Rebecca was not having a good day.

Not that she ever did anymore; as far as the teen was concerned her life completely sucked. She was convinced no one in the world had a worse life then her. And she had some pretty good reasons for her thoughts, too.

Her parents were getting divorced because her dad was having an affair with one of his co-workers.

Her boyfriend had broken up with her to go out with her sister, Amanda.

Her older brother, Mark, the only one that liked her, was off fighting in Afghanistan.

She was failing math and French.

Her best friend had stopped talking to her.

Oh, yeah, and there was that weird feeling that she was always being watched. So she could add paranoid to the list.

"Becky, sweetie?" her mom hollered up the stairs of their narrow Boston apartment. "Could you come down here a moment?" Rebecca winced. She hated the name Becky - it was the name of a sweet, little girl, a girl with not a care in the world. Not like Rebecca.

"Becky?" her mom called out again. "Come down here."

But Rebecca didn't care what her mom wanted. She turned her stereo on high, locked the door, and opened the window, letting the city noises in. She stood before it for a moment, staring into the street, at the honking cars and swearing drivers, at the tourists who obviously had no way how Boston driving worked. She stared about at all the tall brick apartment building identical to her own, and wished she was in one of them, instead of here. Here where her dad wasn't as he'd already moved in with his new girlfriend. Here with her crazy mother that lived in a world of dreams, and had no hold on reality. Here with her ex-boyfriend James making out with Amanda downstairs. Here where no one could care less if Rebecca just disappeared.

"Honey?" she heard, followed by the sound of knocking. Rebecca sighed, unlocked her door and admitted her mother into the room. "Can't you turn that down?" she yelled above the noise. Rebecca slammed the window down with more force then she'd intended, then grabbed the remote and turned off the radio, plunging the room into silence.

Her mother surveyed the room with a faint look of distaste, seeing the clothes strewn about the floor, the tall, unstable stacks of papers and books. "Aren't you going to clean this up?" Ivy Lawrence said, poking one pile of clothes with her foot.

"I will tomorrow," Rebecca promised.

Ivy frowned. "Didn't you say that last week?"

"No mom," Rebecca lied. "I didn't. I'll clean it up tomorrow."

"Good," Ivy said, looking satisfied, and turned around to go.

Rebecca rolled her eyes, used to her mothers forgetfulness. "Mom." Her mother turned around. "Weren't you going to tell me something?"

"Oh! Yes, about those papers I borrowed from Amy Halles - be a dear and bring those over to her, won't you? I told her I'd return them today, but I don't have time . . ." she looked at her oldest daughter expectantly.

"Why don't you ask Amanda?" Rebecca replied bitterly.

"Amanda? Oh, but she's with that nice new boyfriend of hers . . . What's his name again?"

"James," Rebecca got out through gritted teeth.

"Oh." Ivy blinked innocently. "Isn't that the name of your boyfriend, Becky?"

Rebecca took a deep breath, then let it out. "Never mind, Mom. It doesn't matter."

Ivy shrugged. "Anyways, Becky darling, I have those papers, and just run over and give them to her . . . " she bustled out of the room. Rebecca watched her receding down the short hall, and clattering down the stairs. With a groan, she followed, pausing at the bottom of the stairs before rushing on. Amanda and James were in the room to the left of the stairs - Rebecca needed no more reminders of them.

"Here, sweetie," her Ivy said, handing her a pile of papers. "You remember where Mrs. Halles lives, don't you?"

"Yeah," Rebecca said, as her mom floated away - off to do yoga or burn aromatic candles, no doubt. Rebecca slowly left the apartment, unwilling to leave the warm building for the autumn winds outside.

Wrapped in her jacket, she quickly walked along the sidewalk. People knocked into her as she went towards Amy Halles apartment. It did not take her long to get there, and be greeted by Amy.

"Why, hello dearie!" she said with an overly bright smile. She took the papers and dropped them in a wastebasket. "Come in, sit down! Let me get you a glass of milk and some cookies -" Rebecca sighed in exasperation as the women headed for the kitchen. She was seventeen, not seven.

"That's alright, Mrs. Halles."

"No, no, I insist -"

"Good-bye Mrs. Halles," Rebecca said, turning her back and leaving the apartment. The roads had not changed at all, any Rebecca was not in the mood for people. She turned on to a nearly empty side street. It was a less direct way to her apartment, but probably quicker as there were no crowds to hinder her.

Halfway home it started to pour. The rain soaked Rebecca in seconds, making her clothes cling to her. Her light jacket wasn't waterproof; that too became heavy with rain. She hurried along, swearing under her breath.

One lone car drove along the street, a black bug, that slowed to a stop in front of her. The front window lowered and the driver leaned out; a teen boy, not that much older then Rebecca, with dark hair and dark eyes. His face was darkly shadowed by the car and the rain; it was hard to make out his features. "Hey," he called out, "You wanna lift?"

Rebecca shook the water from her eyes and glared at him. What did he think she was, stupid? She glared at him. "No." She quickened her pace, sneaking a sidelong glance at the guy.

