I’m the PR of them

I’m the PR of them - WeFree

A girl points her iphone at us, we are three males and seven females, we’re doing a selfie. We take a photo to post on Snapchat and Facebook, to show to our friends that we are cool. That our life is the coolest, however one should really consider this: all these guys I’m with, know who I’m but I have no idea who they are. It is standard procedure for a “PR”.
I’m sixteen and I have learnt well the simple mechanism: more guys get in clubs with my name, the more money I make. I’m the one who makes the clubbers spend the least, who arranges the tables and has the list. I’m the one who everyone looks for on Friday and Saturday nights, I’m always outside the clubs, I am very busy.
The reputation for me is everything: If a group of guys wants a picture with me, I have to say Yes. I advertise myself by doing so. This is my world. I do selfies with groups, I look for them in front of their schools, and I walk down the hallways going towards the schoolyard. Today is Thursday, I must start asking everyone what they will do tomorrow night. I’m not wasting time indeed, I want everyone to be my friends. Greeting almost everyone, perhaps with a nod or a wink, recycling jokes. To their glad I devoted attention. They know who I am.
Once outside I’m assaulted by students. I have “recruited PRs”, younger guys who bring people to clubs under my name. They are my secretaries; I don’t leave them any money, they get into clubs for free and have free drinks. I have already made some clients, I liquidate them telling them we shall talk tomorrow. Now I have to work to do, I can’t waste time. I have a life to get on with, I’m no longer a kid: people expect something from me.
Today in the yard there are so many people I don’t know. Maybe they are from another school, or they are visiting, there is also a bus stop out here; I have to try to sell more tickets possible, the time is right. I talk with small groups that are more fashionable, those with the most beautiful girls, that surely bring many people to the disco. In ten minutes I sell six tickets, I’m a monster. At a certain point I feel someone touching me from behind. I almost pass out.
It’s Laura, the girl I was in love with in junior high. God bless, she has become beautiful. I almost didn’t recognize her. And to think that once she didn’t even notice me. I greet her, elated, we embrace; then there are the usual pleasantries, how are you, how is school going… «But sorry – she asks – what are you, a PR?» «Yes I sell the presales for clubs…»”Aaah, I realize, you must be very busy, full of friends …congratulations, you work a lot!» “Come, I have a lot of business going on… you know, if you ever want to go out one night, I might let you in free, guest list privée, with a table already paid …”.
We look, we smile. It’s been years now, we are growing, we become every day more different from how we were then. Maybe I was better back then. Sometimes I feel like I talk like I’m already thirty years old. «Listen, she says– I don’t go out clubbing yet… I’m still sixteen, my mom wants me home early… but, this Saturday there is a birthday party, my little brother’s; We are many former classmates of ours… I wanted to invite you, but you’re always so busy that I let it go … I thought you’d be bored with us, karaoke and dancing. ”
At that moment I lost sight of everything that character I had put on, clubs, presales. I just thought that finally I had found her. But I had my hands tied; There was money waiting for me, people were counting on me to get in. It was as if there had been a plastic wall dividing us. I never really realize this. I was about to reply when I got inundated with young girls, that wanted to know if everything was confirmed: “bye, see you tomorrow night, we’re there eh! We enter the list with him, girls, it would save us a few Euros!! He is a PR!! He is so cool!! Come on, everybody lets take a selfie with him! “. In ten seconds I found myself surrounded by boys and girls, people I didn’t know, that I had to say something to me. And while doing that selfie, I watched Laura back into the bus leaving school. I’m not sure of what to say about that day; I don’t have a moral, because then Saturday I went out to the club. Or rather, I was in the premises of both clubs, to bring people in. But when I see that selfie, each time I remember where I was watching. Yet there I was, in the midst of them; where people expected me to be.