Celebrity Life
Alexandra, Age 12, Easton, CT

I paraded across the red carpet elegantly, carefully turning and smiling at all paparazzi. I hope this time I remembered to arch my back, just to look at least a pound leaner. In front of the camera’s eye, even the slightest body movements can make a big impact. But really, I am getting sick of the same smiles, so I think next time I’m going to give them a face to put in the magazines. Hmm….

Normally Elegant Celebrity Makes Hideous Notions in front of camera!~Pics on page three.  That sounds fitting, but then again, with Brittany shaving her head it may not take up the pages of People. Maybe more outrageous actions would be better. But then again, my rep may not be the same. Besides what things could a 12 year old do to get the attention of the public eye? It’s not like I can just go out and get pregnant or something. Although, I do know something is necessary, I don’t want to get boring on them. I stared down at my wonderfully French pedicure and sighed at the loss of ideas.

“Mario, I need my Frappicino! My brain needs caffeine.” I yelled, though the yelling was not necessary, I like feel like I have power that way.

“Coming Senorita!” Mario came in carrying a Carmel Frappicino, extra whipped cream with loads of Carmel sauce.

“Gracias” I said, spooning the whipped cream in my mouth.

He soon left, and I became lonely, although my poodle Henry was there, my parents were lounging in there cabin in Colorado, they offered to have me come, but I don’t enjoy cold weather, even though all my UGG’s look gorgeous on me. I snuck to the window and stuck my head out. I smelled a luscious aroma of Italian spaghetti. I wanted to go, but being seen there with Mario would be too embarrassing.

“Mario! Mario! I’m going for a walk down to the beach with Cassie, be back in like and hour!” I screamed, scuffling to put on my Coach heels. I quickly gazed In the mirror, fixing my hair as I grabbed the Louis Vuitton bag.

“Alright senorita!” Mario yelped.

I definitely can’t go out thought the front door of the plaza. He would see I wasn’t in beach wear. I opened the window and climbed down the ladder. I rushed into the petite bistro carefully avoiding cameras in my path. As I entered I saw people staring and some got up to ask for a picture or an autograph. I quickly scribbled on the papers and looked at the cameras but then I really wanted to get a table away from everybody. I grabbed the nearest waiter.

“Excuse me sir, can I please have a private table.” I whispered, careful not to give fans the wrong idea.

“Of course Madame, after all you are the great Liz!” He proudly exclaimed, as I turned pink.

As we walked out onto the outdoor patio I smiled at the one lone table with a view of the sea, it’s really nice to live in Beverly Hills, because almost every restaurant comes with the satisfaction of a private table. And this time she didn’t have to share it with a guardian.

“We hope it meets all your needs” the waiter commented.

“It’ll do all right, I suppose.” I said, hiding my excitement.

The waiter shrugged and pulled out the chair, (which is expected) and then set the menu down and left. Woah! $54 for spaghetti?! I guess it does pay to be a celebrity; otherwise I could never afford to be seen at such a glamorous restaurant. The waiter returned with a cup of steaming espresso.

“Great, more coffee” I thought.

“Compliments of the chef,he explained.

“Thanks, now can you take my order?” I asked in impatiently.

“Of course! My apologies” He stammered.

“Well, I would like the Gnocchi di Ricotta with no eggs, no oil, only a bit of salt and extra low-fat cheese” I commanded. It took the waiter at least five minutes to write it down.

“It will be done momentarily” he stated.

As soon as it came out of the kitchen my eyes became big. I looked at my plate of pasta piled high and automatically dug into it.

“Zanks a bunch!” I said through all the pasta in my mouth. Sauce dripped from my chin and I became embarrassed, the waiter chuckled.

“Glad you’re enjoying it,” He commented as he left.

My meal was finished faster then imagined and it left me with enough time to take a quick stroll.

“Waiter, waiter! I’m ready to pay!” I yelped.

“Right here, here’s you check miss.” He quickly presented the check.

I glanced quickly at the bill seeing only the numbers “5” and “9” and then scrambled through my new tote and grabbed the nearest hundred. It was extremely convenient that the waiter chose to wait for my payment.

“Keep the change.” I said casually.

“Thank you very much! I hope we will be seeing you sometime soon” I snorted, after all why would I try to be sweet now?

I took my Dior sunglasses out of my bag and fixed up my spaghetti covered face, I looked at myself in the window. My life is tough but someone has to live it.

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