Did You Get It? (David Dobrik Fanfic)

Chapter 1

"If I had the money, I would."

I sat with my arms folded, staring at Fiona who was throwing pieces of my clothing on the dorm room floor. My closet was coming close to empty and she was still determined to find me an outfit.

"Camila, you got all that commission from the New York Times and you're telling me you don't have enough money to go out to the club? Oh! These are cute."

She held a pair of leather ankle booties with a tassel hanging on each shoe. I looked around at the mess Fiona had made. Becoming impatient, I stood up and began picking up the mess. "I'm not wasting my hard earned money to be pushed around and squished between sweaty strangers."

Fiona shoved the booties back into my closet. "There could be hot, sweaty strangers."

I rolled my eyes and carried a pile of my clothes to the closet.

"Fiona, I'm not going. I have a meeting with the L.A. Times press staff tomorrow. I do not want to show up with a hangover."

"Wait a minute, Camila Rivera will be drinking at a public outing? Someone call the elder priests and get her exorcised."

I had to admit. The last time I had real fun during my first month in college was the night of freshman orientation. And that was only because a group of seniors decided that they should take 17 year-old, Camila Rivera, to a frat party and hope that she would want to do them. Spoiler alert: I didn't.

I decided to stay serious for my freshman year at the University of California. Los Angeles is fun, but I was a law major hoping to prosecute defiling criminals, or at least write about them in the paper. You may be wondering, wait a second, this girl is 17? Yup, I was, but on that day, I had turned 18. You see, I graduated high school a year early after I skipped sixth grade (Math was always my forte). Then, it was easy to get admission and scholarships into five different universities. I was well-known to the world.

My name is Camila Rivera, if you haven't caught that already. In high school, I was a teenage activist who survived a bombing in the Chicago White Sox stadium. Okay, I know that sounded very nonchalant, but I have told the story so many times that the memory has just become an overplayed song to me.

After the bombing I shared my story to a crap ton of media outlets who shar‍ed my story to millions of people in dozens of different countries which made me share my story over and over and over. To them, I was a young hero who survived. To me, I was just lucky. I wasn't special, but we'll get into that later.

After my rise to fame, I led marches against gun violence, violence in general, racism, sexism, and a lot of awareness that needed to be spread. Then, it was time for me to apply to college. I was accepted to NYU, Boston University, University of Virginia, UC/Berkeley, and of course, UCLA.

What, did you think I would get into Harvard or Yale? Please, I was smart, but I wasn't a try hard.

I chose UCLA, because A) LA? B) LA Times and C) LA law. Thinking I would have the time of my life in Los Angeles, I slacked off for a good two weeks and then decided to get my shit together, found a job at LA Times, and studied my ass off. It was only September, but I was in it to win it.

"Come on, Cami. It's your 18th birthday. You're an adult now. It's time to start living your life!" Fiona said, grabbing the pile of clothes from my hands.

I sighed and shook my head in reluctance. "Fine."

"Yes! Okay, I have three fits picked out. Choose one and I'll see if it's the one I want you to wear."

"Why don't you just tell me which one to wear?"

"Because I want to test out our friendship."

Half an hour later, we were walking to the entrance of a downtown club lit with blue, neon lights. I walked with my arms pulling down the hem of my skirt.

"This skirt is so short. Why'd you make me wear this?"

"Cuz, it's cute and slutty."

We walked up to the bouncer. I hid behind Fiona, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

The bouncer looked Fiona up and down. "ID's, please?"

Fiona handed the bouncer her ID along with mine. He looked at Fiona's first. "Miss, you're underaged. I can't let you in."

Fiona smirked. "Can you look at the other ID?"

The bouncer switched the ID's and examined my ID. Quickly realizing his mistake, he handed the cards back to Fiona and I. "I apologize, ladies. Go right ahead."

We walked into the entrance of the club. I grabbed my card from Fiona. "I now remember why you bring me to clubs." I said, reaching for my wallet in my purse.

Fiona laughed. "Yeah, well, it helps us both have a better time." She looked at my wrist. "Cami, what the hell is that ugly ass bracelet?"

I scoffed. "What? This is the one Michelle gave me. Plus, it has diamonds on the outer edge."

"Okay, one, you did not just refer to Michelle Obama as Michelle. And two, that thing can have 20 diamonds on it and it would still be fucking ugly."

"You're just jealous cuz you can't call her Michelle."

Fiona pushed the crowd of drunk twenty-something year-olds. I held the back of her velvet mini dress and followed close behind. People would get upset as she passed but noticed me and smiled, whispering to their friends. The worst thing I hated about going outside of campus was receiving a shit ton of attention. No, I do not like the spotlight, and I especially do not like that I am under the spotlight because of a bombíng from almost two years ago.

I thought people would forget who I was after a few weeks, but then my mother got me a publicist to organize and monitor my interviews. Then, I had to make a YouTube channel to talk about the social issues I protested for. Then, I somehow became relatable to girls my age, so I created more content on the channel. Now, I do not have interviews to talk about a bombing, but I have press weeks every now and often, so media outlets can keep up with the life of a girl who survived a horrific event with hundreds of other girls. Oh, and my YouTube channel has 9 million subscribers, so that's fun.

I am not complaining about the life I have. I am grateful that I am living a dream that I had wanted since I was ten. I just hated the way I started the dream. I do not want to be known as the girl who was a hero. I just want to be known as one of them who survived.

Fiona and I passed through the crowd safely and slipped into the V.I.P area. We were surrounded by rich university students who stared at our out of place asses. A waiter came over and gave us our drinks, remembering Fiona's drink order from the five other times she used me to get into this club. She handed me a pink daiquiri. "Cheers, bitch."

We clinked our glasses together. I attempted to nonchalantly sip my drink, but the last time I had alcohol was that night of freshman orientation. I consequently coughed on how strong the drink was in front of my Lindsay Lohan head ass friend. Fiona laughed at my struggle and proceeded to chug her piña colada. She placed the glass on the table in front of us and stood up.

"Let's go dance."

I groaned and stood up. She grabbed my hand and led me into the crowd of sweaty strangers I had anticipated an hour ago. I swayed my hips and bounced slightly as I tried to follow the beat of the unfamiliar song that was playing. Fiona, however, was throwing her head back and forth and bouncing so quickly, her boobs could have flied out of her dress and introduced themselves to me.

We danced for a couple minutes until I noticed a bright light coming from a corner of the club. I nodded at Fiona. "What's that?"

She shrugged. "Probably someone using the flash on their camera. Maybe singing happy birthday or something."

I squinted and tried to look closely at the light. I saw five people standing: four guys and one girl. One of the guys was holding the camera.

"It looks like they're filming something."

Fiona shuffled over to my point of view and stood on the tip of her toes. She gasped. "Oh my God. That's David Dobrik."

Thank you for pressing on this fanfiction. Yes, I am new to David a Dobrik fanfics and yes, there are some grammar/spelling errors but I will correct those shortly.