Write About Me

Chapter Eight: Young Author's Contest Winner

March 20th, 2004 - Manhattan, New York

Phabiola Fenty.

"C'mon Phabi, you don't want to be late for your own debut!" My mom rushed me up the subway stairs in front of New York Times headquarters.

Like Chris had told me, I entered the contest. With the help of Mr. M getting my work out to the judges and other viewers to see I ended up winning the Young Author's contest. It was a big thing that the New York Times newspaper did each year. I was the first black girl to win. So it caught allot of wind and they've been contacting my mother ever since. Trying to book an interview and a photoshoot for my front cover newspaper spread. I was excited but nervous. Plus I'm a shy person. I hadn't seen Chris since he told me to leave but we've talked everyday. On the phone or through text message there's always communication. Which in glad for I knew I couldn't do this without him. My mother held the nape of my back as we walked into the building. I felt so out of place. I'm wearing some pretty old looking clothes, and so did my mom. We walked up to the front desk where a receptionist sat. When she saw us, she smiled at us.

"I'm Amy, how may I assist you?" She leaned over the desk.

"Yes my daughter has a photoshoot and interview with-"

"Ms. Phabiola Fenty?" She smiled harder at us.

"Y-yes, I'm her. How'd you know?" I spoke shyly, holding my mom's hand out of a nervous reflex.

"You're buzzing around here right now. Go to the elevator up to the ninth floor, first door on your left they're waiting for you." She have us directions. We smiled and thanked her, heading off to my photoshoot.

Up the elevator we went, and I couldn't help but get nervous. I have never experienced anything like this. We made it up to the room she told us about. Once we walked in, people started pulling me to and fro. My mother was sat in a chair and a man approached me.

"You Phabi, no?" He spoke with a French accent.

I nodded shyly. He smiled at me making me smile.

"This is what you think you're doing a photoshoot in?" He pointed at my outfit, and flipped a piece of my pressed hair.

"Y-yeah, is there something wrong with it?" I looked down at my over worn jeans and slightly dingy tshirt.

"No, no! This won't do! Get Phabi into wardrobe and makeup!" The French guy clapped.

Three females came and pulled me to wardrobe and makeup. In a matter of minutes, my hair was slicked back and I had on a completely different outfit that made me feel a bit uncomfortable.

"Come, we're waiting for you." The photographer lend his hand out for me to take.

I shyly grasped it and he led me to the set. Everything was red. It marched the heels and red lipstick I was wearing. It also matched the red sports bra underneath this see through button up. I just felt so out of my element.

"Sit on the couch hun." He told me.

I sat down, he told me to pose and he began flashing pictures. I felt so uncomfortable. I tried to sit so my body wouldn't be seen in these shorts but I couldn't.

"Phabiola, please just relax. Scream if you must but I need you to relax." The photographer spoke. I nodded breathing in and out.

"Can I put my feet on the couch?" I asked timidly. I hate to ask questions because usually the answer is no from what I'm used to.