My best friend, Aubree, and I were obsessed with celebrities.
You know—movie stars, singers, anyone on that show Immediate Access. We spent hours watching YouTube, especially videos by my favorite singer, Jackson Jax. Once, Aubree’s mom took us to one of his concerts. I swear, even though I was one of 15,000 screaming fans, Jackson Jax pointed straight at me and whispered, “Girl, this song is for you.”
A few months ago, Aubree and I were watching a music video when she asked, “Emma, what’s the most important thing to you?”
“Fame,” I replied. “What about you?”
“Friends,” she said. “If you ever got famous, you’d still be my friend, right?”
Aubree and I had been friends since first grade.
“Of course!” I answered. “And I’d also go on the Gary Larry Show and ride in a limo.”
As it turned out, I would do two out of three of those things.
It started with the karaoke machine Uncle Roger gave me for my 13th birthday. For a long time, it stayed in its box—and for good reason. I’m a terrible singer.
But one Saturday night, Aubree and I opened the box.
“Karaoke!” Theo exclaimed as he came into my room.
“Can I try?”
“Go away,” I ordered.
“Please . . . ” he begged.
“Go away!” I shouted.
“You’ll be sorry,” he warned.
I started singing Jackson Jax’s megahit, “Girl, It’s Gotta B U.” Then I began to dance. I looked like a cat trying to cough up a hair ball. Aubree laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe.
“Emma,” she cried, “please promise you won’t ever do that in public!”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Like that would ever happen.”