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The Limelight (Prologue and Chapter 1)
“Beverly,” my mother told me. “This is for the cover of People magazine. Now smile, then blow a kiss towards the camera. The paparazzi love it.” I obeyed her demand. Then I scowled toward her. My mother was so annoying sometimes.
Your question probably is, ‘Why is she near paparazzi shooting for People magazine?’ The answer is ‘Well duh, I’m a superstar!’ Beverly Hawthorne: Hottest and youngest star ever to walk the Boulevard of Broken Dreams and make it to being a star. At least that’s what Teen Vogue says. And everybody reads Teen Vogue.
I’m a musician, but not any musician. I can sing, dance, act, design clothes, and play piano, guitar, saxophone and steel drums. A prima ballerina since I was two years old, I was noticed by world renowned socialite, Astrid Sparx. She is the head of the Limelights. The Limelights are the most amazing girls in the country, even the world. Astrid accepted me into her circle and made me a Limelight. Since then I’ve been in the big leagues with all of the most prestigious people in the business. The only issue is that I don’t like to fit in; ever.
When you are a fourteen year old with two Grammy’s, and four American Music Awards, you usually don’t get to burp in public.
I marched over to Astrid, glaring. “Where is my lip gloss? I am freaking out. I left it on the table,” I looked over at the mahogany coffee table in the middle of my dorm room. “And now it’s gone.”
Astrid sighed, sat on the wooden floor, and picked up a yellow and pink Lip Smackers tube. “Is this what you were looking for?” She rolled her signature eye roll. “I’m getting way too old for this. You should keep better track of your personal belongings. I have to leave for my photo shoot in a few minutes.”
I gasped. “First of all, Astrid, you are not,” I paused for faux dramatic effect. “Old.” I doubled over giggling. “You are turning twenty- eight, not forty, in a week. You should calm down a bit.”
Astrid grabbed my shoulders. “Thanks, Beverly. I would never know what I would do without you.”
“Ditto. I almost forgot; thanks for finding my lip gloss. I would have died without it.” A smile spread across my lips. “Don’t you have a photo shoot?”
Astrid looked at her Dolce & Gabbana watch. “Wow; I lost track of time. Love you Bevvy.” Bevvy was my nickname from the time I was five years old. She kissed me on the cheek and sprinted toward the door of my dorm. Astrid was so down-to-earth sometimes. It almost made her seem like a “normal” person.