A new Celeb Reality story...I'm trying my hardest to come up with them.....

“Welcome, Miss Andris, how are you?” Simon asked, as I walked in.
“I’m good, thank you, how are you?” I asked.
“Good, tell us a little about you.” Simon said.
“Okay, I was raised in Oregon, I went to college, and majored in music, decided that I wanted to try something new, and try out here,” I said.
“Okay, what are you going to sing for us today?” Randy asked.
“Praying for time by Carrie Underwood.”
“Who is someone you look up to when singing?” Paula asked.
“I really look up to Reba, Carrie Underwood and Martina McBride.” I said, looking to them.
“Okay, you have the floor. Just so you know, we are having everyone do the whole song, unless we stop you.” Simon said. I smiled and nodded.
“These are the days of the open hand, they will not be the last, look around now, these are the days of the beggars and the choosers. This is the year of the hungry man, whose place is in the past. Hand in hand, with ignorance and legitimate excuses. The Rich declare themselves poor, and most of us are not sure, if we have too much but we’ll take our chances, ‘cause god stopped keeping score. I guess somewhere along the way, he must have let us all out to play, and turned his back, and all god’s children crept out the back door. And it’s hard to love, there’s so much to hate. Hanging on to hope, when there is no hope to speak of. And the wounded skies above, say it’s much too late, Oh maybe we should all be praying for time. This is the year of the empty hand, oh you hold onto what you can, and charity is a coat you wear twice a year. These are the days of the guilty man, the television takes a stand, and you find that what was over there, is over here. So you scream from behind your door. Say what’s mine is mine, and not yours. I may have too much, but I’ll take my chances ‘cause god stopped keeping score. And you’ll cling to the things they sold you, did you cover your eyes when they told you, that he can’t come back, ‘cause he has no children to come back for. And it’s hard to love, when there’s so much to hate, and hanging onto hope, when there is no hope to speak of. And the wounded skies above, say its much, much too late, mm well maybe we should be praying for time.”
“Wow, Uh, Randy, what have you to say, to this beautiful girl?” Simon asked.
“Wow, Brittany, honey, you have a voice box like none other. How long have you been singing?” Randy asked.
“Since I was about seven or eight.” I said.
“Wow, you’ve got such a wonderful voice, it seems to me that you’re the kind of person that can sing a lot of different things, is that the case?” he asked.
“I try my hardest to learn new songs, and be open to new songs, but I really love country music, I was raised in a small town, on a farm.” I said.
“Where was that?” he asked. “A place called Sisters, Oregon.” I said.
“Okay, can you sing us another song, we want to see how flexible your voice is.” Randy said.
“What would you like me to sing?”
“I hate this part, by The Pussycat Dolls, sing till we stop you.” He said looking to me and smiling.
“ We’re driving slowly, through the snow on fifth avenue and right now the radio is all that we can hear. Man we ain’t talked since we left, it’s so overdue, it’s cold outside, but between us it’s worse in here. The world slows down but my heart beats fast right now, I know this is the part where the end starts. I can’t take it any longer, thought that we were stronger, all we do is linger. Slipping through our fingers. I don’t want to try now. All that’s left is goodbye to find a way that I can tell you. I hate this part right here, I hate this part right here. I just can’t take your tears, I hate this part right here. Every day seven takes of the same old scene, seems we’re bound by the laws of the same routine, gotta talk you no ‘fore we go to sleep, but we will sleep once I tell you what’s hurting me. The world slows down but my heart beats fast right now, I know this is the part where the end starts. I can’t take it any longer, thought that we were stronger, all we do is linger. Slipping through our fingers. I don’t want to try now. All that’s left is goodbye to find a way that I can tell you. I hate this part right here, I hate this part right here…” “Stop, thank you so much Britannee that was amazing, I love that song more than anything, Simon, yes or no?”
“One hundred and fifty percent yes,” he said smiling.
“Randy?”
“Hell, yeah, I love your voice,” he said, making me blush.
“Well, I am hundred and sixty million percent sure, yes, you’re going to Hollywood Britannee,” she said. I didn’t know what to say, but I soon made my way out to my best friend, Grant, who had also made it to Hollywood.

