Fan Fiction |
by distant origin
I sighed as I put down the marker I was holding and shook my tired hands. If someone had asked me two years ago how I'd feel if someone asked for my autograph, I'd have said that I'd be ecstatic about it. But now that I finally was doing that (signing autographs) with the rest of F4, I realized that it's not really all that great. My hands hurt like hell. I looked left to see how long the line of fans still was, and groaned when I realized I still couldn't see the end. 'Is there even one?' I thought, as I absent-mindedly signed my name on yet another Meteor Garden poster. I was getting sick of my face on all the posters already.
"Relax," Ken, who was sitting beside me, said. "If it weren't for these people, our careers wouldn't go anywhere."
"I know," I told him. "I just, I'm just sick of seeing my face."
"That's because you're not as cute as I am," Vanness, who was sitting beside Ken, said. "I never get tired of looking at my face."
"That's because you're vain," Ken told him.
"It's because most of the posters just have Jerry on them," Vic, who was sitting beside Vanness, pointed out.
Vanness frowned as he signed his name on yet another poster with just Dao Ming Si and San Cai. He rolled his eyes. "Hey, I wasn't the one complaining in the first place," he said, veering the conversation back to me.
"Yeah, yeah, it's my fault," I said, signing my name beside my face on the poster with all four of us this time. I still hadn't finished signing when yet another poster was placed in front of me. I wrote my name quickly and another poster immediately replaced it. I scribbled just my last name this time to be quicker, but I was still too slow for the pace of the replacement of posters in front of me. I wrote my name as simply as I could on the next poster, and then suddenly found my marker poised to write on a white polo shirt.
Luckily, I was able to hold back my hands. I looked up at the fan in front of me for the first time. No one had ever asked me to sign a shirt after all.
The girl had short dark hair and a big smile on her face. It wasn't a smile of happiness though. Somehow she looked kind of... guilty.
I raised an eyebrow at her. This was definitely weird.
She bit her lip, then suddenly held out her hand, which had a cup of coffee in it. "I'm sorry?" she said, looking a little panicked.
I was puzzled. What was she talking about? I squinted my eyes to look at her more closely. Maybe I knew her from High School or something, and just couldn't remember. But why would she say she was sorry? I couldn't remember anyone offending me lately. I looked at the cup she was holding. It had the word 'Cuppajava' written across it.
Cuppajava... Somehow the name sounded familiar...
I looked up at her face again, and then at the cup, and then at the shirt on the table. And then it dawned on me.
SHE was the girl who spilled coffee all over me a few years back that made me miss my Armani photo shoot. How could I forget? I had to literally beg my agent for three months to get me the job again.
I suddenly felt all the anger I felt then rush back into my system. I furrowed my eyebrows at her and was about to tell her off.
But then her smile grew wider. "I'm sorry," she repeated, nervously, as she started to draw her hand back to get the coffee away from me.
An idea popped into my head. I smiled, not feeling at all angry now. She DID say then that I could do what I wanted to get even with her...
I stretched out my legs underneath the table and tapped her ankles, forcefully.
She lost her balance, and I leaned back and smiled.
"Whoah!!" she screamed, and the contents of the coffee cup was in an instant all over her.