The Fat Lady Interviewing Matt Clark!
Before you get upset with me for her name, remember from The Key of Kilenya that she insists on being called the Fat Lady. Don't ask me why, ask her. :-) You might get the chance in some upcoming interview! For now, enjoy the following scene as the Fat Lady interviews Matt Clark. :-)
The Fat Lady
walked onto the make-shift stage, cheap wood flooring sagging under
her massive, well over five-hundred-pound frame. She paused and
stared at the furnishings, and a blush spread across her cheeks. With
a growl, she turned and looked at someone beyond the camera's view.
“I can't hold an interview here. This,” she motioned to
the pink and very florally couch and armchair, “is disgusting! It's
horrendous! My cabin back home would be better.”
“Sorry,” a
woman from off stage said. “It's the best we could do with such
short notice. Besides, you said you didn't have enough time clean up
your place.”
“Hrmph.” The
Fat Lady sat on the chair, adjusting her position several times. Her
eyes continuously drifted to the clock on the wall. “All right,
Andrea, where is he?”
“Almost here—he
just texted.” Andrea, author of the Kilenya series, drifted in
front of the camera for a moment, holding a cell phone. She held the
phone out to the Fat Lady. “Want to see the text?”
“Text? What are
you talking about?”
A door slammed
somewhere, Andrea backed out of view, and Matt strode onto the stage,
hand extended to the Fat Lady. “Sorry I'm late! And I just can't
believe you're the lucky one to hold the interviews. So much fun!”
“Yeah, yeah.
Sit.” The Fat Lady picked up a piece of paper from the coffee table
and looked it over. “Who the heck cares about this sort of stuff?”
“Um . . . Fat
Lady?” Andrea asked. “Would you please come here for a moment?
The cameras are already rolling, and we don't have time for this.”
The large, over
six-foot-tall woman thumped off stage. Whispered voices drifted
through the room, while Matt obviously pretended not to notice. He
examined his nails, played air guitar, then leaned back, arms behind
his head. Finally, the Fat Lady returned with a fake smile plastered
on her face.
She grabbed the
paper, reading it over again. “Such great questions.” She
leaned forward. “Matt. Tell your fans a little about yourself.”
Matt's face lit
up. “I'd love to!” He turned and looked directly into the camera.
“My name is Matthew Clark. I'm Jacob's older brother.” He paused.
“And no, I'm not magical like he is—wish I were. But I'm better
than him at basketball.” He snickered, then shot a glance at the
Fat Lady. “Don't tell him I said that.”
The Fat Lady
rolled her eyes. “Oh, I won't.” She looked down and started
reading the next question. “How did—”
“Oh! And I'm
also captain of the football team at my high school, Mountain Crest,
and I like singing and playing the guitar.”
“Yes, yes, I'm
sure the viewers wouldn't be able to live without knowing all this
about you.”
“Gotta keep the
ladies happy.”
The Fat Lady
raised her eyebrow. “Speaking of 'the ladies . . .' How did you and
your girlfriend, Samara, meet?”
Matt practically
bounced to the edge of his seat. “Sammy! Oh, she's the coolest,
best, most awesome girl I've ever dated.”
“I'm sure.
Answer the question.”
“Okay, so it all
started when I was dating her freaking hot older sister, Molly—”
The Fat Lady blinked. “Um . . . You do know that Sammy is going to
watch this, right? Kid, calling her sister 'hot' is completely and
totally stupid. No girl wants to hear that from her boyfriend! Unless
you're trying to get out of the relationship?”
The blood rushed
from Matt's face and he turned to the camera again. “Sammy. You're
hot
too. You know you're the only girl for me. Listen, we're always
going to
be together, and Molly never crosses my mind. Except that
one
time, but you were totally with me, and it wasn't my fault!”
He looked at the Fat Lady, desperation on his face. “Can we please
just erase all of this and start with the question again?”
“No, of course
not.”
He turned to the
woman off stage. “Please, Andrea? Pretty, pretty please?”
“Sorry, no. It's
too expensive. One take is all you get.”
“Well, Sammy
knows I love her.” Matt cleared his throat, loosening his collar,
and looked at the Fat Lady. “Any more questions?”
“Yeah, but
they're dumb. And I'm bored.” The Fat Lady jumped from her seat,
grabbed Matt's hand, yanked him up and pumped his arm a few times.
“Thanks for doing the interview. Get back to school.”
Matt nodded and
dashed off the stage.