Smile For The Camera

Click. Flash. Click. Flash.

The repetitive process seemed endless.

The photographer came to my side and tilted my chin up just a quarter of an inch – but it made all the difference. The lighting was perfect after that. It hit my jaw bone at such an angle that he said I looked almost angelic. I was beautiful, no doubt, and my mom made sure I knew it. I sat upon the stool with such form and posture; one would know that I have been doing this all my life.

Click. Flash. Click. Flash.

This went on a dozen more times. My photographer directed me to move in small increments between each flash.

"That's a wrap!" He patted my head and helped me off the stool. "We'll have your face on the cover of that magazine by next week." I smiled up at him, but he was unconvinced by the way the smile never met my eyes. He'd only done a few sessions with me, but he could tell when something was off.

- - - - - - - - - -

Lately I have been questioning whether I did the right thing by choosing modeling and homeschooling over my friends and public schooling. It wasn't entirely my decision, though. My mother practically forced me into choosing it. She'd chosen it for me from the moment she'd found out I was a girl. My career really kicked off a few months ago – right after school had started. I had so many agents calling to shoot with me that I missed three weeks just to meet them all. None of them were worth it though, according to my mom.

The principal had called my mom and talked to her about the absences I was having and just like that, she'd pulled me out of school. Out of my social life and into my career life. At first my friends were happy for me. But soon they got upset about me dropping school and never having time for them. Then eventually, they just forgot about me altogether. I was sure of it.

I am only sixteen, but I've been a little pageant queen since the day I learned to strut my stuff – and that was sooner than most. It was my mom who got me into it all – seeing as my dad left before I was born.

My mom obsessed over the glamour, the fashion, and the attention. She never paused to look back to see if I was enjoying the ride as well, but why should she? I grew up learning to love it all. That's the very reason I was going to be on the cover of the most popular teen magazine in the whole country.

"Amy, your mom's waiting for you out front," Tyler, one of the youngest professional photographers I ever met, told me while he scrolled through photos on his phone. He was fresh out of high school and already working for The Queen Teen Magazine. For the past month, since he'd been photographing me on different occasions, we'd become pretty close.

"Okay, I just have to change," I said, and dashed behind the dressing room curtain and pulled off the ruffled skirt that was black with layers of different colored tooling underneath. Tyler dipped behind the curtain, as he often did, to help me undress. He unlaced the converse boots that reached just below my knees. I didn't mind that he saw me in my underwear, because real models had to strip down to nothing and not have a-care-in-the-world about who saw them. I was determined to be like a real model. Or maybe it was my mother who was determined.

After he'd gotten my shoes off, I turned my back to him so he could get the tiara off my head. My hair was bleached a few days ago so my natural blonde hair was now bright and bold. It was in ringlets that were framing my face, mostly my eyes. They were crystal blue and everyone says they are my best feature.

I managed to peel off the black tank top that had been splattered with various bright colors. I had looked like a punk princess – The Teen Queen magazine was trying to create a new look and I was the lucky soul that had the opportunity to advertise it. If the line was popular enough I would become the face of the brand and become a well-known model.

"There you are." He patted my head and left me to put on my own clothes. I slid on a pair of grey sweats, a white camisole, and big comfy tennis shoes that I could just slip into. I ripped open the curtain and walked over to Tyler, who was putting away his equipment, and gave him a one armed hug and let him kiss my cheek.

"I'll stop by and visit you when I'm around here," he promised, smiling down at me. I was average height for a model, but he was tall.

"Bye." I smiled before heading out the back door to look for my mom's car. I stepped out into the cool, damp air and the wind whipped across my arms and brushed against my skin giving me goose bumps. I looked up to see dark, heavy clouds looming just above. Then ran to my mom's car and hopped in before the rain could wash away my makeup. The makeup did a good job of hiding who I really was.

But it couldn't stay that way forever.