Ohh, I got you, didn't I? My original little story profile! It's the other side of me. Interesting to read, because it's... about... me...

And now it's time for me to shut up and let y'all read. Enjoy!

Wait - one final note. This is called "American Secrets" because I still love that song by Parachute. :)

That is all.


On an unnamed and fairly boring hill sits a girl, no more than fourteen. She is scribbling furiously into her notebook, oblivious to the blazing and burning sunset. Her hair is pulled messily back with a ponytail, but her bangs with still hanging in her face, which she angrily pushes back every few seconds. Next to her is a camera, a Sony Cyber-Shot, and her clunky old iPod nano. A set of bright blue earbuds lead up to her ears, where she is bobbing her head to unheard music. She doesn't notice the stranger approaching her with a voice recorder and a notepad until he clears his throat and nudges her with his foot. She glances up behind her hair, blatantly surprised.

"Hi," she says simply, taking out her earbuds.

"Hello," the stranger replies. "What're you listening to?"

She glances briefly at her iPod nano.

"Coldplay," she responds, turning off her iPod and wrapping the buds around her musical device.

"That's an awesome band," the stranger says earnestly. He scribbles something down on his notepad.

"Their music actually means something," the girl states. "It's not all the stuff people call music now days. It's diferent."

"Oh," the man says, clicking on his voice recorder. "Coldplay writes music that means something to girl," he murmurs into the device.

"So?" she asks. "Are you here to interview me?"

The shock is apparent on his face. "Well, um, yes," he stammers. "I'm here from the headquarters of FictionPress. How'd you know?"

She smiles at him, flips her notebook shut, and readjusts her glasses. "I worked on the school newspaper. I know things. Plus you've got a voice recorder and a notepad. That's a dead giveaway."

The man is stunned into silence. After unsuccessfully trying to speak, he writes that down onto his notepad.

"Well, to start," he begins. "Erm... what's your name?"

The girl, with her reporter glasses and messy ponytail, sits up straight. "I'm Grape Fox," she replies, gazing at the reporter intently. "Is your job fun?" she asks curiously.

"Fun? Um, sure," the man says. "How old are you?"

Grape Fox flicks her bangs out of her face. "That's classified."

"Oh-kay." The reporter draws out the word. "Where is your hometown?"

"I was born in Missouri, but I've lived in Kansas since I was six months old."

"The reason?"

"I was in the hospital. NICU."

"Oh." The reporter nods his head and jots that down. "And you're a writer?"

Grape glances at her notebook, with its flowery design all over it. "Yes," she says. "I write about everything. This journal is my most prized possession - besides my iPod. I can't live without music."

"Do you sing well?"

She shrugs. "I personally don't think so, but people say I do. I think it'd be fun to peruse a career as a singer. I'd be like Pink, or Christina Perri - they're both different, but they're my role models. Plus they write really good songs. They're meaningful, you know? I have this thing where I refuse to listen to music that isn't written by the artist or doesn't have meaning. I don't really follow the rule very strictly," Grape flushes and glances at her lap, "you know, with all the popular music now days. Sometimes a song is catchy and I like it. Like - " She stops ubruptly. "I'm sorry. I'll stop."

"Right." More scribbles. "Do you know what you want to be once you're out of college - if you plan on going to college?"

"I'm going to college," she states firmly. "I want to major in Creative Arts or Design. Something like that. What I really want to be is a journalist, or an architect. Designing buildings that have my name on it..." she gets a faraway look on her face. "Or I'd be a photographer. I love taking pictures. As you can tell." She gestures to her camera.

"Yes, I can." The reporter pauses the voice recorder. "What are three words that describe you?"

"I'm creative. I always have the most outrageous ideas - most of the time are incredibly stupid. I'm a bit of a spaz. Trust me, I am, even if it doesn't look like it right now. Just ask my track friends. And the last word..." She frowns and bites her lip, thinking. "Umm. I'm down-to-earth. I love nature. Enough said."

"Three pet peeves?"

"One: when people try to sing so hard that they just ruin the song with their voice. Two: when people take obvious breaths in songs. Three: when people are shallow and materialistic."

"Three traits that you like about yourself?"

Grape smiles. "I'm known for being nice," she says, smiling. "And I'm good at being funny. I'm also good at taking charge of things."

"Three things you don't like about yourself?"

The girl frowns, and stares at her notebook, drawing aimless pictures on the cover with her finger. "I don't have enough courage to speak up. I care about what people say, which makes me really insecure. I've got a stutter."

The reporter nods, shaking his hand before finishing writing. "What type of stories do you write?"

Her face lights up. "Oh, everything! Poems and short stories and songs and haikus. I love writing about inanimate objects - it's sort of my obsession right now," she admits, blushing.

"Inanimate objects?" questions the reporter.

"Yeah. Like light bulbs. Ice cream cones. Justin Bieber's hair."

The reporter nods. "What are three things you're good at?"

"Cooking, writing, and designing," she replies instantly, ticking them off with her fingers.

"Three things you're terrible at?"

"Keeping my temper, controlling my emotions, and sports." She grins sheepishly. "I did play soccer for ten years, though."

"Wow," the reporter remarks. "Do you have any favorites?"

"Like, bands or flowers or what?"

"Anything."

"Okay. My three favorite things in the world are my iPod with my music, my notebook with my writing, and chocolate. Mainly Twix bars. My favorite bands slash artists are Taylor Swift, Coldplay, and One Direction. Not only because they're cute!" she shouts, trying not to smile. "My favorite books are The Book Thief, Looking For Alaska, and The Hunger Games. My favorite flowers are peonies, orchids, and irises. My favorite colors are purple, blue, and green. My favorite foods are..." She frowns. "Well, I like everything. Except mushrooms."

"Okay, one last thing." The reporter pulls out his own camera, a Nikon P7100. "I need a picture. Stand however you want. Okay?"

Grape stands up, pulling a photo out of her notebook. There's no need to take a picture. I already have one."

"You do?" the reporter asks. "May I see it?"

She hands him the picture. It is a cartoon fox with a ring of purple around its mouth and grapes in its hands.

"Um, this isn't a picture of you..." he begins.

She gives him a disapproving glance. "Sure it is," she responds, gathering up her items and smoothing her skirt down. "It's a fox, right?"

"Yes..."

"And it has grapes in the picture?"

"Yes..."

"Then it's a grape fox," Grape Fox finishes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get going." She offers him a smile before brushing past him and skipping away into the sunset. The reporter stares at the picture with an incredulous look.

"What... the... hell?" he asks himself before walking off the hill himself.