Famous Read Free Page B

of
New York Weekly
. “How many people do we know who have been profiled in a major magazine? New York City’s youngest paparazzo ever? I believe the correct answer would be one.”
    I grabbed his arm to stop him and we kissed in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, our lips pressed warmly as other bodies brushed past. “Thank you,” I said, our faces close. “Only, for the six hundred and seventy-fifth time, I am not a paparazzo. I am a celebrity photographer.”
    Nasim rolled his gorgeous almond eyes, and we started to hurry again, our shoulders now and then bumping. “There is no difference.”
    â€œThere’s a
big
difference,” I insisted. “I may take pictures of celebrities, but I don’t stalk or harass them or try to get them to punch me so that I can sue them for assault.”
    Nasim changed the subject. “You never told me they wanted to send you to the Sundance Film Festival.”
    â€œI don’t know why my father had to bring that up,” I said, although the truth was, I knew
exactly
why he’d done it: to bask, as they say, in the reflected glory of his daughter’s accomplishments. “I’m not exactly proud that my mother wouldn’t let me go. I mean, do you think thatin the entire history of independent film festivals, there’s ever been anyone else who had to say no because her mother didn’t want her to miss school?”
    By now we were nearing the “hip, downtown,” but still academically excellent Herrin School, which our parents paid a fortune to so that we could get in to the best colleges and someday become rich and important and genetically prodigious. As we joined the ranks of our fellow movers and shakers to be, Nasim leaned close and whispered in my ear. “Don’t look now, but at least one hundred people are staring at you.”
    I would be lying if I didn’t admit the thrill that ran through me.
    We pushed through the wooden front doors into the warm, perfume-scented, emotionally charged world of Children of Privilege Trying Not to Appear Too Chic and headed for our lockers. Uncertain how to deal with the attention, I felt my face flush in response to the glances and whispers.
    â€œAnd what must be most exciting of all for you?” Nasim said. “That you are in the same magazine as your favorite couple, Willow Twine and Rex Dobro.”
    He was right. If there is such a thing as Fame by Proximity, then I was doubly blessed and privately delighted to be in the same issue that carried an article about the break-ups, the make-ups, and the shake-ups of Rexlow, Hollywood’s hottest couple. Recently, hardly aweek had gone by without some report of a spat or fight, tearful reconciliation followed by an expensive truce offering. Rex gave Willow diamond rings, bracelets, and necklaces. She gave him fast cars, motorcycles, and a Jet Ski. One thing no one doubted was, they were crazy in love with each other.
    With the emphasis on “crazy.”
    â€œOh my god! Kickin’ story, Wonder Girl!” Coming toward us was Avril Tennent, the nicest, sweetest, cutest chubby-guy-with-curly-brown-hair-who-was-convinced-he-was-going-to-be-famous someday that you’d ever want to meet.
    Postgush, Avy turned to Nasim and bumped knuckles. “Yo, dawg.”
    â€œS’up, pup?” replied Nasim. It was some sort of semiprivate inside joke they shared, a running satire on the macho school jocks who always greeted one another in a similar fashion.
    Avy turned back to me. “Do you know what this means? You, Jamie Gordon, are, at this moment, the most famous high school student in all of New York! So now we can be famous together! You and me! I mean, you’re in this week’s
New York Weekly
! This is amazing. Mind-boggling! How does it feel?”
    â€œPretty cool,” I said, as his words floated though my thoughts.
You, Jamie Gordon, are, at this moment, the most famous high