Betsy was used to getting recognized. She had garnered quite a following as a model recently—the wonders having her full focus on her career could do—and as a result, people were stopping her on the street all the time asking for a picture or an autograph. After managing to get past a pack of high-school age girls, she let out a heavy sigh, composing herself for a moment. She hated the publicity of it all. She wasn’t good at that part. She had a unique face and she had the body for modeling and she was good at it, but past taking beautiful pictures and having a passable runway walk, she wasn’t great at the fame part of it all.