The True or False Identity of T.I. Fictus (Next Years Watty Awards)

Interviews and Ignorance

Hi! I was debating on wether or not to delete this story. But I decided to write a few more chapters and see. Hope you all enjoy, and make sure to comment/vote/give-me-feedback! Criticism is welcomed, as long as it's said kindly. Enjoy! (P.S. I know this is short. I might add on some later)

xx,

Scotti

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Chapter 4: Interviews and Ignorance

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    "Ugh," I complain, flipping over in the beanbag chair, "Do we have to watch this?"

    "Your lack of knowledge on society discourages me. We're watching the news," Julie says. I groan loudly.

    "Um, not to burst your bubble or anything, but this isn't news," Trudy tells us, nodding towards the screen. Deb Delancey, NewsAction 3's top reporter, is droning on and on about Tom-Kat's divorce. 

    "Fine. Change it," Julie demands, waving her arm at Trudy lazily. Just then, an image of the cover of The Years of Our Lives flashes on the top of the screen. 

    "Wait!" I screech. Trudy pauses, her hand in mid-channel surf. 

    "The book rage that's sweeping Massachusetts. Stay tuned to hear the story," Deb Delancey crows in her TV voice. 

    "Damn reporters!" I croak. How could my book have gotten on the news so fast? Immedietly, an add for The Years of Our Lives starts playing. I want to throw or hit something. After three more commercials, the station comes back in. 

    "The newest novel, published first here in Massachusetts! The Years of Our Lives, written by T.I. Fictus, the writer with a pseudonym. Who could this blossoming novelist be?  Could they be the next J.K. Rowling, or Suzanne Collins? Readers all over the greater Bakersfield area are demaning to know whom the true writer is!" Deb shouts at the screen. They cut to a scene of marchers with signs that say "We Want Fictus" and "Who's the REAL Writer?". How could it possibly be this out of hand? 

    "Seventeen year old, Addelyn Myers-"

    "Addelyn! That bitch!"

    "Ohmigod! What's her deal?!"

    "Snake! Uuughhh!" We all throw those phrases back an forth. I plet some popcorn at the TV and Trudy throws a pillow. After our rampage, we go back to silently listening to Deb, sitting on the edges of our seats. How could Addelyn? She knows absolutley nothing about the story. Zip. Zero. Zelch. Nada! Nothing! 

    "has come to our knowledge that she was the one to publish the novel! Here, we have an interview with Ray Fulton and Ms. Myers." They show a clip of Addelyn standing in front of her house with Ray Fulton, their head interviewer. 

    "Now, Addelyn. Do you know who wrote this delightful tale?" Ray asks her, holding the microphone up to her. She paws the mic and holds onto it for dear life.

    "I do, Ray. But I am not allowed to say." She holds a finger to her perfectly glossed lips. Ray flashes his Hollywood-finished smile at the camera and tries to grab the mic back. Addelyn, obviously wanting control over the interview, keeps her hold. For at least a minute, the footage is of them yanking back and forth. Eventually, Ray gets the mic back. 

    "Anyways, Ms. Myers. Viewers out there want to know this riveting secret. Please, just speak up!" Ray pleads.

     "Well, I'll give you guys a hint. She goes to my school. Initals? BF." Addelyn gives a small smirk and waves dantily at the camera as the video fades out. 

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    "Becca, what's wrong, sweetie?" My mother asks for the billionth time. I give her a sidelong glance and shake my head.

    "Nothing, Mom." I just stuff my face with mashed potatoes. Rachel snorts from the other side of the dinner table and raises an eyebrow in question.

    "Oh, please. Don't think that we're," she gestures to my mom and herself with her spoon, "are that stupid enough to believe that it's 'nothing'," Rachel pipes up. She sips her milk and gives me a small smirk. I frown at her, every nerve in my body having to tighten as a restraint for me not to shove a spoonfull of baked beans down her piehole.

    "Is this about the book?" Mom persists, leaning in towards me. I fumble with the steak knife and feel my insides go mushy. 

    "I guess." Is all that comes out. 

    "Becca, you need to confess that you wrote the book!" Rachel snips. 

    "You make it sound like I committed a scandalous crime, not wrote a book," I chide at Rachel. She shrugs, her hair falling in pools around her shoulders.

    "Rach, can't you see that Becca doesn't want all the attention?" Mom asks, a look of concern tugging at her features. Rachel spouts something about why wouldn't I want the attention and how famous I could be, but I choose to ignore her.

    "Becca, I think it would be good for you, though, to get some limelight. I'm calling Deb, that woman reporter from NewsAction 3, to let her know who the real author of that story is," Mom says, getting up from the table. I leap over to her and latch onto her arm that's about to reach for the phone. 

    "No! Mom, please don't!" I beg. She rolls her eyes and me.

    "Well, if they don't figure out it's you by next week, I'm phoning in," she states. I sigh heavily and flop back onto my chair. By next week, my secret could be out.