As The Lights Go Down.

Samantha pressed her cold hand against her warm face. Her make-up artist, Carlos, scolded her. “You’ll mess up your make-up!” He said, and grabbed a brush and reapplied the foundation. “I thought that this show was about celebrities when they aren’t all…glammed up.” Samantha replied, crossing her arms. Carlos sighed. “Well, still, you should always look your best.” As soon as he was done, Samantha slid out of the chair and walked over to her closet, thinking. She wondered what it would be like if she was just a normal kid. Ever since she was two, she had been involved it modeling for Target, and being in commercials, and she got her first recording contract when she was 14. She was never around kids her own age, and never got to go to school because she never had time. She brushed her blonde curls out of her face and behind her ear and opened the closet. She stepped into it. It was full of sweaters, sweatshirts, dresses, skirts, shirts, and shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. Flats, high heels, flip flops, boots, you name it. She pulled out a purple zip-up Abercrombie sweatshirt with a hood and slipped it on over her shirt, which was a plain orange tank-top. She zipped it up and put on a pair of red and white striped flip-flops then wandered farther into her closet into her mini-wardrobe with all of her accessories. She grabbed a pair of hot pink sunglasses and a Yankees baseball cap. She put the glasses on and grabbed a pony tail holder. She put her curly blonde hair into a sloppy bun and put the Yankees hat backwards over it. Samantha had decided that maybe a quick walk to the gas station to get some Powerade and Hot Cheetohs would be good for her. A nice treat. It might not seem special, but it was to her. Her stylists always insisted that she didn’t eat any junk food so she could stay in shape. She could never have a day where she could lie in bed and watch T.V. If she didn’t have an interview, then she had a photoshoot, and if she didn’t have a photoshoot, then she had to go to singing and acting lessons then work out for an hour, and her stylists kept her on a low-calorie diet. No doughnuts or sugared cereal for Sammy. She put up her hood and walked out of the dressing room and down the dull, gray halls of the recording studio. She took a right and went out the exit into the parking lot and walked across the street were the 7-11 was. As she was going up the curb, she tripped and fell, scraping her knee. “Oww,” She mumbled. “Hey, look! It’s Sammy!” Someone shouted. Samantha narrowed her green eyes and spotted her hot pink sunglasses laying on the sidewalk. Instantly, paparazzi surrounded her. She groaned. Why couldn’t she be normal?