No Skateboarding Allowed

Chapter 6: Headlines & Heartbreak

It had been exactly a week since my first date with Brad. I didn't like him anymore than I did then, but he seemed more into me than ever.

We strolled down the street holding hands. He had just bought us ice cream. I was very aware of the paparazzi behind us.

I tucked hair behind my ear. 

"I love when you do that," he said, "it's cute."

"Really," I said, playing along, "it's cute, huh?"

He nodded and raised his eyebrows.

We suddenly ran into this group of kids on the sidewalk who looked pretty familiar. I soon found out why.

"Hey, Brad, what's up?"

His friends. 

"Not much," he said, doing that little hand grab man hug that I always tease Brady for doing, "have you guys met my girlfriend, Ripper?"

At the sound of my famous nickname, all the guys stood up and gathered around me. I should've known Brad would work me into conversation as soon as possible. It was good for his image.

"Wait," one guy said, "you're the Ripper? The skateboarder?"

I nodded. "You know it."

"Wow," said another one, "nice work, Brad, you picked up a nice one."

Um, okay. I actually picked him up, but I guess I wasn't going to get credit. 

Pictures were taken of us. Brad hadn't seemed to notice until then.

He elbowed me. "Hey, Rip, there's paparazzi following us."

I shrugged. "Everywhere I go."

They all turned, eager for media attention, clearly.

"Everywhere?"

I nodded.

Once Brad waved to them, they knew that he was obviously new at this and all of them rushed over and bombarded him with questions.

"Who are you?"

"What's your relation to Ripper?"

"Are you dating her?"

"Is she a lesbian?"

"How old are you?"

"What school do you go to?"

Brad was overjoyed. 

"Um, I'm Brad Skidmore."

A million pictures were taken of him after he said that.

"I'm 18, I go to Malibu High School, and I'm dating Ripper."

It was confirmed. 

He put an arm around me and I admiringly looked up at him. Fakely.

After that, they took so many pictures that my eyes hurt from the flash. I eventually dragged Brad away from it all, saying I needed to get home. He didn't respond.

I held his hand and pulled him away from the reporters. The followed.

"Maybe we should stay here for a minute," he said, his eyes wide watching everyone take pictures of him.

"Look, I think we've had enough pictures-"

"Come on, Rip, don't be lame. This rules."

I sighed. It ruled for about a week of paparazzi attention but after that it was just normal. 

I had nothing else to do. I called Brady.

"Hey, Joey."

God. I forgot how nice my own name sounded. I wished Brad called me Joey every once in a while.