Spotlight on Nobody

- 1 -

~ song: Give A Little by Maggie Rogers ~

The air is suffocating, so humid it's like a gulp of warm water with each inhale. Tendrils of damp air snake their way into my hair, pushing the strands out into a lion's mane of frizz. Undoubtedly my mascara has leaked into the folds of my eyelids, and with my crazed expression, the racoon look is complete. But it doesn't matter. Everything looks perfect. Everything is going to be perfect.

The green hills of the Main Lawn roll down towards me, creating a natural amphitheater in the bottom of which a 100-ft stage is nestled. Shiny steel tresses arc over the stage, strung with all sorts of stage lights and speakers the size of small elephants. Four letters covered in small red-light bulbs, each 20 feet in height, hang suspended from the arc, spelling out "RUBY." In two hours, Leo Griffiths, two-time Grammy winner, 20-year-old superstar singer and model, will be on this stage, performing at our annual spring concert. That I organized. I sigh contently.

As I walk backstage, I see a rather ugly girl in passing. Backing up a few feet, I realize it's me, reflected in the steel beams. I reroute and head to the green room, stocked with snacks and drinks (non-alcoholic of course) and school swag for the performer. I'll just check to make sure everything is set up properly, I tell myself, but really, I'm just going to try to salvage what's left of my appearance.

I pass Terry perched near the stage door, bouncing her leg and biting her nails nervously, with an excited-to-the-point-of-terrified smile plastered on her face.

"Doing okay Ter?" I ask, slowing down.

"Me? Oh yeah totally fine!" I look at her skeptically. "What if I say the wrong thing? Or like fall on his guitar and break it? Oh god, I'm so clumsy that could totally happen. Not many nobodies like us get to meet a guy like Leo freaking Griffiths, Nell! I can't screw this up!" Her voice rises into hysterics.

Terry is my right-hand woman. While I'm President of the Student Entertainment Board (SEB), Terry is our PR person – the one who handles the contacting and booking of our entertainment. So, it's no coincidence that Leo Griffiths is performing tonight, seeing as though every inch of her room is plastered with his face. I'm not complaining though. Leo is probably the biggest celeb heartthrob at the moment and having such a big name on this event is bound to draw in not only every student at this school but will look great on my medical school applications.

"First of all, you are not a nobody. Terry, you're the reason he's coming here! I have you to thank for making it all happen. And don't worry, I'm sure he's quite used to nervous fans by now." This does not seem to assuage her. "What time is he supposed to arrive?" I ask, though I already know. He should be here by 5:45, ready for soundcheck at 6:00. Our opening act, some tier two DJ, got here at 4:00, my guess is to gorge on the free food. A real starving artist type – literally.

"5:45," she chirps at me from around the nail in between her teeth.

I look down at my watch. 5:35. Shit. I walk briskly to Green Room 1, a glorified trailer behind the stage, and climb in. The room looks great, if I may say so myself. A giant poster signed by all the SEB committee members, with different messages of thanks scribbled in various sharpie colors, is tacked to the back wall. String lights zig-zag across the ceiling and drip down the walls like melting ice cream. I pull a tub of ice filled with water bottles and soft drinks out of a cooler in the front and place it on the table with snacks. After closing all the curtains and turning on the soft-rock playlist Terry made that has all of his favorite songs, I turn to look at myself in the mirror and gasp in disgust.

"Oh, you don't look that bad," a voice says from the door.

"If you haven't noticed I look like a rabid racoon," I groan, wiping mascara from under my eyes. "At this point, I'm not even sure if my appearance is worth saving," I say as I rake through my hair with my hands. "My hair may have to be put down." He laughs, a light, musical laugh. One that I've heard before. Oh, where have I heard that before? Suddenly I remember. The interviews Terry made me watch. Slowly, terrified, I turn to look at the door.

A boy, or I guess a man, my age stands in the doorway. His hair, so brown it's almost black, is perfectly tousled, seemingly impervious to the humidity that claimed my own, and a few locks falls across his high forehead, brushing the tips of his impossibly long eyelashes. Glittering green and sparkling with laughter, his eyes shine back at me from beneath olive colored skin. His face is so smooth, it seems to be cut from marble. I stop before I can look at his body because I'm not so sure I could compose myself after that.

"Oh god," I mutter. Why am I so star-struck? I've listened to maybe five songs by this guy. Not to mention, I am not easily swayed by a man. I'm Nell-fucking-Greene for God sakes.

I compose myself and say "I'm sorry, I was just trying to tidy up the room before you got here. I didn't know celebrities were always so punctual." He laughs at my prim-and-proper attitude, and I take that as my cue to leave. I stride towards him, almost out of the door when I turn to face him with my hand extended.

"I'm Nell Greene."

"I'm Leo Griffiths. Nice to meet you." He smiles and I have to yank myself free before my legs give out from beneath me. Lord, why is he so good-looking and talented and successful? Shouldn't we only be allowed one of those attributes? He gives me a quizzical look and walks into the room, a security guard shutting the door in my face.