Chapter One: A Twist In My Story
Fact: The song titles that I use for the chapters are not mine. I do not own them or any brand names that you may realize. However, the plot is mine as well as the characters and the setting, and I'd appreciate it if you do not steal.
"Nice!" Luke cheered from the sidelines of the half-pipe as I skidded down to a halt. "Dude, you seriously have to teach me that," he grinned.
I laughed. "Do you think you can handle it Jenson?"
He raised a challenging eyebrow. "Want to make a bet on it McAllister?"
"Name the price," I dared.
Luke rummaged through his pockets. "All I have is five bucks."
"Deal," I concluded. He hit his fist against my own.
We smiled to the challenge until a horn blared from behind us.
"Ryan!" a shrill voice called. "Mom wants you home!"
I waved at the model that sat in the driver's seat, signaling her to give me a minute. "Later Luke," I waved. "See you tomorrow."
"Bye Rye," Luke replied and got back on his skateboard before skating away.
I hurried over to the silver convertible waiting for me. The driver was looking at herself in all three mirrors while she reapplied lip-gloss to her already shiny lips. Her shoulder length blond hair bounced with the extra volume as she put her hair back in place. Meet Cameron Whitley: my sister. I threw my skateboard in the trunk, knowing she hated having it touch her leather seats. As I roughly climbed in, she gave me a disapproving look with her icy blue eyes narrowed.
"What?" I asked as I strapped on my seat belt.
"What happened to you? You look horrible," she said with disgust.
I looked at my reflection in the side mirror. My face was red from the summer heat, and my skin glistened with a thin sheet of sweat. As a result, from the dampness, the hairs that stuck out of my helmet clung to my skin. I unfastened my helmet and lifted it up. A flow of dark chocolate locks escaped from the enclosed space finally giving my scalp oxygen.
"This, my dear sister, is the award of a job well done," I said, as we cruised down the road. I wiped the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand.
"Ugh, I can't believe Mom made me pick you up looking like that. It's so embarrassing," she said her face distorted.
"Don't worry Cameron," I offered. "Just look at it as a chance to be even more admired then you already are when compared to me. Face it, I make you look better."
I told her anything to stop the whining and complaining. It paid off as a satisfied smile formed, and she shifted into a more relaxed position. I rolled my eyes as I turned out the window, watching the small town that I grew up in fly by.
"I'm not gonna write you a love song cause you ask for it," came Sara Bareilles obnoxious song.
Cameron found her iPhone in her cluttered Coach purse and flipped it open. "Hey 'Becca!" she squealed.
I tensed in irritation then slowly let out a breath. I found my iPod in my back pocket and placed the headphones securely in my ears, and it instantly calmed me. Nothing in their conversation could possibly interest me even though Cam tried to sound like it was the most exclusive conversation ever.
"Shut up!" Cam said her eyes wide. "Shut up! No way." The car swerved as she clapped her hands in excitement.
"Watch the road woman!" I screamed, gripping the seat for my life.
"That is fabulous!" Cam continued, ignoring me. "Major gossip points for this week. I'll talk to you later. Okay. Bye." She hung up her phone and let out a high pitch squeal.
"Guess what?" She asked, smiling with her perfect teeth like I actually cared.
"There's a major shoe sale at Barney's," I guessed with false enthusiasm.
"Don't be silly," Cameron said, swatting the air. "That's next week."
"Oh, darn," I said flatly, adding an eye roll.
"Zane Ryker is filming his new movie here!" She informed me, her blue eyes bright.
"That's nice," I replied and looked back out the window.
"You don't know who Zane Ryker is, do you?" My sister inquired.
"Do I care?" I shot back.
"He's the All-American Actor of his age. Not to mention incredibly hot."
"And then we go back to the fact that I. Do. Not. Care."
"Come on Rye," Cameron said astonishment laced in her voice. "His last movie won two Academy Awards. How can you not care?"
"It's easy really. I just don't. When you talk about something that actually captures my interest, let me know."
"Well, mom is going to flip out when she hears this. She could do a whole story on it and everything."
"Come on Cam," I said, getting irritated. "This Bane guy—"
"It's Zane," Cameron corrected.
"Same thing. He's just a guy doing his job. Do you have to make a big deal out of it?"
"Uh, duh," Cameron said like the snob that she was. "It's going to be huge. Then I can meet him and take some pictures for the spread."
I shook my head in disgust and ignored everything that she said until we pulled into our driveway. Immediately, Cameron turned off the car and hurriedly ran up the front steps as fast as her high-heeled pumps would let her. I retrieved my skateboard from the trunk and entered the house after her.
In the kitchen Cam was talking animatedly to my mom— Daniel McAllister. Have you noticed that the girls have boy names? She wanted her daughters to share the burden of always being mistaken for a guy. Fortunately for Cameron she doesn't have to experience that feeling because one look at her and you thought model. No questions were asked.
