Secrets of My Hollywood Life #4: Paparazzi Princess by Jen Calonita

screen is cracked. Oops. Guess I won't be getting anymore calls on that tonight. For some reason, that actually makes me giggle.
    "Burke?"
    I turn around. Oh my.
    When I chose to have a freak-out, I didn't realize I was standing in front of the lacrosse field. The entire Clark High team has stopped playing and is staring at me. My face feels hot.
    Austin runs toward me. He has taken off his helmet and I can see his face covered in dirt. His blond hair is matted to his head. He looks worried. "What's the matter? Are you okay?"
    "Um, yeah," I say, knowing all eyes are on me. "Just a momentary lapse in judgment." I wave to the team. "Hi guys! Sorry about that. Just blowing off some steam."
    "Don't worry about it," yells Austin's good friend Rob Murray, who dates my friend Allison. I met Allison and Rob through Liz when I went to Clark last spring.
    "We were finished anyway," Austin tells me. "Are you sure you're okay?"
    The guys walking off the field stare at me, and I continue to blush. "You must be starving. We can talk about it later. I don't want to miss our reservation," I tell him. We're trying out this new restaurant called Helios. I hear it's totally romantic.
    "If we miss it, we miss it," Austin tells me. "There are ten million restaurants in Los Angeles. I'm sure we'll find another one. I just saw you smash your cell phone to pieces." Austin smirks. "Tell me what is going on."
    He is so sweet. I lean in to give him a kiss. His mouth tastes like sweat and Gatorade. Someone behind us whistles. Just being here with him, I feel better already. It's only been a little over a week since I've seen Austin, but it feels like a lot longer. My friend Gina says that's the problem with dating a non-celebrity. Actor types are unemployed on a regular basis (days off from taping a show, in between filming movies, etc.) so most actor boyfriends can hang out in your dressing room 24-7. Still, I like that Austin has his own life that is just as busy as mine. I wouldn't want it any other way.
    We take a seat on the bleachers. "I'm just frustrated," I explain. It feels good to get this out. Lately, I feel like I'm in a bubble. Nadine has gone wacky, Liz is preoccupied, my friend Gina left last week to shoot a movie in Australia, and the only one I can talk to is Austin. Thank God I have him. "I'm having a harder time with FA ending than I thought," I admit, "and no one seems to notice or care. I feel like I'm graduating, but I don't deserve my diploma."
    "You're just scared," Austin says. "That's normal. I kind of figured you'd have a bit of a freak-out after you met with Seth and heard all those offers." He grins. "No offense, but you do tend to fly off the handle sometimes."
    It's hard to be offended when it's true.
    "You just need time to digest everything," Austin adds, "and come to terms with the show's ending in your own way."
    "That's the problem," I complain. "I don't have any time to do that. Everyone wants an answer from me immediately and I have no clue which project is the right one. The only thing I've gotten excited about so far is our invite to the Vanity Fair party."
    Austin's face drops. "I was going to talk to you about that tonight. I have bad news. I can't go. Coach organized a lacrosse scrimmage for us in Phoenix and it's the night of the Oscars. I just found out this afternoon."
    Half of me is disappointed by the news, but the other half is impressed that Austin cares more about his beloved lacrosse than he does about meeting Jessica Alba. I don't think I ever really realized how into lacrosse Austin was. Now that the season is coming up, he practices all the time. If I call him before school, his mom says he's working on his toss in the backyard. After school, whether there is an official group practice or not, he's out there. And on weekends, if he's not playing, he and Rob are critiquing their performance on a tape of a game they played last year. And guys say girls are obsessive. "I understand," I squeak.
    "Why