The amazing singer. He wasn’t the type who sung popular songs, but more classical. I only knew about him because I did Drama in high school, and it was sort of a rule for Drama kids to take Music, even if, like me, they were completely tone-deaf. My teacher told us about how he was this amazing child prodigy who was on the same par as Beethoven. A total effing genius.
He was cute. Not the total over-the-top-way-too-perfect-no-other-human-can-match-up-to hot Daniel was, but cute in an un-intimidating way. He stood in front of me, his hair casually ruffled – blond with brunette highlights, his lips smirking in an exaggerated wince.
“I think you just ruined Mika for me,” he said, grinning so I knew he was kidding. His voice was casual and relaxed, and he exuded confidence, but that wasn’t the most surprising thing – Beethoven guy knew Mika?
“Shut up,” I said, blushing. I could feel twin spots of heat over my cheekbones. “I’m just not very gifted…in that area.”
“Which area are you gifted in, then?”
“Acting,” I replied, smiling back at him now. I could feel a friendship forming, which would be nice, since my roommate was a total douche. “I just joined this school’s acting section.”
“Really?” he was surprised, which was not a good sign. I guess he was right – there weren’t many jobs for girly guys out there, after from gay parts. No offence, feminine actors out there. “You look kind of familiar”
I frowned.
“How so?”
He frowned with me too, semi-bemused, semi-confused, his adorable little-boy smile gone.
“You look like that supermodel...”
My blood ran cold. Was I really that bad of an actor that the first two people I meet couldn’t believe that I was a boy? But this guy was different from Daniel – the way he said it made it obvious he was certain I was a girl. I opened my mouth, trying to find something to say. But no words came out. Oh whatever, I thought. I was so bloody tired. I’d stayed up all night last night trying not to freak out.
“…Erica Miller.
“She’s my sister,” I blurted out. I had no idea what crap I was spewing now. “She in Milan right now doing a photo shoot…”
He chuckled, eyes narrowing mischievously.
“Could you get me her number?”
“What?”
“It seems like she has a nice…personality.”
I laughed to hide my discomfort.
“You’re not her type.”
“I could make myself her type. I’ve had enough practice.”
“You mean you’re experienced?” I said, laughing in relief. He didn’t seem to be threatening. “Is that really something to tell a girl’s brother?”
He shrugged, smiling. The look on his face made me laugh some more. Suddenly, Barbie girl by Aqua played, and we both stood there, with what-the-hell? on our faces. Then I remembered.
“Oh, that’s my ring tone,” I said, blushing even more. He stooped down and picked it up for me, and muttered “Definitely gay” as he passed me my Blackberry. The screen read Cris, but I just rejected the call and switched my phone off.
“So what’s you name?” he asked, sitting down next to me.
“Eric Miller.”
He laughed.
“You’re parents are really creative with names.”
I laughed with him.
“How old is your sister?”
“Nineteen.”
“Older woman. Sweet. I have this massive poster of her in my bedroom.”
I grimaced inside. I hated it when people recognized me for my modeling – after my failed acting re-debut at the age of eighteen, I’d been forced to do modeling job after modeling job, the venues getting dodgier and shabbier every time, as my work pile got thinner and thinner, and the pictures got sluttier and sluttier – the poster he had was probably the one of me in the leather cop’s slutty version of a uniform and hat, holding a whip (do cops even have whips?). That was the one that made me into the semi-decent glamor model I am. But it was also the one that had made me famous as a supermodel, and put me into the proper modeling world – not that it was what I wanted, acting was my passion – but at least it got me out of those dark alley-ways, and into shiny studios. My best job was probably that cover for Vogue.
“She’s in this really cute cop outfit, and she’s holding this whip…” he said, his eyes glazing over slightly as he reminisced. This was the exact reaction I got from every straight (and even some gay) guy who’s seen my poster – another reason Ben was a possessive maniac. The blush that flooded my cheeks was the second reason Ben was jealous – apparently I was doing it on purpose to “attract” guys.
I laughed with him about it for a bit longer (what other reaction can you have to some random guy having a half-naked poster of you in his room?), and then asked him to fill me in about the school. He was totally sweet, and helped me loads; he told me about which teachers to suck up to, and which to avoid, he told me who to sit next to at lunch (i.e. him), and he even offered to help me catch up with my school, which was something I totally needed, and it just seemed rude not to give him my number…
“Oh yeah,” I said, as he walked me back to my room – it was getting kind of late. “Can you not tell anyone I’m Erica’s brother? I don’t want anyone to know we’re related.” Even though I tried to sound casual, I knew by the gleam in his eye, he saw right through it. This guy wasn’t kidding – he knew women seriously well – even if he thought I was a guy.
“Sure,” he replied, smiling cockily. “We’re friends, right?”
Something in his eyes scared me. What did he mean by…“friends”?
***
Author's note: Was planning on waiting, but I love ya all way to much :) Vomment, please :P
