The Popstar's Star

Chapter 4: Bye-bye, beach bod

A/N- Wattpad had a glitch and this chapter got deleted. So if you voted before, please do it again. Sorry for the inconvenience :(

The chapter is dedicated to @whatschinawritin, an awesome southern belle ;)

***

I would be committing a sin, I thought with a heavy sigh.

Too bad I couldn't give a rat's ass about it. So what if the diet gods doom me to a life of eternal torment? I'm a teenager with cravings. Sue me.

But it would be a tragedy in itself, if I walked away from the most mouth-watering, freshly baked goods I've ever laid my eyes on. There was everything, from pies of all kinds to multiple-tier cakes and sausage rolls, donuts, croissants, white chocolate chip cookies, and even those little cupcakes with swirly icing at the top.

Picking up a disposable plate from the table, I gently placed a warm donut on it. I was a huge sucker for donuts and this one was dusted with a light coat of frosting that reminded me of freshly fallen snow on Christmas morning. However, as the soft ring drew threateningly closer to my mouth, I felt an unsettling pang of guilt.

Resist! Resist!!

I swear I could hear Margo's scolding voice ringing in my head. If she saw me she would be really ashamed of me right now.

"Oh, screw it." Without another thought, I bit into the donut and chewed it hurriedly, moaning at the sheer goodness.

This is––I can't. There are no words. It was so good I literally wanted to cry. The fluffy texture of the––

"Star!"

Taken aback by the loud voice behind me, I instinctively pressed the donut sharply between my fingers, causing the red jam filling to spurt out and onto my pink and grey Moschino top. I closed my eyes briefly, letting out a small cry before placing the deadly donut back on the plate with a thud. Turning around, I sent furious glares Dad's way, but he didn't seem to notice as he kept on talking.

In an exhausted manner, he threw his hands up in the air. "I've been looking all over for you. Could you help bring in some equipment from the stage?"

I gave him a look.

I never understood why Dad wanted me to work for him when I did absolutely nothing at all, except help 'carry stuff'. Sometimes, I felt it was his pitiful excuse to keep tabs on me or maybe it was just a twisted, messed up form of punishment for spending too much money. Whatever the case, it was about time I called him out on it, but then again, considering everything else I realized, sadly that the added four inches my Zara platform wedges allowed was no match for Dad's 6"3 height.

"I'll be right there." I said, forcing a smile while I snatched a toilette from the stand.

Dad's gaze lowered to the donut in my hand. "Oh, donut." He picked it up, taking a large bite before walking away in the opposite direction like nothing happened.

Groaning, I dropped the plate and tried to wipe off the jam from my clothes but it proved to be an almost impossible task. My top was practically ruined, and the red stain continued to spread the more I rubbed at it. At long last, I gave up, frustrated with myself as I tossed the used napkin into a nearby trash can.

We were backstage at a Lost Boys' concert. They were a popular British boy band that moved to L.A a few years ago, and they've been topping the charts ever since. Their music was really great, and they had a unique sound that fused pop and rock music together in a way that wasn't overwhelming.

The major disappointed however––at least to me––was their looks. The trio looked like they escaped a showing of Grease with the amount of gel in their hair, John Travolta's character would be put to shame. Luckily for them, the fans loved it and to the casual observer I was just a hater.