As for me, many people doubted what gender I actually was. My name gives off a great impression don't you think? And the fact that I love skateboarding just adds on to the effect. Thanks Mom. But minus the name and skateboard I seem like a normal girl. Not many take the time to glance my way twice anyway so it doesn't really matter.
But besides her poor choice on names, she was like any other mom. She worked; she came home to tell us to do our chores, and gave us a strict curfew. Oh, and her job is at So Real Magazine. So Real was the hottest magazine about the latest gossip and tells people what's 'hot' and what's 'not'. Mom got stuck with the gossip section, unfortunately in my opinion.
My mom married twice. Since Cameron had a different dad, she was dubbed with his last name. Cameron's dad is living well I guess you could say. In other words, he's loaded. As 'Daddy's little girl' Cameron was always spoiled with extravagant gifts that her dad sent her every week. My dad on the other hand passed away when I was two. I've been told that I look a lot like him with a pale complexion and auburn hair, and Cameron took after her own father with tan features that highlighted her bleach blond hair. However, we both inherited mom's striking blue eyes. If it weren't for the eyes, you wouldn't tell that the same blood ran through our veins.
"Your sister just told me about Zane Ryker," my mom informed me as I entered the kitchen.
"Yeah, isn't it great?" I said with an eye roll and passed them to get to the fridge.
"Don't worry about her, Mom. She's still young. She doesn't know about these things," Cameron said.
I pulled out a can of Vault and snapped it open. "Why don't you get over yourself and know 'things' that actually matter?" I shot back. "Like what state we live in."
She glowered at me before returning back to mom. "So I was thinking that you could do a whole cover story. And I'll help! I can get pictures and everything!"
"Maybe Cam. These movie sets are really hard to get in. Even for a five minute interview," Daniel told her oldest daughter.
Cameron stuck on her lower lip and pouted. Daniel sighed and gave in instantly. "I'll see what I can do," she simply said.
Immediately Cameron soared. "Thank you mom," she cheered and gave her a brief hug. "I have to go and call Becca!" With that she pranced out of the kitchen.
I met my mom's eyes or my eyes I guess you can put it. She knew how I felt about the whole celebrity ordeal and gave a helpless shrug. I continued to stare at her dubiously then shook my head in disappointment before exiting the room. Now that she has a lead, I know that she isn't going to stop until she gets that story. That's what I hate about her job, interfering with someone else's life that she clearly doesn't belong in and is not wanted, trying so hard to be someone that she's not so she can impress everyone.
That's her mistake, and I'll make sure that I don't repeat it.
I escaped to my room, the only sanctuary I could find in this small house. Mom's paper work is constantly scattered on every surface available, and Cameron whines about everything possible for someone who is nineteen and currently in the modeling business. Did I forget to mention that little detail? She's just doing local store ads and commercials. Honestly, she could make it big if she actually applied herself.
While my family insists on pursuing their career paths that mingle with the celebrity world, my hidden talent has yet to take off. Art. Painting. Sketching. Sculpturing. Everything that has to do with art I understand effortlessly. And I'm actually good at it, and it relaxes me no matter what. I love everything about it. Something about it calls to me and makes my eyes open to things that I never saw before.
I see skateboarding as a type of art. Maybe not to some people, but it makes sense to me. Just like painting or anything I make, I see an explicit image of what I'm going to do in my mind before I actually do it. Once I see it I can perform it right on spot and nail it perfectly. Every move is one fluid motion like a stroke of a paintbrush, and it calms me completely.
I looked around my small room. It was nothing special, only a place to sleep and to get out of the way from my family. I chugged the rest of my Vault and threw it over my shoulder, making a clean shot into the trashcan. I turned to my easel that held the current painting that I was working on. It was a city, a random one I suppose, that began to transition to a sunset. The sky was a mixture of pink, orange, and blue. The sun was hidden from the tall buildings but reflected from the glossy windows.
It wasn't my best. I still had to make some corrections, but it was moderately acceptable. Since I was eight, I've been saving up for one of the best art schools in America. Babysitting jobs here and putting projects online there. Last year I started to apply to as many art schools as I could. I've been denied and accepted. But the one place that I want to be accepted from was Waverly Art Academy in New York. I haven't sent them an application yet. When I do, I want the piece to be meaningful and flawless… something that reflected me.
Suddenly my bedroom door burst open and Cameron waltzed in. "Have you seen my pink halter top?" she asked, going straight to my closet.
"Why would I have anything pink? Why would I have anything of yours at all? If you haven't noticed, all my clothes are either torn up or paint splattered. So why are you even in my room? Get out Cameron," I told her, not even glancing up from my easel.
"Out," I said in a dangerously low voice.
"Fine," she huffed. "Don't think you can borrow anything from my closet again."
"I never did. I never will," I said simply as she walked away. "And knock next time!"
Cameron slammed the door as an answer. Ah, music to my ears.
Good? Great? Awful? Review? Advice and constructive criticism is welcome. -ilymtwces