"You've got to be kidding me. Tell me you didn't," the artist begged her best friend. She was in sweatpants and an old t-shirt littered with holes, her long dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail so it was out of her face. She glared at her friend through her top-rimmed glasses. Her friend, dressed in short shorts and a tight-fitting t-shirt, flipped her bleached blond hair out of her face. "Oh, come on, Joe," her friend sighed, exasperated. "So they thought your art was the best, what's the problem with that," she snapped, frowning. "You entered my stuff into that stupid contest. Without. Asking. Me," she said, furious. "I DON'T EVEN LIKE HIM!" "You can't tell me you wouldn't want to stare at that face for hours," Brittany disagreed, smiling down at the picture of his face on the front of his newest released CD album. She sighed and hugged the case to her chest, falling back onto Joanne's bed. "I don't know why I keep you around. You never listen to me," Joe frowned more deeply. "I honestly don't want this, Britt." "But think about the future jobs it could bring," Brittany pointed out. Unfortunately, Joanne couldn't argue that. This rockstar that her best friend was currently obsessed over was huge all over. His face was on everything. If she had even one of his advertisements in her portfolio, she would certainly be considered for a good job. "Fine. I'll do it," she finally gave in, sighing as she flopped back onto her pillows. This was going to be a long summer.