to Luke since our attempt to shoot our scene at the bar had failed so epically. 

The tabloids had given me the name, "Petty Pixie Princess" which was well... not the worst name to be called, but still irritating. And on an even more irritating note, half of the made up articles had come from XOXO Daily Gossip. Something I couldn't truly complain about considering I had posted plenty of articles in the past working for them.

"Just call it what it is," Delle said with a wave of her hand. "Dustin wants to put out the 'rival actors' fire before it affects potential sales." She stood up, looking tired. "Honestly, why does everyone on this studio lot try to be all vague and unhelpful with their wording. Just say exactly what you mean. 'Pretend to play nice so our movie is successful.'"

Kevin opened his mouth and then closed it, flustered by Delle's blunt response. "Well... yes. Um... that." 

I patted Kevin on the shoulder, amused. "It's fine. Don't pay attention to the scary dragon lady. What does Dustin need me to do?" 

Kevin eyed Delle warily as she shot him a sharp smile, looking like she hadn't decided if she was going to circle him like prey. He rubbed the back of his neck looking back at me. "You are scheduled for karaoke night at a local bar." 

Delle snorted. 

"Um... what?" I asked, my tone making Kevin jump. I cleared my throat, attempting calm. But the word came out again. "What?" Singing in front of strangers, let alone strangers that called me a Petty Pixie Princess sounded like a terrible way to make things better.

Kevin offered a sympathetic smile. "You sing in the movie and Dustin wants you to show off... your skills?" he finished loosing confidence and making it sound like a question as I scowled.

Delle grinned. "This is going to be fun."I glared at her. "Do we get to watch?"

"Nope..."

"What time should I be there?" 

"Never."

"And can we bring friends?"

"No!" I snapped, then whirled on Kevin causing him to take a step back, scared. I offered a tight smile, trying not to spoke him any more than Delle and I already had. "I'm assuming this is a 'turn up, let people see you, sing a song' and then done, right?" 

Kevin nodded. "Yep. Nothing fancy."

I smirked at Delle. "See. Just me singing a song and that's it. No reason—"

"Actually..." Kevin said, sounding nervous. "It's not just you."

I blinked, waiting for the rest of the information. "It's to help you and Luke... to work on your on screen relationship... So you are both going to sing?" he added, his questioning tone back in place.

Delle smiled wider. "Of course they are." She patted Kevin on the back, sending him stumbling a step forward in surprise. He yelped, jumpy. 

"I'll send you the details," Kevin added before bolting off, not waiting to see how I was going to respond. 

Delle watched him go, chuckling. "Sweet kid."

"You are enjoying this WAY too much," I muttered. 

"Hey, you got a front row seat to me stumbling through a reality tv show. Now it's my turn for some fun." She smiled far too pleased by the turn of events. "It's hard not to enjoy this. Being an audience member is so much more fun." 

Delle motioned for the music to be turned back on. "Now let's see if we can whip you into shape before you have to sing in front of a bunch of strangers and a grumpy singing partner." 

Awesome.

---

Thank you for reading chapter thirteen! I hope you are enjoying the story! Or are at least curious to see where it goes!

UPDATE DAYS - A NEW CHAPTER EVERY FRIDAY!

It's karaoke time! How will things go?!? 

What song will Em sing? 

What song will Luke sing? 

Will Luke show up? Will Delle bring others to watch? 

Will Em run into paparazzi problems while singing?

What will happen next?

CHAPTER QUESTION - If you had to sing a song for karaoke, what would you sing?