Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista Read Online Free Page A

up with shadow and liner.
    And from the way she is acting, you would think she’s the subject of Deke Ryan’s shoot tonight.
    “Sasha, take your time,” I say, moving past her and heading down the hall to the intercom. “Deke has to interview me anyway, so maybe I can get him to do that first.”
    “But I’m going to be on camera, right?” Sasha asks pointedly, following me out of my room and down the hall.
    “Of course you are. You’re part of my reality, aren’t you?”
    Sasha nods, an expression of relief crossing her face. Then she scurries off to her bedroom, no doubt to comb through her entire designer wardrobe in order to find the perfect outfit to wear on camera—and to entice the wealthy men of the world.
    I resist laughing, as I really don’t think she’ll find a husband by appearing in Arrivals & Departures for oh, like fifteen minutes. I grin at the thought and hit the intercom button. “Hello?”
    “May I speak to Avery Andrews, please?” Deke asks.
    “This is Avery,” I say, excitement filling me. This is really happening. I’m about to become a real life TV personality!
    “Hello, Avery, it’s Deke Ryan from the First Class Travel Channel. I’m downstairs if you want to buzz me up.”
    I hold my finger on the intercom button so I can respond. “Sure, I’ll be right down so I can personally let you in.”
    I click off the button and eagerly trot down the stairs. I see Deke waiting outside the door on the step but notice he’s alone. Hmmm. Maybe the rest of the crew is parking the van or something. Finding parking on the street at night can be a challenge, after all.
    I open the door, and he smiles at me.
    “Hi, Avery,” Deke says, extending his hand to me. “Good to see you again.”
    I study him for a moment. Tonight he’s wearing an old, navy, Chicago Bears T-shirt. A vintage one, with a cracked and faded logo on it. The shirt seems like it was made in like 1977 or something. Not that I don’t like vintage, but this shirt needs to be retired .
    “Hello, Deke,” I say, forgetting about the shirt. I take his hand and shake it. I instantly notice his tanned skin is kind of rough—like worker’s hands. Then I let go and glance up at him, thinking he’s about a whole foot taller than me.
    “Are you ready to get started?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.
    “But where’s the rest of your crew?” I ask, confused.
    He furrows his brow. Now he looks confused. “What?”
    “Your crew. Like I’ve seen on other reality shows. There’s a guy who holds a microphone type thing and a field producer,” I say, thinking out loud. “Isn’t there?”
    Deke shakes his head. “Nope. I’m doing everything on this project,” he says, not bothering to explain further.
    I watch as he bends down to pick up a big camera case that is on the ground next to him. Then I notice that Deke is once again intently studying me. And just like it did the first day we met, my stomach does a little flip in response.
    “What?” I ask.
    “I don’t want to shoot your street or the outside of your building,” Deke says slowly, standing up. “I don’t want anyone to be able to know where you live when they watch the show.”
    Oh. So he wasn’t really staring at me. He was thinking like a videographer. I blush at my own stupidity.
    But then I realize what he’s just said.
    “You . . . you think I could have stalkers ?” I gasp, alarmed at this thought.
    Deke smiles softly at me. “Anyone on TV can get stalkers, Avery. But don’t worry. I’ll just shoot the inside of your apartment so no one will be able to figure out the location, that’s all.”
    “Oh. Good idea,” I say, but now my head is filled with obsessed fans following me home from work. What if I attract a psycho? Some kind of deranged lunatic? What if I have to get a restraining order or police protection?
    “Avery? Can we go upstairs now?” Deke asks, staring at me with a quizzical expression on his face.
    My face instantly