An interview with Becky - How JK asked her out

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Interviewer: I can't believe you got X-Ray kicked out. Do you know how hard it is to get people like him on stage?!

Becky: (rolls eyes) Celebrities, am I right?

Interviewer: This is your fault!

Who are we going to get now?

Becky: Well duh! (grabs mic)

Everyone let's give a very warm welcome to, Jackson Hemsworth!

Interviewer: Wait, what – hey! I'm announcing here. Becky, give the mic back!

Why would you even call Jackson?

Jackson: Aw, I'm offended, I thought you pretty ladies wanted me here.

Becky: Hey babe!

(The interviewer and Becky wrestle for the mic. Jackson breaks them up)

Jackson: Alright ladies, cut it out!

Interviewer: Finally, I need this mic.

Jackson, we appreciate having you on stage, but unless you have a juicy story to relate, I'm afraid we'll have to kick you out.

Becky: (pouts) No far! You had Xavier!

Interviewer: Well, give me a good story and your beloved boyfriend can stay.

(Becky's eyes light up and she opens her mouth to talk. JK interrupts her by covering her mouth with his hand)

Jackson: Nope, you are not telling that story

Interviewer: (leans forward) What story?

Becky: Jackson asking me out of course!

You think it was interesting getting Danny and Xavier together? Well honey, you should've seen the way Jackie here, asked me out!

Interviewer: Okay, I must admit, you piqued my interest.

What happened?

Jackson: (slumps in chair, blushing) Great

Becky: (clears throat theoretically) It all started one Monday morning ...

***

I stretch my arms above my head, my yawn as big as a hippo. Climbing down groggily from my bed, I half drag myself to the bathroom I share with my sister Miranda. My eyes are half closed as I attempt to brush my teeth and take a shower, enjoying the heat of hot water pounding my bare skin. Miranda raps on the door, yelling that I take too long and that I should stop singing in the shower because it makes her eardrums bleed.

That's not true. My singing is good. Her's sucks.

After a tiresome twenty minutes of wresting with my brown mane of hair, I manage to get the thing tamed into some sorry excuse of a ponytail. Wearing a cute pink sweater and some faded jeans, I tie up my yellow sneakers and head to the kitchen, skipping along the way. Its chaotic downstairs, mum is frying eggs, the twins are racing around in their matching tracksuits. My dad is trying his best to read his newspaper, Miranda is yelling something about us being out of milk. The oldest, Margaret, is nowhere to be found.

Ah, I love the cacophony of discordant music so early in the day.

"Good morning!" I chirp happily, smiling at everyone I pass as I make my way to the counter.

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