A Chance At Fame

I've always been so sure that I was born to be a fashionista. My friend Laura thinks so as well. But I'm not sure even she can pick me up from the biggest fall of my life... Maybe one simple phone call can, though. (Complete.)

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1. Not Me

"You're definitely ready," Laura informed me, smiling from ear-to-ear. I turned my head and cast her an unsure look.

"I'm definitely not," I retorted, folding the last of my clothing so that it was ready to put away.

"Felicia, don't put yourself down. Now let's go and post this!" she smiled while jumping up and down excitedly, waving the white envelope before me.

"I bet they won't even consider me," I sighed. I'd been practicing my catwalk for years, then the biggest fashion show of the year decided to stage itself nearby. As soon as I saw the leaflets, I knew I had to enter; so did Laura. We'd spent the whole of this month preparing, but now I felt like I'd just woken up. "I'm nothing against those stick-thin models-by-inheritance." it was as if I'd had some epiphany so now I believed my dream was impossible.

 

"Of course they'll consider you," she chirped back to me, as she pulled a denim jacket around herself. "You're beautiful."

"And a novice," I noticed the jacket. "I got you that for your thirteenth birthday." I said, not paying attention to Laura's encouragement.

"Felicia! Don't let yourself get distracted!" she scolded.

"Okay... But it has been your's for eight years now," I added, with a smile. A bothered look flashed across her face but was soon replaced by a cheeky grin.

Satisfying reaction... I thought. Meanwhile, Laura was curling up beneath the covers of her bed. She threw a pillow at me. Wiping pink fluff out of my eyes, I returned it to her in a single bounce.

"Get to bed, it's the model revealing tomorrow, you'll need to be awake when you find out you've been chosen," she ordered.

"Yes Mother," I joked. "Just let me post this application," I picked up the white envelope and left the room. Outside, I dumped it in the specially-stylized box for applications the catwalk company had left. With a wide-mouthed yawn, I returned and buried myself deep in my own covers, not the least bit ready for tomorrow.

 

A thudding pain in my stomach awoke me. I opened one eye a fraction. Laura was looming over me, her fist suspended centimetres from my stomach.

"Laura, it's not even light," I mumbled sleepily, pointing a tired finger towards the window, out of which I could see only the blue pre-dawn sky.

"You won't care about that once you hear this!" she exclaimed.

"Nothing could be that important that it gets me out of bed," I flipped on my side, staring blankly at the other wall.

"Okay, I'll just have to tell you," I was about to plug my ears, when I heard her speak again. "The catwalk council decided to review the applications earlier, and the revealing is in an hour!" my eyes widened in shock as I turned to face Laura. Without prior warning, I pushed her aside, heading for the dresser. I pulled on the most fashionable outfit I could and imprisoned myself in the bathroom.

I checked myself in the mirror minutes later. The wafer-thin tank top settled neatly over my stomach-well, the parts of it that weren't showing. Denim shorts clung to my skin and ended mid-thigh, leaving my long tanned legs exposed above my silver sandals. With my sunglasses holding my hair back to complete the look, I'd normally say that I looked pretty fashionable. But today, the nerves seeped into everything, and I couldn't see that.

 

I hadn't realised how long I'd been in there until I opened the door to find Laura about to hammer on it-with both fists. "Exactly how long does it take you to do your make up?" she asked. I blushed in reply.

"Sorry..." I dropped my make up into my handbag. "Shall we go?"

"Lead the way," Laura smiled, making a ridiculously exaggerated gesture towards the door.

 

And I did indeed. Lead the way, that is. It wasn't long before we were in town. I checked my watch-we were just on time. Together, we took seats in the vast rows of them set before a small lecturn. Chatter passed between the models and friends around us, until the speaker came to the stand. It was a man with broad shoulders, wearing a smooth, black suit, with a deep blue tie. His hair was gelled back and he was wearing a smile that, to me, was so obviously superficial.

"I will read out the names of the applicants," he began as the crowd became hushed. "As I say your name, I will also say the judge's verdict. If the verdict is positive, please come and stand beside me," he shifted his sheets around on the stand. "Amira Smith. Negative. Holly West. Negative. Milea Lorne. Positive!" he passed the paper into his other hand and joined the applause. "Rain Lake. Negative..." I rolled my eyes slightly at the humour in her name, and the fact that he had emphasised it like it was a never-ending pun. Before I knew it, I heard my name being projected from the front of the crowd. "Felicia Hale," in that moment, that seemed much closer to an hour, I crossed my fingers, praying him to say the one word I wanted to hear. "Negative," my heart sunk deeper and deeper into my body. My face fell and tears formed in my eyes. I barely even felt Laura guide me away from the crowd and push me into a taxi, as I broke down in tears.

"It's going to be okay..." she whispered, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and pulling me close. It certainly didn't feel like it.

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