Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,31

believe me when I told them I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

“What’s your problem?” Lulu whined. “I always thought you were cool.”

Oh, man. She was actually pulling out the “cool” card? Her words hit me hard. I am cool, I wanted to protest. Really!

I swallowed hard. I didn’t want Lulu to hate me, but at the same time I couldn’t allow this type of thing to go on. It was for her own good, after all. I had to be the adult, as much as it pained me. She’d thank me someday. Maybe.

“Lulu, if you’re going to live in my house, you need to follow some rules. You can’t walk all over me, trash my house and completely disrespect me and then tell me I shouldn’t mind because of some warped sense of coolness you think I have. It’s not acceptable.”

“Fine. What-EVER. I’ll stop the party. Geez!” Lulu opened the front door, then turned back to shoot me an evil glare. “You know, I was totally wrong about you.”

“Sucks to be you then, doesn’t it?” I snarled back. As soon as the words came out, I regretted them. As a rule, responsible adult types should not say phrases like “sucks to be you.” But hey, I was parenting on the fly here.

To her credit, it took her less than ten minutes to clear everyone out. Of course, she wanted to go with them to the next party, but I, the loser adult, told her to go to bed. Actually, I told her if she went to bed I wouldn’t tell Dad about the party, but hey, whatever worked.

After giving her a blanket and pillow and settling her on the couch, I headed to my bedroom, which unfortunately hadn’t been spared from the party mess. Worried about potential teenage hormone-induced action between the sheets, I stripped the bed and made it again.

When had my life spun so out of control? It used to be so deliciously boring. Not that I was uncool as Lulu said or anything. Was I? I mean, coolness shouldn’t be judged by one’s acceptance of an underage rave at her apartment, should it?

I crawled into my newly made bed and blocked the troubling thoughts from my mind. A good night’s sleep and everything would be okay.

I hoped.

Chapter Seven

FROM: “Laura Smith”

TO: “Special Projects Group”

SUBJECT: Sweeps Story List

Hi Guys!

After much planning, Richard and I have finally finalized the story list for May. I think we’ve got some good ones this time! Please review the following stories:

Spray-on Nylons —A new spray makes wearing pantyhose passé.

Cellulite Sneakers —Special sneakers help you lose weight while you walk.

Pudgy Pets —Now it’s Fido and Fifi’s turn to go low-carb.

The Fast Food Diet —Big Mac can mean BIG weight loss.

Nocturnal Positions —The positions you sleep in can predict the future of your marriage.

Nail Salon Nightmare —How acrylic nails can lead to amputated fingers.

We will also be kicking off our latest Household Products That Kill series. Maddy has been working on our first segment—“Cosmetics That Kill” which edits tomorrow. We’ll also be assigning Deadly Doorknobs, Kitty Killer, Bad Beanie Babies, and Suspicious Sinks. And we’re looking for additional ideas, so if you come across something that can kill, please pitch it to me ASAP.

When working on these stories, please keep in mind that we are not to name any brand names unless we are saying something GOOD about the product. And please make sure if you’re writing about an experimental new diet product that may or may not work, you add a quick sound bite at the end from some grumpy, old physician who doesn’t believe anything but old-fashioned diet and exercise will lose weight. (As if people have time for that! :))

Your Boss, Laura

Monday morning. Back at work. I had to write the “Cosmetics That Kill” story and get Terrance to record it. It amazed me sometimes to think how little I got paid to shoot, write, and edit a story and how much he got paid to read it. When I first started, my family always harassed me about when I’d be on air. Uh, that would be never.

It bugged me that most non-news people thought producers were all wannabe reporters. That we were all just sitting back, waiting for our big break. I had no interest in going live on the air. I liked working behind the scenes and never having to worry about getting fired because the latest surveys found that viewers trusted five-foot-two brunettes more than five-foot-six