This is an idea that's been in my head for quite a while and I decided to do something about it, so here's the result.

Oh, and i would just like to say that I don't think that models are stupid or those other terms that people use to describe them, and if I make them seem that way please do not take offense because it is to add to the humour of the story.


I am stuck in a room full of models.

Correction: Not only are there models but there are also wanna-be models which, depending on how you look at it, could be even worse.

Now, what would I, Miss Gemma Gretchen Hall, be doing in a room full of models? Well folks, I happen to be here because I have the stupendous honor of accompanying Alyana Francis Hall, Miss Copperhill four times running and featured in various small fashion magazines like Spackle! and TEENqueen, to the modeling opportunity of a lifetime. My mother graciously asked, well more like forced me to tag-along on this job offer. And I, being the stupendous all together WONDERFUL person that I am agreed to it, with the help of my beautiful green faced friend Andrew Jackson.

Ok, so normally I'm not this egotistical, or sardonic, (though I am known for my sarcastic wit) but if you were a 17 year old who had to sacrifice your day to baby sit your 19 year old sister, well you'd be a bit peeved also. Currently my bitchiness factor is so high that if a guy talks to me he would think he's suffering the verbal abuse that comes from the dreaded PMS. But let me tell you, how I'm acting right now does not even compare to how I am at that time of the month, but maybe that's a little too much info.

Who am I you ask?

Well, since I'm currently bored out of my mind I'll tell you a bit more about me. Let's see, I've already told you my name and age, and my OMG-she's-a-supermodel sister's name, so I guess I'll tell you a bit about my life. I am one-fourth Chinese, one-fourth African, and one half French. Bizarro mix, I know, but it's what explains my black hair, light mocha skin and violet eyes. I'm 5"6, not short enough to be considered a midget, but not tall enough to be a model like my sister is (whose eye's happen to be blue, not violet, which you might find even freakier.) I am a real life official love child in the sense that I was born on Valentine's day. Cliche I know, but it's not like I had a say in it. And the absolutely, most importantly thing, and yes, I know that's not grammatically correct, is that I LOVE PHOTOGRAPHY. It is my talent, my flair, possibly my vice, and not a damned amount of money in this would could ever get me to give it up.

Oh, and don't even ask about my middle name cause then I'd have to bring my old Aunt Marma up, which is something I do NOT want to do.

Anyways, as I mentioned before I am in currently sitting in a room with a bunch of girls who are hoping to by signed by Michael, pronounced Mi-qell, not Mi-cull, the top fashion designer in the US of A. Any girl in her right mind would be quaking in her high heels and going crazy just being a room away from the famous man himself, and me, well, I'm sitting her twiddling my thumbs and staring at the clock which is becoming duller by the second.

However, the girl sitting next to me apparently fits the insane part of the description so well she's actually decided it's a-okay to strike up a conversation with me on this oh, so lovely, afternoon.

"Hi, my names Candi with an I, not a Y, and I'm from San Diego, California." Well Miss Candi with an I, I'm Gemma with a G not a J, and I could care less about where you're from. Of course I don't say this out loud, because feeling bitchy does not justify me to be a bitch to some girl who hasn't done anything but try to have a pleasant chat with me.

"Mhh, that's cool." I know I sound slightly unenthusiastic but from attending quite a few of my sister's events I've encountered some pretty nasty girls who'll do anything to get to the top. I'm not saying all models are like that, but there are the select few so you have to be careful.

"So, like how many competitions have you been in?" Did she just? Rewind, cause I don't think I heard her properly. I'm almost stunned into silence, one because she thinks I'm a model and two, well, because she thinks I'm a model. I'm not ugly or anything but I'm definitely not tall enough or skinny enough to fit the status quo of the fashion world. But none the less, I am flattered, since Miss Candi with an I, not Y is quite the teen boy's dream with her blonde hair and emerald green eyes, but she's still no Tyra Banks.(A/N I think she is absolutely one of the most gorgeous models ever.) Maybe she isn't that bad after all.

"Um, none actually, I'm not a model, I'm a photographer." And I hold up my beautiful metal baby as proof. I try to bring her everywhere because in my opinion she's like the much needed pair of glasses I never had.

"Oh, wow that is soooo cool. Who's photographer are you?" See if I had met Candi in say, a park, she'd ask me what kind of photographs I take, but since were in Model World, there is no such thing as taking photos of something besides pretty people.

"Her." I point to my sister. "Alyana Francis."

"Oh my gosh, THE Alyana Francis? That is amazing!" Yup, it is isn't it.

"See that girl over there?" Candi points one bright cherry red nail over to a brunette with cascades of gorgeous hair.

"Her name's Lyn Warner. Her father owns a famous Italian watch company, which is how she was discovered. Her secret is that she conditions with Extra Virgin Olive Oil and Bananas." Candi shifts in her chair and points in a different direction.

"See that girl over there? Her name's Brigit and..."


Did you know that if you can use tomato juice on you're face as a natural toner?

Or that putting cold spoons under your eyes helps fight off those dreaded under eye bags?

Well, now you know, and after 24 minutes and 51 seconds of "You see that girl over there? Her name's..." I do too.

At 24 minutes and give or take 53 seconds, things definitely get a little more interesting.

Why you ask?

Because HE just walked in. No not Michael, he's isn't due for another half an hour.

Its his top teen modeling son CHRISTIAN, pronounced Chris-ti-an, not Chris-chin. Several girls practically swoon from the sight of him, and to tell you the truth I can't help but stare at him myself.

He's about 6"1 and has that babe-of-life body, which is currently being covered by a dark gold colored sweater, which happens to perfectly match his eyes, and faded black jeans. His hair is a brownish, I don't know what elseish, color and is cut quite jaggedly, but let me tell you, it looks anything but bad. He's one-third Spanish and two-thirds French, just like me. He's rugged and breath-taking and all those other adjectives that we humans use to describe people who are VERY attractive.

And if I remember correctly from what my sister told me about him, he's nineteen, a Sagittarius and enjoys long walks on the beach, I'm just kidding about the whole beach thing, it's actually the park he enjoys to romp around in.

Too bad I also read in Spackle! that he can be a bit arrogant and is quite the womanizer, or else I'd be drooling right along with these other girls who think they have a chance with him.

He doesn't take a glance around the room, he takes a big, fat gander. He stops and looks around, probably searching for the hottest girl, and to confirm my suspicion, spots my sister, and sends her a heart-breaking smile. Then to my disbelief his eyes slide toward me and I see him slightly raise his eyebrows and a look of confusion pass over his face, the expression only lasts a second, but it's not quick enough to miss my observation. Then he looks away toward some other girl. Smiling and winking at various others before disappearing behind the door on the opposite side of the room, he manages to reduce everyone into one blubbering-incoherent jelly-like mass of adoration, everyone except me, that is.


Well folks, there you have it. What'd you think?


Oh man I just went over this and can't believe how many stupid mistakes I made, especially putting the greeting in the middle of the work, so if you've read it like that, sorry I guess writing at 3 in the morning doesn't do me justice.

OK, so jewel, Oriole, brought up a very good point in my opinion. Which is hotter?! Christian or Christien? I know it's just one stupid letter but I like both of them so much...