We begin unpacking.
After a long night’s sleep, me dreaming of a cold winter, mom dreaming of clothes and colors, we eat a quick breakfast and start un-boxing books. I find a lot of my favorites and hug them close when mom isn’t looking; they remind me of where I read them.
Five hours later and the living room is complete. A huge TV is centered in front of the window wall and a coffee table is edged in front of that. Our deflated couch and too bumpy love seat are in there too. A large book shelf hold all our precious possessions and reads.
“I’m happy with it.” Mom tells me, sipping her coffee. We had to unpack the coffee machine first thing this morning.
“Me too,” I don’t bother trying to lie. I was happy with how the placed looked- as a vacation spot.
Mom looks at me, and just then I notice how different we look. Mom is known for her amazingly beautiful straight blonde hair. It has subtle strands of platinum in it, all natural. Her eyes are green. And not like the dark Christmas tree green, they are like spring time green. Like fresh daisy’s popping up from the snow. She’s tall and all legs.
And then you see me and wonder how on earth I am her daughter.
For my age of seventeen, I am pretty tall but my legs aren’t nearly as lengthy, and beautiful, as my mom’s. I’m not tan either, and usually it’s normal not to be tan when you’re born in Alaska, but Mom is extremely tan for some reason. My hair is dark brown with obvious pieces of black running through them, one of these days my hair will go completely black, I know it. My eyes are hazel, which I guess the green comes from my mom.
But I’m so obviously different, it hurts.
“Are you ever going to forgive me for this?” Mom asks, her green eyes sharpening.
“You’re already forgiven.” I take a breath. “It’s just … Hard adjusting.” I give her a look and she nods her head, agreeing and understanding.
The next few weeks pass like this; unpacking, organizing, work and school then sleep.
My new school is easy enough, most all the kids in here are rich and snobby, so it’s relatively easy to lay off their radar. I’m passing my classes with flying colors; school always came easy for me. The teachers are nice and the food is fine.
I’m living my life like I did in Alaska and yet … It’s so different. In Alaska I had friends, not close ones, but I did have them. And in Alaska I was part of the girl’s indoor field hockey team.
I had a life.
Here, I am just running through the motions.
Sixth week at the new school, people finally start to realize there is someone new on their turf. A tall blonde wearing her skirt two inches short of the dress code comes up to me as I’m leaving English.
“And who are you?” She asks placing her manicured hands on her hips.
“Elsa Margaret Reeds.” I tell her doing the same thing with my unpolished nails. “And you are?” A crowd has formed, watching the new girl square off with the Royal Highness. Some guys laugh at my mocking while the girls look at me and blink.
To say I had a bit of an attitude when it came to this area was an understatement. I hate, hate girls like this.
“Just for your information, my daddy owns a partnership on this school. And my uncle is the principle.” She sneers at me. “I’d watch where I’m walking if I were you.” She flips her hair and shakes her hips as she walks away.
“I never got your name!” I called after her. “Well, I guess I can just use a nick name. How’s skank sound?” The girl turns around, gasps loudly and stamps away, her heels clicking down the hall.
“Do you know what you just did?” A red head comes up to me. Her eyes are a dark green and she has a sprinkle of freckles over her nose.
“Told off someone?” I say, walking away from the over growing crowd.
“Someone? Oh, wow, you’re clueless.” And she walks away as well.
Maybe, just maybe I made a mistake, but maybe I don’t care anymore.
“How’s school going for you?” Mom recommended that because I am new and it’s obvious I don’t like moving, I go to the school’s counselor once a week. We don’t usually say anything.
“Fine,” I tell Ms. Greenery. She’s a short, plump woman with shoulder length, graying black hair. She’s patient with me although it’s obvious she’s waiting for nothing. “I don’t have any friends but I don’t really want any yet.”
“I hear you had a squabble with Courtney Cunnings.” She says, tilting her head to the side. “Elsa that sounds nothing like you.”
“It wasn’t really a squabble; really, it was more like an argument.”
“Mhmm, I’m going to believe you Elsa, because I like you. You aren’t like the other girls at this school.”
After fifteen more minutes of empty silence, she lets me leave.
Mom and I eat and then hurry to the living room to watch one of our favorite shows. It basically publicly humiliates famous celebrities, but the things they say, “Justin Bieber caught eating another yogurt at his favorite yogurt joint, what does this mean for the celebrity? Could he be over doing it?” Mom and I always laugh at that.
Tonight the whole show is based off of Eric Kross and his son Nicolas Kross. What goes on in a millionaire’s life? It shows multiple shots of the two going on their private jet, then chilling out on their large balcony next to a hot tub. Eric is only so rich because he inherited it all from his parent’s who got it from their parents who then got it from their royal relatives. Eric then invested well. He owns a billion buildings all located around the world and has partner ships in the others.
His son is probably going to do the same thing as his father. Take and spend, then get more.
They are both good looking; silky, shiny black hair, dark gray eyes and chiseled features and pale skin. But not like ugly pale, it’s a beautiful pale skin that makes you wish you had it.
“I think if I stay here long enough, they’re be making shows on us.” Mom nudges my shoulder and I laugh.
“You want to be like this? All our moves being watched?” Secretly, I liked the idea also.
Mom shrugs. “I want to have everything. I want to make you happy.” I smile at mom and hug her.
Who knew watching a tacky show would bring a mother and daughter closer together?
