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I think there should be paparazzi at all, of course.”
    I rolled my eyes at this one. Nice try, Ned. He knew full well that without the paparazzi, the stars wouldn’t be as
    famous and important as they are. The public are constantly duped into thinking the paparazzi are evil when in reality it’s a symbiotic relationship. The stars need the paparazzi and the paparazzi need the stars. It’s always amusing to see an actor, desperate for attention on the way up, supposedly “hate” all the fuss when they get there, then seek it out again with sad stunts on the way down.
    And on the “all paps are evil” subject, let’s not forget the public. Because that’s the thing about papping— it is completely, utterly, and totally market driven. If the public didn’t want the photos, we wouldn’t be taking them. The day they stop throwing their copy of Us Weekly into their shopping cart is the day we stop taking these so- called invasive photos.
    “What on earth are you doing?” Someone barreled up behind us. Ned’s dad, Matthew Hartnett.
    “I guess that explains where your parents are!” I said cheekily and took off before Matthew Hartnett could lay into me like he was famous for laying into his son. Though, to be 37
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    fair, I’d heard he had two sons. It’s just that the other one was smart enough to live in NYC with his mother, which meant that he probably escaped the wrath of his father. At least on a daily basis.
    I hadn’t made any money at all that night. I’d ended up spending some of Dad’s instead, having X-rays taken in the emergency room (a hairline fracture . . . no big deal). But despite the eve ning’s injuries, that night had turned out to be more than a worthwhile investment. I soon realized Ned was right. I was different. And I wasn’t using that difference to my advantage.
    I thought about it for a bit, then made a few trips out to surveillance shops. A lot of what they were selling just wasn’t going to cut it for me. An ugly watch camera, a pen camera and a calculator camera? Yeah . . . not unless the nerds were suddenly going to make an assault on Hollywood. After I shopped around a bit more and browsed what was available on the net, I started to think laterally. Maybe I could buy a few objects that people would believe a kid would have on them, gut them and install cameras inside? Dad fi xed me up with some contacts, and over the next couple weeks, I had several devices custom- made. Then I set about doing exactly what Ned had told me to do.
    At fi rst, taking my devices out and about with me was a bit painful. There was no denying it was easier and the shots were better when I used my camera. The fi rst couple hundred pictures I got off my fauxPod were pathetic— shots of 38
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    stars’ legs (not in a good way), tiles, car wheels, the sky, and so on. But as I kept going, I got better at it. Pretty soon, I ditched most of the other items and used the fauxPod almost exclusively. And I started to realize it was worth trying to hone my picture- taking skills, because I was getting into some pretty neat places. Not just restaurants, but poolside at hotels, onto golf greens, and even into spas and hairdressing salons.
    I drew the line at following stars to the bathroom. There was invading privacy and invading privacy.
    As I used my fauxPod more and more over the following weeks and months, I thought about Ned a lot. I told myself it was because he’d been the start of what I’d become, but the truth was, I knew that wasn’t really true. And every night that I went to work, I’d look out for him. I wondered if he’d be there. If I’d see him again.
    But I didn’t see him after that night, because Ned Hartnett kind of disappeared. He made that one appearance, then a few more, just enough so that all the rumors died down.