PB Teen

Bree's Catergories: BFFL's, Old Flames & Friends with Benefits. Who Goes Where?

Bree pulled off her Gucci sunglasses and straightened her coffee-colored cardigan as the town car drove off North County Road on the north end of the island, through the gate, and up the long, paved driveway lined with trimmed shrubbery. Bree's home came into sight from behind a high hedge as they approached the ocean side mansion.

The driver smoothly drove the vehicle under the porte coche hiding the front door. He got out and proceeded to open the door for her. She grabbed her shoes and awkwardly pulled her drunk self out the car with misty blue eyes and an I'm-so-smashed,-this-is-fun smile that spread across her face. The driver followed her, dragging her load of matching Louis Vuitton luggage bags behind them.

"Bree! Honey!" her mother exclaimed, excited to see her daughter, "you're home safe and sound."

Patricia, a middle-aged example of simple elegance, was wearing a flowing white Lilly blouse with sewn-in seashells and True Religion jeans which gave her a youthful flair. She stood by the doorway with open arms next to her new husband and Bree's stepfather, Vincent Young. He wore a purple and green striped Polo and white golf pants which Bree found corny. She looked her mother up and down once. She looked good, Bree thought to herself, especially after all she's been through. She fell into her mother's arms, who held her steady. Bree still felt buzzed, but she was happy to be so close to her.

"Mom, Vincent" Bree managed to sputter, "it's so great to see you guys."

"As it is to see you, Bree-Bee." He loved to tease her with that name. She gave him a quick hug as well and he gave her a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"How is your father?" her mother asked, blinking her blue eyes. Her mother shared the same physical features: high prominent cheek bones, wavy blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes that were characteristic of their Anglo-German ancestry. Her question was rather nonchalant, something that surprised Bree. Not too bitter at all, maybe she had finally gotten over it.

"Dad's great. So is Francesca," she answered.

Her mother frowned at the mention of her name. Bree's father, Grayson, a retired attorney to the greats (Home Depot, Target, etc), had left her mother for an Italian supermodel he had met in New York two years ago. Although she would never be anything more to her than a cute, dumb trophy wife, Bree liked Francesca, who was only twelve years older than herself. Her father and stepmother lived in a large cliff-side home in the guarded Las Brisas neighborhood, where Bree had spent the last few weeks soaking up the sun.

"I really missed you guys and I'm happy to be home in the States, but I have a party at Kit's tonight so I have to get ready."

"Okay honey, don't stay out too late and have fun. Vince and I are going to dinner at Michael McCarty's so we'll probably be here when you get home." She eyed Vincent with a silent smile.

After the quick conversation, she headed straight to her room and began pulling various neatly hung outfits out of her closet. Suddenly, it struck her. She knew she needed to be with Chance, no matter what it took. Even if it meant hurting or even ruining her friendship with Kit, it was what her heart was telling her to do. It was a spur of a moment thing, but Bree went with it. Might as well start preparing to win him back, she thought. This meant clothes.

Bree knew she needed to find the perfect dress to impress Chance. She want him to kiss her, take her in his strong arms and ride away into the sunset, which was her basic happily ever after play-by-play. But this was real life, and in reality he was wickedly devoted to her best friend, Kit. It just wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair at all. She felt like one of the stepsisters rather than Cinderella and that pissed her off.

She wanted Chance so bad, it hurt. Bree felt like crying at most times of the day and it was because she was always with the ever so happy couple of "Kance," as she ironically dubbed them. It was sickening to her to watch him pull a strand of brown hair away from Kit's face as he prepared to go in for a kiss.