. . . I turn around to see paparazzi following behind me, screaming my name. Any second now there's gonna be a mob of fanboys and well, fangirls.

      "Wendy!"       "Miss Son!"       "Ohmygod! She's here!"         "Sing for us!"         "Wendyyyyy we love you!"             Okay well, just got real.         I look around and there's nothing but gray buildings-nowhere to hide. I keep running and find somewhere to hide and oh, there's an apartment complex. That wouldn't be the best idea but , I'm out of possible choices. As if I have one.       I crouch down behind a green, leafy bush in front of the apartment complex and wait for the crazy paps to pass. It's not that hard to hide because those people aren't that smart.       I stay there for a couple of minutes but I accidentally bump into the door behind me. The door leisurely opens, just a crack, and a sly grin spreads onto my face. Hmm, luck's on my side.       I slip into the apartment, reassuring myself that I'm only going to be here for just a moment until the paparazzi leave.        I gaze at the interior. It's simple yet beautiful. Nice taste. There's a medium-sized white sofa sat up against the olive painted wall with a glass coffee before it. It's-       Wait. Do I hear footsteps? Crap. I find somewhere to hide and ding!-There's a closet. I carefully sneak inside of it and take note, it's larger than your average coat closet. There are many things inside but something catches my attention.       Two guitars, ukulele, and a keyboard. I pick up one of the guitars and touch the strings. It's in good condition, but who the heck lives here? I place back the guitar but I accidentally brush my fingers past into the strings sending sound waves from the guitar. I instinctly press my hand down on the strings to stop creating much noise. I let out a sigh of relief, not hearing any footsteps coming. I pick up the guitar again.       The door swung open and I yell, okay maybe I screamed.       "Who the hell are you? And what are you doing inside my closet?"       What matters most is that I drop the guitar in my hand, and jump out of shock, of course.          .         A strangled gasp comes from the girl in front of me and she drops the plastic baseball bat that she is holding.           "You little . You are ing dead! You break in my apartment and now you also break my babies! You're dead."          Her angry hazelnut orbs bare into mine as I stare back at her, not having any idea of what to say. Her brown hair and coral shorts don't make her look intimidating. But damn, she's hot. Her physical appearance was incredible; milky white legs and decent s. A silver necklace with a flat, cross charm occupied in between her collarbones. The only problem was that she's pissed, which turns me on.         "Are you ing checking me out?"           Guilty as charged.           Furious brown eyes pierce my body as she stood before me. She raised her eyebrow, questioning me. Not to mention, she's intimidating as hell.         "Are you going to say something?"       "Uh, sorry?" I say, giving her my best puppy dog eyes. It always works on girls and boys.       "Sorry? A ing sorry?" She cries, pushing me hard in the chest. Ouch. That's a penalty young la