“Alright, next up, singing Carrie Underwood’s Praying for time, is Miss Britannee Andris.” Ryan said smiling, the cameras moved to me on the stage, sitting on a stool, in a nice gown, ready with a microphone.
“These are the days of the open hand, they will not be the last, look around now, these are the days of the beggars and the choosers. This is the year of the hungry man, whose place is in the past. Hand in hand, with ignorance and legitimate excuses. The Rich declare themselves poor, and most of us are not sure, if we have too much but we’ll take our chances, ‘cause god stopped keeping score. I guess somewhere along the way, he must have let us all out to play, and turned his back, and all god’s children crept out the back door. And it’s hard to love, there’s so much to hate. Hanging on to hope, when there is no hope to speak of. And the wounded skies above, say it’s much too late, Oh maybe we should all be praying for time. This is the year of the empty hand, oh you hold onto what you can, and charity is a coat you wear twice a year. These are the days of the guilty man, the television takes a stand, and you find that what was over there, is over here. So you scream from behind your door. Say what’s mine is mine, and not yours. I may have too much, but I’ll take my chances ‘cause god stopped keeping score. And you’ll cling to the things they sold you, did you cover your eyes when they told you, that he can’t come back, ‘cause he has no children to come back for. And it’s hard to love, when there’s so much to hate, and hanging onto hope, when there is no hope to speak of. And the wounded skies above, say its much, much too late, mm well maybe we should be praying for time.” The crowd went wild, and I felt in heaven.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Grant Brock, and Britannee Andris singing, Every other weekend.” Ryan said.
ME: “Every other Friday, it’s toys and clothes and backpacks. Is everybody in, okay, let’s go see dad. Same time in the same spot, corner of the same old parking lot, half the hugs and kisses there are always sad. We trade a couple words, and looks, and kids again, every other weekend.” GRANT: “Every other weekend, very few exceptions, I pick up the love we made in both my arms, It’s movies on the sofa, grilled cheese and cut the crust off. That’s not the way mom makes it, daddy, breaks my heart. I miss everything I use to have with her again, every other weekend. I can’t tell her I love her,”
ME: “I can’t tell him I love him.”
BOTH: “Cause there’s too many questions and years in the car.”
ME: “So I don’t tell him I miss him,”
GRANT: “I don’t tell her I need her.”
BOTH: “She’s (he’s) over me that’s where we are.”
GRANT: “So we’re as close as we may ever be again, every other weekend.”
ME: “Every other Saturday, first thing in the morning, I turn the TV on to make the quiet go away. I know why, but I don’t know why, we ever let this happen. Fallin’ for forever was a big mistake. There’s so much not to do, and all day not to do it in, every other weekend.”
GRANT: “Every other Sunday, I empty out my backseat, while my children hug their mother in the parking lot. We don’t touch, we don’t talk much, maybe goodbye to each other. As she drives away with every piece of heart I got, I re-convince myself we did the right thing, Every other weekend. I can’t tell her I love her,”
ME: “I can’t tell him I love him”
BOTH: “’Cause there’s too many questions and years in the car.”
ME: “So I don’t tell him I miss him,”
GRANT: “I don’t tell her I need her.”
BOTH: “She’s (he’s) over me that’s where we are. We’re as close as we may ever be again, Every other weekend.”
GRANT: “Yeah, for fifteen minutes, We’re a family again.” ME: “God, I wish that he was still with me again,”
BOTH: “Every other weekend.”

It was nearing last few contestants, no the last two contestants, and it was between me and Grant, and who would win. I was so nervous, but I had a lot of votes with me, always being the first to be told that I would be staying. I was getting more and more nervous. They put me in a gorgeous gown, and Grant in the most handsome tux I had ever seen, and we performed the night away. The last moments where what killed me. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Grant, Britannee, the moment, that you’ve probably been waiting, dreading, and hoping would come. 2009’s American Idol, is, Britannee Andris!” he said. I didn’t know what was happening, the crowd had erupted into screams, and confetti was flying everywhere. Grant took me and hugged me tightly.
“Welcome, we’ve got today on my show, Miss Britannee Andris, American Idol of 2009, how are you feeling?” she asked, as the crowd was dying down. “Oh, I’m still floating, not really here. It’s amazing, how wonderful, I feel, I’d never thought that Grant would lose. He is such a great singer, musician. I kept second guessing myself. I guess.” “How did it feel to go up against your best friend in the top two?” she asked. “It was really hard, because it was something we both wanted, but we wanted for each other. He’s got such great talent, that in a way I really wanted him to have the title, but since I know he’d do great anywhere, and he’ll get signed on to some studio, I’m not as worried.”

Soon....


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