They Call Her Love | ✔️

12: They Call Her Life of the Party

"Please tell me you're not actually going to wear that," Clarkson stares in disgust as I emerge from the closet.

I walk over to the lone standing full length mirror he and Penelope had wheeled into my room and examine my choice: a pair of high waisted shorts with a printed t-shirt and white high-tops. "I like it. Comfortable and simple."

"It's social suicide," Clarkson clarifies for me, his head popping up behind my shoulder. "The high waisted shorts? Sweetheart, I get that your young, but not trashy."

"The shirt's not that bad," Penelope examines.

"Do not even get me started on those sneakers. They're...sneakers," Clarkson finishes his criticism.

"This is the third outfit you guys have crushed," I say, irritated. "Can't I wear whatever I want?"

"As if I'd ever let you out of the house looking like a backup dancer for a Selena Gomez music video," Clarkson counters.

"I'm going to ask Clyde to cut this out of the film. We'll start rolling when Darcy gets here." Donny and Clyde pick up the hint Penelope sends them and set their equipment down.

"We're gonna get some food," They tell us.

"Help yourself to anything in the kitchen!"

That way there's no more disgusting food here.

"Bring me some too!" Penelope calls after them.

"Okay, back to party prepping," Clarkson claps his hand in delight. So far, his 'prep' has consisted of sitting cross-legged on my bed and ridiculing every outfit that I've tried on. The same goes for Penelope.

"The party isn't for another three hours, can't I take a nap? I was busy the entire day doing stupid interviews," I roll my eyes, ready to give up. I knew that once Darcy arrived, I'd have to change about eight more times and frankly, after answering a bunch of questions by some local radio station and a phone interview on Top 40, I didn't have enough energy stored to continue on with only four hours of sleep.

It's more work than you think. Penelope and Clarkson gave me a script of answers I should give the interviewers and memorizing four pages felt a lot like homework. I answered the questions robotically considering they were embedded in my brain as a speech rather than genuine answers. After almost two hours of straight talking, I wasn't even offered water to quench my dry mouth.

I don't know how celebs do it.

Penelope gasps. "You can't diss giving an interview! Everyone will think you're too high maintenence!"

"Penelope, the camera's aren't even on," I remind her, already stripping myself from this outfit.

"Still, you should get in the habit of not talking that way aloud!" She says, her voice muffled on the other side of the closet door. "Do you know how hard it was to book you on On-Air with Ryan Seacrest? I practically had to cut ties with Kirsten for giving you her slot!"

I step out of the closet in a pair of sweats and a plain t-shirt. "Tell Ms. Dunst that I send my dearest apologies and that she could have gladly taken it away from me. All Seacrest wanted to know was about my money anyway. He didn't once ask about my personal life. Some interview."

"Didn't he ask you how school was going?"

"And that's such a deep and riveting topic in my life," I respond with every ounce of sarcasm.

"I think we need a bit of an attitude adjustment," Clarkson sticks a finger in the air. "Yup, definitely."

I sigh. "I'm sorry. It's been a crazy week. My phone has been blowing up non stop ever since I got it back, that interview wasn't exactly rainbows and glitter, and apparently, I have no taste in fashion," I collapse onto my bed between them.