ADA

"Make way! Paparazzi Queen entering the room!" my brother, Aiden, calls as I plop down at the 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 hazel eyes, long limbs, and brown hair that matches my own natural color, we look alike. But he got all the coordination genes.

My parents are in the other room, and I'm hoping to keep them from finding out about the rumors for as long as possible, preferably 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 Aiden and me after school while my parents were at work, and she was the one who spent hours daydreaming with me about the future and all the celebrities I'd photograph. She'd be so excited about my pictures getting published. I can just see 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's more like a nightmare.

"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 stuff?"

I groan. Talk about the worst picture ever to 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 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 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.

"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 necklace, twirling the charm 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 like to understand why the agency my teenage daughter is interning at is selling pictures of her to the 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 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 to the press—along with a bogus story.

"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 eyebrows 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 in New York. 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 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 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." 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 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." 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 confront 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 at the university, 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 to. I'm not about to change my mind now when it's all happening for me.

"I'm not going to NYU. I want to be a photographer. And apparently, I'm pretty 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 make 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, I want to see these photos." She squeezes my hand from across the table, 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 from the table. The skin of my bare feet clings to the cool 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 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 grimace and glance over my shoulder. "Uh, ix-nay on the amous-fay."

"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 framed school portraits of Aiden and me on either side. It's like watching a time-lapse video in reverse.

I lean against my door, sagging with relief as it snaps 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 it from her hands.

"You are the best best friend ever."

"I know." She glances around, looking for a place to sit. 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 every day, but that photograph is as brilliant as it was when 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 backward and plopping down.

"About what?" I take 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 this morning."

"Elodie!" I snap, sitting up. "That wasn't romantic tension. It was just...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 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 that's actually a valid argument.

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

Grams always told me that if I wanted to make my dreams come true, then I needed to focus on achieving my goals first and not think about guys until after. Her biggest regret was 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 that role instead of Grams won an Oscar only ten years later. Grams didn't want anything like that to 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 those photos, 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 from the bed. It's a group text to me and two 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. Get me those shots.

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

"My boss wants me to get pictures of the Cipher actors tomorrow." I bury my face in my hands and moan. "What am I going to do if someone takes more photos of Liam and me 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 score you some major bonus points."

Bonus points. Her words flip on a light switch in my brain.

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 Liam again and somehow stage it to encourage the rumors, the rags would snatch the photos 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 bonkers situation work in my favor."

"Well, you're welcome." She reaches into the bag, pulls out a muffin, and takes a huge bite.

"All I've got to do is find Liam tomorrow, get the other interns to take some shots 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.