Free Kiss & Sell by Brittany Geragotelis Page A

exactly like McCartney’s
alone
in the house,” I said, my mouth full of cheesy goodness. “She’s got teddy, and like, three other housekeepers hanging around 24/7.”
    “I know, but it’s not the same as having family around,” Mom started to lecture.
    “Mom. That
is
her family,” I tried to explain for about the hundredth time. We were constantly having this same conversation. Mom feeling bad over the fact that McCartney was basically raising herself, and me insisting that not only was McCartney used to it, but she preferred it that way. Changing the subject, I added, “Speaking of family, how are things going with you?”
    If all else failed, ask people about themselves. People
love
talking about themselves.
    As I thought this, Mom smiled at me as if I’d just announced that I decided to run for Daughter of the year.
    “Thanks you for asking, Arielle. That is so
Thoughtful
,” Mom said, placing her fork down on her plate. “I just got another client today. And this couple is a doozy. I can’t tell you who it is, but I
can
tell you that they’re in the entertainment industry. It’s going to be a challenge with these two, because neither have really had successful relationships in the past and their lives are
so
public.”
    My mom must have thought I never turned on the TV or walked past those gossip mags, because if she did, she wouldn’t be giving me such easy clues as to who her newest famous clientele were. I was already making a mental list of who she could be talking about as she continued to chatter on distractedly.
    “I mean, after my book came out and I started doing guest appearances on talk shows, I began to realize what these celebrities’ lives must be like. To lose your anonymity like that…” she said thoughtfully. “But, oh well, that’s the life that I chose!—I guess giving up some of my privacy to the public is a small thing compared to
helping people
.”
    I began to tune her out, since this was also a conversation we’d had before—that is, if you could call my mom rambling on while I stared off into space a conversation. My attention was piqued though, when I heard my name.
    “I just want to make sure that you understand what being in the public eye could mean for you. Before you decide whether to agree to this or not,” Mom was saying.
    “Huh? Agree to what?” I asked, my forkful of food stopping halfway to my mouth.
    “The interview. With
The Kennedy Daily?
” she said. And then she narrowed her eyes at me like she was just realizing I hadn’t actually been listening to her after all. This was her biggest pet peeve and I wasn’t about to endure another lecture about being a mindful conversationalist. So I played along.
    “Oh, yeah, that,” I said and coughed a few times.
    My mom sighed, like she wasn’t up for the lecture either. “I was just telling you that a reporter from
The Kennedy Daily
left a message, requesting an interview with you for her column,” she explained for the second time. “But I want you to
really
think about it before deciding what you want to do. If you say yes, it would mean making your personal life public knowledge. Everyone in town would knoweverything about you. And I mean,
everyone
. Your neighbors, your teachers, the kids you like, the kids you hate—they would all know your personal business. Your life would be on display.”
    Though I wasn’t exactly thrilled to know that my loogi-snorting math teacher might read all about my non-existent love life in his morning paper, I had to admit, I was intrigued.
    “Who wants to do the interview?” I asked, running through a mental list of the columns that were usually published in the paper.
    My mom got up and walked over to the pad of paper we kept near the phone, so that we could write down messages for each other. My mom of course, was the only one of us who ever remembered it was there. It was like I had this strange mental blank spot when it came to passing things along. Somehow