I’m a rookie paparazzo. To get my big break, I spent six months staking out Hollywood’s golden boy, Caleb Hayes. But I didn’t catch him. Instead, I caught his rumored secret son. The kid went to elementary school; I trailed him. The kid tripped; I picked him up. The kid wanted cotton candy; I paid for it. Later, another pap snapped a photo and the internet decided I was the baby mama. I went viral instantly. I panicked and tweeted: [I am NOT!] I didn't expect Caleb Hayes himself to reply to my tweet: [Yes, you are.] That night, the internet broke. 1 I haven't been in the paparazzi game for long. But as the saying goes, go big or go home. I was tired of scraping by, so I decided to aim for the stars. Specifically, Caleb Hayes. I sat in my beat-up, second-hand Honda Civic, scrolling through Caleb’s profile on my phone. Caleb Hayes. Twenty-eight. Ivy League grad. Returned to LA a few years ago and instantly conquered Hollywood with his god-tier looks and Oscar-worthy acting. Zero scandals. Squeaky clean. But the rumor mill whispered that he had a secret child. A man that perfect with no skeletons in his closet? I didn’t buy it. So, I parked myself outside his luxury apartment complex in Beverly Hills for months. I saw nothing. Not even his shadow. My savings were dwindling fast. Just as I was aggressively chewing on a stale bagel, my eyes widened. Someone was coming out of the gate! Could it be Caleb? I ducked down, peering over the dashboard. A young man walked out, holding the hand of a small boy. The kid looked about seven or eight, messy dark hair. I couldn't see his face clearly from this distance, but my heart started racing. Is that the rumored son? 2 Terrified of being spotted, I slouched in my seat like a gremlin. The young man—definitely not Caleb—was holding something and complaining to the kid. "Little Leo, if you don't eat this, you're gonna starve at school." Leo ignored him completely, head down, marching forward. They were walking right toward my car. As they got closer, I saw Leo’s face. He was pouting, but he was undeniably cute. Like a cherub in a designer jacket. "Seriously, kid, you're impossible! Even Caleb isn't this high maintenance," the man grumbled, scooping Leo up into his arms. "Let's go. Uncle Mitch is driving you." Hearing the name "Caleb," my internal radar went crazy. I watched them hop into an SUV. I didn't think twice. I started my engine and followed them. This was a major breakthrough. If I found the son, the father—and the scandal—wouldn't be far behind. I tailed them to a prestigious private elementary school and watched the little guy walk in. I figured the mom might pick him up later. That would be the money shot. I waited all day. From morning light until the bell rang in the afternoon. A flood of kids in uniforms poured out. Parents in Teslas and Range Rovers crowded the entrance. I wasn't a parent, but I was just as anxious. Then I saw him. Leo stood by the gate with his oversized backpack, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. When he didn't see anyone familiar, his shoulders slumped. He looked so lonely. He tried to squeeze through the crowd. But a frantic mom, rushing to get to her own kid, didn't see him. She bumped right into him. Leo stumbled and fell onto the pavement. My breath hitched. Wait. Why is he on the ground? The parents were pushing and shoving. I was terrified he’d get trampled. Abandoning my cover, I threw my car door open and sprinted over. I grabbed his arm and pulled him up. "Hey, you okay?" Leo, who had been sitting on the asphalt, looked up at me. He blinked, dusted off his knees, and asked in a quiet voice, "Who are you?" His voice was soft and ridiculously adorable. I brushed some dirt off his jacket. "Uh, I'm a fan of your dad." Fans follow Caleb. Paparazzi follow Caleb. Same difference, right? Just to make sure I didn't look like a kidnapper, I added, "Kiddo, go wait by your teacher. Don't leave with anyone unless you know them, okay?" Then I ran back to my car, heart pounding. Stupid, Riley. Stupid. I totally blew my cover. When "Uncle Mitch" comes back, he'll know something is up and chase me off. 3 I stared at the sky through my sunroof, feeling tragic. But my conscience wouldn't let me leave until I saw the uncle pick Leo up safely. I expected a cease-and-desist letter from Caleb’s agency that night. Rumor had it Caleb Hayes had a short fuse with privacy invaders. One pap who crossed the line was basically blacklisted from the industry. But surprisingly, I slept like a baby and woke up to zero threats. Maybe Caleb was too deep in character for his new movie to notice. I dodged a bullet. I went back to the apartment complex, cautious but bold. I watched Leo go to school and come back every day. A few times, I swear the kid looked right at my car. Uncle Mitch, however, seemed oblivious. Until one morning. I was yawning, opening a bag of donut holes I bought for breakfast, ready to start my shift. Leo walked out of the complex alone. No Uncle Mitch. No Caleb. I blinked. They aren't letting a seven-year-old walk to school in LA, are they? Just as I thought that, there was a tap on my window. I jumped. I rolled it down to see a cute, frantic face. The sun hit his eyes, making them look lighter. He looked up at me through long lashes. "Pretty sister, can you drive me to school? My uncle overslept and he won't wake up. He's like a log." My jaw dropped. "Huh?" I'm a paparazzo. And you want a ride? 4 I pinched myself. This had to be a hallucination caused by lack of caffeine. "Kid, do you know how crazy that sounds?" But Leo just stared at me with big, pleading eyes. "If we don't go now, I'll get detention." He tilted his head. He looked innocent, harmless, and dangerously cute. I looked at the kid, then at my phone. I got an idea. I hit record on my camera. "Okay, buddy, repeat after me: 'I am voluntarily asking Riley for a ride to school.'" I haven't committed any crimes, and I’d like to keep it that way. Kidnapping charges are not on my bucket list. Leo looked confused for a second, then nodded solemnly. "I am asking Sister Riley to take me to school." Good enough. I put the phone away, got out, and buckled him into the back seat. I knew the route to the private school by heart now. At a red light, I glanced at my bag of donut holes. Then I saw Leo in the rearview mirror. He was staring at the donuts like they were gold. "Hey..." I hesitated. "Did you eat breakfast?" Leo slumped. "No." My heart cracked a little. I handed the bag back to him. "Want some?" His eyes lit up. He took the bag with both hands. His ears turned a little pink. "You bought these for me? You're way better than Uncle Mitch. His cooking tastes like burnt rubber." I barely heard his rambling. I was too busy mourning my breakfast. The car soon smelled like sugar and glaze. My stomach growled. Ten minutes later, we pulled up to the school. "Here we are." I watched him hop out. He took a few steps, then turned around. I checked the back seat. Did he forget his backpack? No. He walked back to my window. "Sister, will you pick me up this afternoon?" Me: "..." Absolutely... not! But looking at his hopeful face, my brain malfunctioned. "Uh... sure?" Why can't I say no to a kid who calls me 'Sister' instead of 'Auntie'? Leo beamed. "Promise?" "Yeah, promise." He ran inside. I put my hands on the steering wheel, ready to make a U-turn to get actual food, when it hit me. I'm a stalker with a camera. I haven't gotten a single scandalous photo of Caleb, but I'm babysitting his kid? Damn you, Caleb Hayes. You owe me gas money.
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