FictionPress.com - let the words flow| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
A/N: Oh the drama. I've re-read and re-vamped the story from start to finish and this is the newly added chapter. You'll probably find that my writing style has changed a lot since I wrote a lot of my old stories - maybe for the better, who knows? This chapter, well, what can I say? The story really kicks off.
Derek57 - the kid's back.
Wonderful Brett Myatt - Chapter Five
“English singing sensation, model and soon-to-be actor – Brett Myatt – was awaited today by thousands of adoring fans at Moorde High. The singer had been spotted in a green Jaguar by one of our camera men on the street of the school’s location at just before nine o ‘clock this morning, presumably starting his first school day for over a year.”
When did they get this footage? This was surely breaching the law somehow? I didn’t even remember seeing the cameras on that road. I looked at the driver in the car that we had been driving to school this morning – and yes, that was definitely Cheese.
The woman reporting was dressed up in a short red coat made of what looked like wool, buttoned right up to her chin. Her skin was a dark-chocolate brown and her hair was tucked into a dark shiny bob. Her face was pointed and stern, her posture rigid – squared and holding her microphone tight in her grey gloved hand - her American accent was quite forceful. I realised that I had missed a large chunk of the report by now.
“Finally,” she said after I regained concentration, “Brett finished off his day with a friendly game of soccer with some new found friends. Unfortunately for Brett’s team, Brett’s talent doesn’t stretch as far as the pitch. Maybe he should stay off the pitch and just keep to the stage. This is Gina Martins reporting. Back to the studio.”
Gina Martins. For once, I didn’t forget a name.
“Brett Myatt, who’s calling?” I said like I said every time my phone went off.
“Brett, Brett!” said the strong but slightly breathy voice of Shaun. I knew it as him by the way he rolled the letter R in my name. “Did you see the news? The news? You were on in, Brett, you were on the news!”
“Yeah, I saw it. What are they playing at?”
“I don’t know Brett, I don’t know. But surely, surely! How did they get there? They’re not supposed to know you’re attending school, see, they don’t know!”
“Well they must do, mustn’t they?” I said with a casual but rude tone. Shaun was a clever and sharp witted man, but you wouldn’t have thought it from conversing with him alone.
“They must do,” he paused and I heard him click his tongue down the phone. “So…Brett? You’re bad at soccer? They said you should stay off the-…”
“I know what they said Shaun. I told you, I hear d it. I’m not bad at soccer, just under practised,” I changed the subject. “Have you heard anything from Hartwell?”
“Kevin? No, no, not from Kevin. He’s working, doing the uh, sponsorship. I haven’t heard from him for a few days. You got my letter? Did you get it? I sent it you today.”
“I got your letter but haven’t opened it – I got distracted. What is it about? You could just phone me instead you know.”
“It’s not urgent; I just wanted you to read it. Right away, uh, as soon as you possibly could. You have a photo shoot.” My eyes widened. “My studio not far from where you are right now, just round the corner, see not far.” Shaun always spoke fast, but I couldn’t keep up with him right now. He was almost talking in one continuous word.
“Photo shoot? Why?”
“Brett! What do you think? Your show! Publicity! Fame! Tch, ‘Why’?” he snorted and I narrowed my eyes. “You sounded panicked. Are you worried? You’re sounding tense.”
“Shaun, I’m fine,” I lied, “Now just slow down and tell me what the hell is going on.”
“You’re a rude boy Brett!” he joked, “very rude! We can’t change you. The photo shoot is tomorrow after you’ve been to school, Dawson will escort you here and we’ll tidy you up a bit and then start!”
I was about to sigh, but cut myself off. I hated it when he said those over enthusiastic corny lines. I’d look a mess by the time I had got back from school – my hair would have lost its bounce, my clothes would be creased, I’d be exhausted, my eyes wouldn’t be sparkling as much from the stress…It just added to my list of things I didn’t want to do. Besides, which agent was Dawson?
“You’d better get your beauty sleep Brett, don’t want you to have to wear too much make-up. Bad for your pores you see, can’t have that. Can’t have you with spots for your shows, this is my company and Kevin’s that we’re talking about, imagine how ugly you’d-…”
“Shaun?” I intervened.
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
“Tch Brett. I was just concerned. I can tell you’re moody. Look, take no notice of them goons telling you you’re no good at football. They’re wrong.”
“Thanks Shaun,” I said, hoping that he would close he conversation soon.
“Yeah. You’re crap that’s why. See ya!”
The phone bleeped and I slammed the cover down, forcing it into my pocket whilst keeping my annoyance to myself.
“Sir?”
I spun round on the spot to see a cautious figure peering round the door. I bit my lip. It was one of the agents, again with a name that was never stored well enough in my memory to recall it. He informed me that my dinner had been cooked for me in the restaurant on the floor below. I gave my
head a scratch and flicked the television off with a jolt of the remote and followed him out the main entrance and to the restaurant. It was empty, save a few officials that I only knew from the odd jobs they did for me and a few other famous couples that had reserved particular secluded areas at the back of the restaurant.
It was a grand place. With a black velvet carpet running up the central isle, decorated with simplistic silver patterns. The chairs were high backed black leather ones and the table tops were made of darkened glass. The windows were slim and stretched the full height of the room, made of one-way glass so that onlookers could only see their reflections rather than the celebrities inside.
