The Book Thief 》Hemmings A.U

2.00

     "WHAT COLOR SHOULD I paint my nails? There's Wicked, Berry Naughty, Licorice-" Lucy starts, ticking off titles on her fingers. The two of us are sitting on my bed, and she brought her entire box of nail polish over because in Lucy's opinion, unpainted nails were one of the ugliest things a girl could have. She has bottles spread all over the sheets, and my room is even more of a mess than it was two days ago. 

Instead of cleaning my room like I told myself I would, I had been staring at this damn screen, trying to restore my files. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. What kind of a person just does something like this? Obviously, he knew how important this was to me, since he knew to use it as leverage. I had talked to Luke, what, four times in six years? And on the glorious fifth time, we had our longest conversation where he single handedly decided to ruin my life.

       When I was twelve years old, my parents decided that they were sick of living in a state with only one season, and even sicker of being surrounded by pretentious Hollywood wannabees. Then again, before they came to that realization, my parents were pretentious Hollywood wannabees. They both wanted to be actors, and they met in an improv class in New York. After doing a few commercials together, they decided that they weren't getting anywhere. My mom got asked to take pictures sometimes, and that made her really happy because she thought she had a fan base, but they really just admired her boobs and wanted photographic evidence to show to their friends. Gross. So they decided to move to California; Where the sand had magical healing properties and could make dreams come true! It didn't really, my parents were just weirdos and that was their favorite mantra.  

     After a handful of years trying and failing to make it in California, they decided that being around so many people going after the same job was tiring. They were piranhas who would scheme and lie and do anything to get a gig. My mom and dad found themselves turning to similar ways, and they didn't like it. They said they didn't want to be people they didn't recognize, so they moved and decided to focus on twelve year old me instead of chasing their dreams. I was born when they were both really young, so I guess in a way, I ruined any small chance they had in becoming successful actors. They didn't blame me for it, though, and if you asked me; I think they enjoyed the life they built for themselves in North Carolina. 

      I, however, wasn't very fond of the state. It was small and almost always boring. Half of the town was either out getting stoned and pregnant, and the rest were out studying themselves into oblivion; getting ulcers and aneurysms in the hopes that they could get academic scholarships and get far, far away from here. I was part of the latter, and I was glad I had Lucy around, because around her, nothing was ever dull.

      When we first moved to North Carolina, I was horrified. The boys looked at you like they had never seen a pair of boobs, but it was really only because the small population meant that everyone had already dated everyone. And here I was, Kendall Cohen, 4'11 even back then, small and new and vulnerable. Apparently being the new girl meant that it was okay for everyone to mob you and ask you where you came from, as if you were an alien that fell out of the sky. It was also considered okay for the male population to try and stuff their hands under your shirt, as I learned later that night.

     I remember on my first night there, my mom was yelling at my dad because she couldn't find the silver wear, and she told him that he was supposed to put it in the front seat of the trunk so she could find it quickly and oh, Kevin, you never listen to me, oh, Kevin, can't you do anything right? Kevin this, Kevin that; blah, blah, blah. They were fighting over a bunch of stupid forks for what seemed like hours, and my phone had died because I was using music to drown them out, and of course my charger was in my Mom's purse and there was no way I was going into the line of fire. They'd ask me to pick sides, like they always did. Kendall, didn't I tell your father to put the silverware in the front seat? Kendall, didn't I tell your mother that there wasn't any space left but all of the boxes were labeled so she could find everything?