Jameson Daegan

March 15, 2020, 11:57 a.m.

Let the Feud Begin

“Are you serious?” JD snapped into his portafloo. When a pretty brunette turned her head at his loud volume, the pop star immediately lowered his voice and hissed, “What do you mean, ‘no, we can’t make that happen at this time?’”

Whatever the agent said in response was cut off by his most vicious scoff. Practice made perfect, and JD wielded his scorn with expertise. “What the hell do we pay you for if you can’t get me out of this school for a day to deal with this damn problem? No - no, that’s not good enough.” He turned his back to the crowded street, facing a decorative plant in the corner of the store. “Figure it out, or I’ll call mother and you’ll be fired.” Before she could protest, he snapped the portafloo shut and took a deep breath.

Pineapple.

Everything was a mess. Well into his fourth year at Rocky Mountain International, JD could feel his fortune and fame slipping through his perfectly manicured fingers. The tabloids no longer printed stories about him based on stolen moments on Pearl Street. He’d even paid one of his housemates, that Ember girl, to walk around with him and sent the pictures to The Remember-All himself. Nothing. Not a bit of ink for him.

But this new duo? The ones trashing him in the tabloids, his only metion? They called him old news, a hack, a prepubescent (excuse you, JD knew he was FULLY pubescent and had some of the hair to prove it) ghost from pop stars past. How?

How in all the hells did a lame duo like The Secret Saxophones become more popular than him?

JD shoved his portafloo in his the pocket of his flamingo pink jeans and stalked out of the shop. Almost immediately, he bumped into another student. Instead of his usual charm and flirtation, the messy blonde Cetus simply snapped, “Get out of my way.”

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