the luke hemmings
one
I don't know how it started. I could come up with hundreds—maybe thousands—of cliché ways to start off this paragraph. There were the best of times and there were the worst of times. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe it has something to do with God, I'm sure Mom would like that one. I'm sure that would make her feel better about my neglect for religion.
Anyways, something happened. Something in my life went right. One good fumbled into more good.
I end up with a millionaire across from me, his crew probably close to seven digits, too. Something went right in my life and I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting for it to go wrong.
"I don't get it," Luke said, his eyebrows furrowed, "What does he do?"
"I write," I responded, trying to seem more important than I truly was. I spoke with my hands often, that's how I exaggerated words and kept myself from stuttering or pausing. I'm sure I constantly look like a child.
"He writes," Luke's manager responded.
It was like I wasn't in the room. As if I didn't wake up early to attend a meeting where I'm treated lower than low. I'm important, I know I'm important.
I could see the blonde boy look over at me, his eyes digging into my skin and making me feel worse. Did he not like what he saw? He doesn't need to like what he sees. I'm not his sugar daddy or anything, I can barely afford my own rent. Maybe he could be my sugar daddy. I would be so for that.
"Okay, what's the point? Why am I here?"
"Well, Michael here," my boss, Jack, paused, pointing over to me, "is going to go on tour with you. He's going to write about you, everything about you."
Luke toyed with a blue pen on the dark wood desk, spinning it around his lean fingers. I liked his fingers—they were long and callused.
"Have you seen Almost Famous?" I asked, leaning forward on the table. I could see my boss from the corner of my eye, he looked as if he were about to hit me upside the head. I was an overbearing and in-your-face type of guy.
"Duh," the older blonde answered.
"It's going to be like that, except more cool."
"Are you trying to tell me my favorite movie isn't cool?"
His manager looked me in the eyes, giving me a look of good luck.
I could feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment, I knew my ghostly skin was quickly turning to a vermillion shade. It wasn't my fault, okay. I could go up a flight of stairs and this pale skin could make it look as if I just ran a marathon—something I'd never do.
"I'm kidding, chill." Luke turned back to my boss after giving me one more glance. "Do I have to do anything?"
"Not really. After it's written, you'll proofread it to make sure nothing is in there that you don't want in there," Jack responded. He turned the white binder in his hands around to Luke, "You need to sign off on it, though."
"Is he annoying?" The star asked, looking straight at my boss. "What is he, twelve?"
"I'm nineteen," I responded. I kept it at that, not ready to state that I'm not really annoying. I mean, everyone could be annoying at times. I'm sure I've pissed off a decent amount of people in my life, I've pissed off myself more than once.