He raised an eyebrow, car crawling along to match her speed. "You sure?" he asked. "It's awful wet out there . . . " understatement of the year, ". . . and you seem to be in a hurry."

To get away from you, idiot, Rebecca thought. "I'm not stupid," she told the boy. "I don't want a lift.'

"Your loss," he said with a shrug, pressing on the accelerator. She watched the car speed away.

Five minutes later, he wished she'd accepted the ride. She was soaked to the bone, and still at least three miles to her house. Thunder rumbled overhead, and she saw a flash of lighting illuminate the sky. She hurried onward, rounding a corner and colliding with someone.

"Oh! Sorry," she said, bending to pick up a box and hand it to the person - an older man, with a long black trench coat, the kind drug dealers used in movies. He snatched the box from her and strode away, turning the corner sharply. Rebecca rubbed her head, and walked on.

She entered her apartment building, and went directly to the elevator. It opened, and someone started to get out - then stopped looking at her. "James," she said, resigned. She might of known she'd have run into him too. She looked self consciously down at herself, dripping water into a pool at her feel.

"Hello Rebecca," he said, no emotion on his face. "How are you?"

In no mood to make polite talk, she thought angrily. "I'm fine," she snapped at him, harsher then she'd meant to. She pushed past him into the elevator, and pressed the button for level twelve. The doors shut in his face.

Rebecca entered her apartment to find her mother in the kitchen, eating Chinese take out food. She took one look at her daughter and exclaimed, "Becky! You're absolutely soaked! What were you doing out so late?"

Rebecca took a deep breath and counted to ten. "Returning papers to Amy Halles, Mom. Just like you asked me to."

Ivy blinked, and smiled. "Why, I do believe you're right," she said, and went back to trying to eat her lo mein with chopsticks. Rebecca left her, climbing to the top of the stairs. She turned to enter her room, and found her sister sprawled on her bed, reading her journal.

"God, Amanda," Rebecca said, "Get out of here."

Amanda ignored her, just turned back a page, and read an entry from the diary.

" I feel like everythings changing. Everyone, and everything. I feel like I stand in the eye of a tornado, able to watch everything spinning about me, wrecking havoc with my life, unable to stop it. I am in the middle of the storm, but take no part in it, as everything spins faster and faster, leaving me behind but not letting me escape. I don't know anyone anymore. I don't know anything - why's it all changing? Why won't it stop or at least slow down . . . " Amanda laughed. "God, Becca, you're so pathetic - ‘why's it all changing? Make it stop!' You're such a baby."

"Get out of my room."

"Make me," Amanda said, but she left. She stopped in the doorway, though, and turned around and smirked. "You're right about one thing. James is a good kisser. And he likes me much better then he ever liked you." She flounced off.

Rebecca collapsed on the bed, after kicking the door shut and locking it. She might've known Amanda would read her journal- it was just the kind of thing her ditzy sister would do. Rebecca buried her face in the pillows, trying not to scream. As if her day wasn't bad enough - delivering her mom's junk, getting caught in the rain, running into some idiot who wanted her to get into her car, colliding with a possible drug dealer - she had to come home to find her ditzy sister who was going out with her ex-boyfriend reading her journal.

Rebecca couldn't stay there forever. She stashed her diary beneath the piles of clothes in her closet and went down for dinner. Her mother was in the living room burning incense and chanting in Gaelic, and her sister was on the computer im-ing all her equally ditzy friends. Rebecca took a plate full of lo mein and scallion pancakes, and settled down to watch TV. She was flipping channels when she saw a picture of someone familiar. She skipped back, and saw a picture of the guy who'd offered her a ride. Ohmigod, he's probably an axe-murderer, Rebecca thought in horror as his picture went to the upper right hand corner, and the rest of the screen filled with the picture of a well know news reporter.

"- son mysteriously disappeared two days ago, but this was only revealed to the public several hours ago."

Who's son? Rebecca wondered, staring at the screen. But it changed to a commercial - Smile, you've got French's - so the girl switched the channel. There! She stopped as the boy's picture was again shown.

"and President Robertson has finally admitted that his son did disappear two days ago."

Rebecca sat still as a dear, remote in hand. Her thoughts spun as she recalled the boy in the bug. The president's son? That was impossible. Things like this just did not happen to her. With her free hand she rubbed her temple, eyes glazed. He was the president's son?

You wanna ride?

No.

Your loss.

Rebecca switched to another channel, and saw the president himself, talking about his son. she switched the channel again, staring blankly as the reporter announced the news. In fact, just about every news station had the same news.

"Ohmigod," Rebecca craned her head around to see Amanda staring wide eyed at the TV. "The President's son is missing? " She whirled around, off to inform her online buddies of the news.

She thinks she's stunned? Rebecca thought wryly as she rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher. She isn't the one Jadrien Robertson offered a lift to.

Later that night, right before she went to bed, she had one last thought; she'd met Jadrien once, and maybe she'd meet him again — at least he wasn't an axe-murderer.