The food wasn’t to my taste at all. The menu was composed of fancy foods that I had never had the desire to try and the food that I wanted to eat, I was told not to. ‘Too much calorie and fat intake’ Valerie Toiton - my health and fitness advisor always warned. She was sitting at the long rectangular table, waiting for me to take my seat next her like I usually did. When she was here, it meant I couldn’t have the triple chocolate sundae that I had spotted on the menu and desired so much that I had been tempted to steal one and save it for later when she wasn’t looking.
I cleared my throat and greeted my company like I was the Prime Minister or something. There were a few faces that I didn’t recognise – such as a wiry little man next to Valerie that was repositioning the two sets of knives and forks like he was taking an exam in cutlery arranging. Valerie noticed this and smirked at me.
She was a nice woman, although strict. Her husband had left her recently because of her over-commitment to me, apparently, though I half suspected that he was just as sick of her do’s and don’ts concerning food as I am, and left. Quite ironically, she was quite a portly woman with frizzy black hair and heavy eye make-up. Her lipstick was always bright red and I’d always thought she looked like a University art teacher.
I sat down and stared at the starter; prawns in seafood sauce with bits of flimsy green stuff that I didn’t know the names of. I did the same at every course of the meal – didn’t eat a bite.
I put my head down and checked in the mirror in the back of the seat in front of me.
“People have realised it’s you.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t think of anything polite or worthwhile to say. We drove into the extended car park of the school, again a little past the main entrance. There was no sea lion to meet me this time, no toothy smile that made me cringe. Pickle unlocked the door from a concealed switch underneath the dashboard and lifted myself up clumsily followed by a sigh of relief from the leather
seat as the air rushed back into the spongy fabric. I stepped into the crisp air; it was still as cold as yesterday. Yesterday. The embarrassment flooded back.
I stayed where I was until the Jaguar had dissolved out of sight through the incoming crowds of students. I mounted my bag on my back and reluctantly turned on my heel - walking past a vent exhaling warm air that I didn’t dare breathe in. I had abandoned the smart shoes and gone with trainers.
“Oi, Brett,” said a gruff voice. Lifting my head sharply my eyes became fixed into a pair that I had only seen the day before. They weren’t the comforting like I had remembered, but narrowed and dim. It was Revan. He looked pale, his hair was a mess – he looked like a young man that had spent the night in a forest without sleep.
I gulped. “Er, Revan, hey,” I gave him a quick flicker of a smile and avoided looking into his threatening eyes. “You look rough.”
“What do you think? I’ve had nothing but mockery since you decided you’d be a dick yesterday.”
I furrowed my eyebrows and swept my hair off my face. He walked towards me and I backed off. He looked dangerous – he looked like a drunkard.
“I didn’t exactly mean to get hurt did I? If your friends didn’t play so rough-…”
“You, you, you isn’t it? You’re all the same.”
“You’re drunk,” I stated. I was a shocked by this; he was only seventeen I guessed. My bad soccer skills couldn’t have affected him this badly. “Revan, go home.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do? Do you know who I am? You’ve ruined me!”
“You’re over-reacting! It was just a lousy soccer game. I was the one that should have reacted badly, not you. Now go home Revan, you can’t come into school in the state you’re in.” By now, there was an ever-growing crowd of students. Revan seemed to be enjoying the attention, but for once, I hated every second.
“I’m not in a state you bastard,” he spat, taking a few more wobbly steps. “Tell you what, Brett Myatt, let’s settle this.”
“What?” I snorted when I knew I shouldn’t have. It seemed to make him even angrier with me. I didn’t know what I had done, or why he was acting like this, or what it was that was making him so angry. It couldn’t be just my loss for his little team yesterday. That was ridiculous.
“You and me, fight it out. All these people will see what a pathetic loser you are.”
“I’m not fighting anybody,” I retorted, giving him a disgusted look.
“You give me that face one more time and I’ll knock your lights out,” he stumbled forward. This was not only absurd but excessive. He swung his bag off his shoulders and aimed it at me with a force that I didn’t expect his slim frame to muster. I moved out the way quickly, but only due to his sluggish movements and aim. The bag landed with a high pitched smash of empty glass bottles and
skidded along the gritty tarmac floor. He’d definitely been drinking. His eyes narrowed again. “You little coward. Think you’re somethin’ now? Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you can treat the rest of us like trash. I bet you’ve never even been treated like trash. But you are trash. Trash, Brett Myatt, trash-…”
He regretted saying it. I knew this by the stunned expression he gave me as his limp body hit the floor with a painful sounding scrape, a skid and a heavy thud. His front teeth were marbled with his own blood and his tired eyes were unfocused. The congregation was silent. People were staring at me in a mixture of awe and shock.
I looked down at my locked fist and uncurled it. I had never ever punched anybody like that before. He’d hit a nerve. My old friends used to call me trash. It had taken me all this time to believe I was actually something and Revan had crossed the line and brought back all the fury I had kept to myself from before my fame. I figured that there was more to Revan’s abnormal behaviour than what happened on the pitch yesterday.
I’d hit Revan harder than I had ever expected I could. My knuckles were throbbing and my upper arm was strained and sore. My shoulder was wrenched and my abdomen felt like there was a whirlpool in there – twisting up and tearing my insides in a rage I had never felt before.
I skimmed the faces of the crowd and the general expression was ‘what’s he going to do next?’ I knew what I was going to do next - I pushed my way through the back of the crowd towards the back of the kitchens well out of view of anybody else and dug out the neat black mobile phone from my pocket. I dialled Valerie’s number and she answered in a panicked voice.
“Brett? What’s the matter?”
“Tell one of the agents to pick me up from school. I’m not going in.”
