Ruthanne Georgeson High

💎 •Stunning Melanin Teen Idol•

ˢᵘᶰˢʰᶤᶰᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵇᵉᵃᵘᵗʸ
•••
                                 | Marina, Lagos Island |

flash!... click.

flash!... click.

          The stunning and dark brown-haired, fifteen-year-old showed off a perfect set of white dentition as she struck a pose against the white background of the filming room. It was an elegant and lazy pose, relaxed and with ease as if it's the most natural thing in the world for her to do.

It was a contrasting combination, little wonder why she's successful and sought after and paid millions by top brands in the country just to have her face or body model their products.

And more it was to her than all of those.

It is therapeutic, takes her mind off things and keep it focus on a single task—doing complex yet flexible body moves, slightly changing positions for as long as a continuous shoot last.

She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and pushed her right knee out, raising the foot onto its toes. The other foot was pressed to the ground and she stared, with a raised chin, into the camera lens.

flash!... click.

And oh, how she loved it. Every single thing about this photo shoot contract. From the lace mini-dress she was wearing to the glittering silver jewelry and the silver flats. The lightings and the flashes. The changing background designs and the little aesthetics additions—a splash of colors and tulips scattered around, emoji stuffed toys, balloons, and ribbons.

It was entrancing, and she—Ivie Okoye—was at the center of it all, holding the attention of the photography crew headed by An Cheng, the Asian celebrity photographer. The internet is sure going to gaga with the release of these pictures in the coming months.

The photo session broke off for a brief break and she was hemmed in by the esthetics crew in no second. There were stylists, reapplying sprays and gel to her hair; makeup artists, touching up her cheeks, eyes, and lip; designers, replacing her accessories and cosmeticians rubbing perfumed lotions onto her glowing dark skin.

She was helped out of the lace gown and into a spaghetti strap, sweetheart neckline, tea-length, bodice gown by Liyana's Couture, a popular clothing brand in Africa.

Liyana's Couture: a multi-storied and a grand architectural apparel shopping mall-cum-company is an unrivaled label in making and selling clothes that are demanded by wardrobe stylists for high-profile personalities both in and out of the country. It was currently having the melanin beauty modeling for her upcoming collections for the Independence Day.

The photo session resumed. Everyone withdrew to the background, leaving only Ivie, An and a young trainee carrying a reflector. The company's Manager had come in sometime during the break and was standing by, observing.

A few more shots were taken.

Most, from the Manager's perspective, didn't turn out well and prompted him to speak up. "This tilt is too short. It's a tilt—her head shouldn't be all upright." He was standing in between An and a graphics editor sitting in front of a laptop displaying the pictures. It was connected to the camera mounted on a stand.

"We'll take another." An's voice was clip and professional with no emotional undertone whatsoever.

It had Ivie wondering how she managed to always remain calm and composed. She puffed her cheeks and released the air, aimed for another pose.

The flash came and then the camera clicked.

She waited.

"Now. . . this had her body bending to the side a bit much. It should be only the head, while the body remained rigid. Upright."

All brightness washed away from Ivie's face as she fixed the Manager a level gaze. She brought her hands up to fold beneath her breasts, she was slowly burning on the inside, heating up and simmering as her jaw clenched from trying to keep it in.

An walked over to her and placed a soft hand on her forearm which had her snapping out of the anger spell. She turned her gaze to the short woman.

An moved Ivie about, turning her around and trying to put her in a right position. "Perfect," she muttered and gave Ivie a thumbs up. She walked back across the room, effortlessly slipping back into her professional self and behind the camera. She took a picture of the pose she'd put Ivie in.

The graphics editor showed the picture to the Manager, An hoping he would approve of it this time but the frown creeping onto his hard face said otherwise. He found something wrong with it yet again. Her face, her stance, he was saying...

Ivie tapped a high-heeled clad foot incessantly...

...she's not as real and free as before anymore... he continued.

She pressed a palm against her head and was rocking from side to side now, unable to keep still...

...her passion and warmness should be exuding from the pictures, a pose with a purpose. It's an Independence Day shoot. For her country. Isn't it what she loved?...

That was it. She snapped. "You know what? I'm sick of this!" she announced to the hearing of all in a silvery, accented voice.

Shocked looks were exchanged among the crew as they gasped and gaped at her.

"Why don't you"—she pointed a nude-coated finger at the Manager—"come and do it yourself since you know so much about it, huh? I'm done here." she elaborated with splayed arms and started to take off the piece of jewelry on her ears. Her hands went around her neck to undo the clasp of the gold necklace next. She walked over to a chair nearby and dumped them on it, they landed with a loud clank. "Go find some other model for your wears."

An moved closer to her, in an attempt to calm her down. "Ivie?"

"Don't!" she raised a slender finger up. "I can't. I can't do this- anymore. I'm sorry." her voice was low and staccato but the anger still burns ravenously within her. She staggered as she fumbled with the clasp of the heels but managed to get it off, holding onto the chair for support. She huffed and straighten up, ran her fingers through her hair and freed it from the intricate bun it was twisted into. She shook it wildly behind her and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

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Dedicated to  _jUVeNilES_