“You can’t just come down here every day.”
He was at a loss to know what to say or do. She was not even his child. He had come along when she was eight and already a handful. She was obsessed with fame, with being famous, with making it into television. Every morning she would leave home with her school pack slung over her shoulder, dressed in the blue-checked uniform that so disgusted her. And sure as eggs, every morning the call would come informing them that she had not arrived.
“But why would they pick you, love?”
She knew it was her destiny, if only she believed. That is what the palm reader down at the markets had told her. Everything would then transform: the puppy fat would dissolve, the stoop would straighten, the stutter would correct.
“It is my destiny”, she whispered, staring at the line of ants.