Free Famous by Todd Strasser

completely loony, she understood how big this was.
    â€œAnd you know what’s really whacked, Mom?” I said. “You’re completely right. I
am
just a girl with a camera. And I
am
living in a fantasy world. But the crazy thing is, so is everyone else.”
    That night I lay awake in bed, way too excited to sleep, my thoughts racing. I was about to win the equivalent of Olympic Gold for paparazzi—a
People
cover! It was amazing and unreal, and I both knew and didn’t know what I’d done to deserve it. I didn’t blame my mother for having doubted me. Looking back, it was incredibly lucky that I went to the same school as Ethan Taylor, whose mother was Naomi Fine’s eye doctor.(And yes, he sure did get his one hundred dollars.) But I also believe that luck doesn’t just happen. You have to create opportunities for it. I didn’t have to get my camera ready when I sensed something might happen with Tatiana Frazee in Cafazine. I didn’t have to track Ethan down. I didn’t have to gamble on ditching a day of school to hang around outside Dr. Clarkson’s office. And the other thing is, no one wants to hear about all the times I stood around on stakeouts for hours but got nothing for my efforts except sore feet and a head cold. That’s where persistence eventually pays off. If you keep trying and trying, sooner or later you’ll probably get lucky. Like the Lottery ad says, “You’ve got to be in it to win it.”
    That Saturday Nasim’s parents went to the opera, and he made me a traditional Persian dinner of naan, yogurt, lamb, and vegetable kebabs with rice. We ate by candlelight in the Pahlavis’ formal dining room, an ancient tapestry of a princess and a unicorn hanging on the wall beside us.
    We talked about school and friends, but it wasn’t long before the subject turned to my forthcoming
People
cover. The truth was, it was difficult for me to think about anything else.
    â€œHow do you do it?” he asked.
    â€œI told you,” I said. “I just stood there and waited, hoping she’d show up.”
    â€œNo, what I meant was, how do you know when to take the picture? How do you know whether it’s a good picture or not?”
    â€œI don’t always know,” I said. “That’s why I shoot rapid-fire.”
    â€œI remember when we first met, before you were shooting celebrities, you would take a long time to set up just one photo.”
    Was it my imagination, or did I detect something subtly critical in his words? Was he implying that the photos I used to take were more artistic and therefore somehow better? “I’m not doing that kind of photography these days.”
    He nodded, took a sip of water, then dabbed his lips with a cloth napkin. We’d finished dinner.
    â€œDoes it bother you that I don’t take the kind of photos I used to take?” I asked a little bit later while he rinsed the dishes in the kitchen and loaded them into the dishwasher.
    â€œNo,” he said. “But must it be one or the other? Can’t you do a little of both?”
    â€œI guess I could, but that’s not what I want to do right now.”
    Nasim dried his hands with a dishtowel. “Want to watch the movie?”
    â€œOkay.” I’d brought over
Persepolis,
the animated movie about a rebellious girl growing up in Iran. I stillcouldn’t shake the feeling that Nasim disapproved of the pictures I was taking. But I didn’t want to spoil the mood and decided to drop it.
    We went into the living room and sat on the couch. Nasim’s arm was over my shoulder and I nestled my head against his neck. I thought he’d pick up the remote and start the movie, but instead he brushed some hair away from my face, leaned over, and kissed me. “I’m proud of what you do.”
    â€œYou sure?” I asked uncertainly.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell then, thank you,” I said, and