Sparks Fly (Tell Me You Love Me sequel)

4: It's Always A Good Time

Hi everyone!

I know this is a really, really, really bad chapter so you don't have to tell me. It's awful and really poorly written but I had to introduce a certain someone some way or another and this was the only way I could think of.

Sorry for slow updates, I've been so sososososo busy with work and everything but I decided to write in something just to chill everyone's pants.

I've been getting a bit of negative mail telling me that I'm not updating and stuff. Can I just say to everyone who is sending me hate mail like that to kind of just stop...please? Hate mail is just kind of mean and annoying and it doesn't really change my opinion, it just clogs up my email.

For those lovely readers who are patient enough to wait politely for an upload, I thank you profusely for your support. It means a lot to me that you haven't given up on me and it is an inspiration to keep going. I dedicate this chapter to all of you who have stuck by my side.

XOXO - Lucy

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“And we’re on air in three, two...” 

There is a distinct pause. I breathe in deeply. This is my first interview and I have absolutely no idea what to do. 

Paris told me to just keep levelheaded and go with it, but that’s easy for her to say, isn’t it. She’s done this a billion times and counting before, hasn’t she.

This is my first ever interview. I don’t even know how these things work, let alone know what to say so that I don’t embarrass myself in front of the entire LA. I feel like they’re all the big kids of the school; intimidating, large and manipulative and I’m a little five year old clinging to some sort of popularity somehow. 

“...one...” the radio reporter finishes and a loud, unpleasant buzzing of a bell rings over the studio, signaling that we’re live.

I pull my headphones onto my head and adjust the microphone so that it sits just in front of my mouth. I gently tap the microphone head with my finger. The drumming ripples up my body and bangs in my brain, then I realise it’s just the continual thudding of my very own heart beating. 

“Good afternoon Los Angeles; the city of angels, the city of love, the city where magic is made. Chelso Andrews and Bex Roberts here on your number one hit music and interview radio station and today we’ve got a bit of a treat surprise kind of thing for you.”

“Yes, we do, Los Angeles,” came the familiar woman’s voice I’ve heard on the radio so many times before. I’d never heard it in real life before. Her voice doesn’t sound as clipped as it does when listening to her on the radio. It doesn’t sound as perky and bright, but almost just slightly repetitive and echoing the fact that she’d done this a million times before.

The air-conditioner makes the hairs on my neck and arms stand on end. It is uncomfortably cool. I knew I should have worn a jumper, but Paris, after I explained to her that a jumper is basically another word for a sweater or cardigan, said I would be fine. I knew I wouldn’t have been. If my mother were here, she would have packed me with a jumper, a beanie and a scarf. She’d also have calmed my nerves by a tonne.