Stuck In The Moment : A Justin Bieber Novel

1. Summer Lovin

Adria~

"BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEPBEEEEEPBEEPBEEPBEE-"

The shrill screams of my small purple alarm clock were quickly silenced by my Papermate pen doodle covered hand. I had gotten so adept at shutting the clock up that I could even do it without looking.

I groaned loudly and sat up in my bed, my long legs tangled in the sheets, and rubbed my eyes groggily. I didn't have to look in the mirror on my vanity to know I probably looked horrifying.

Doing the best I could to temporarily tame the dark brown rat's nest I call my hair, I traipsed around the room, putting my "temple" back in order. Bed made, pillows fluffed, rugs aligned. Bieber posters smiled back at me as I straightened up.

I felt a burst of excitement and didn't quite understand what it came from, but then I saw the paisley suitcase leaning against the wall and it all came flooding back to me.

Today was the day of our trip to Los Angeles! My mom, my best friend Miriam, and I were going to spend a couple weeks in L.A. thanks to Mom's new job at a local law firm.

I laughed to myself thinking of how much groveling it took to convince both Mom and Miriam's parents to allow her to come with us. It was pathetic, but hey, whatever works, right?

Checking that the room was cleaned to my mother's satisfaction, I scrutinized the outfit I had set out for the trip: a cozy blue Nike sweatshirt and sweatpants from PINK. I sighed and hoped I wouldn't look like too much of a mess.

Undressing, I hopped into the sweatpants, relishing the feeling as they brushed against my super-smooth just shaved legs. I don't understand exactly why girls make such a big deal over smooth legs, it's like a hairgasm, we just do.

Yanking my sweatshirt over my head, I turned to my vanity and forced my hairbrush into the tangled chestnut mane I called my own. As I brushed, I counted the strokes, taking the time to examine my reflection in the mirror. All the things I hated about my face stood out in front of me like neon lights.

My too-wide nose. My amber-hued, definitely-not-blue eyes. My eyebrow that certainly did NOT look on fleek. And that blasted brown dot on the side of my face. Not tall, not too skinny-Yep, I definitely didn't look like I belonged in Hollywood. I could just see Ryan Seacrest popping out in the airport and offering me a reality show of my very own, like "Über Ugly: Being Adria Berling, Coming soon to E!"

I've always been really self-conscious of myself and being best friends with someone who made you look like a pile of dog crap totally didn't help. Miriam Landers had been my best friend for five years now and she was absolutely beautiful, with jet black hair and piercing emerald eyes. And just like me, she was a Belieber. That's how we met, actually.

I managed to wrestle my now-straight hair into a regular high ponytail, and dabbed a bit of concealer on an offending zit, stopping once more to swipe on some gloss and mascara, and running downstairs, my purple suitcase thudding behind me.

My mother, Lillian, greeted me with a hug and a spatula, a checkered apron wrapped around her waist. "Good morning, honey! How did you sleep?" She inquired.

"Pretty good," I replied.

"Well." She corrected. My mom was a stickler for precise grammar. (Which could get seriously annoying sometimes)

I smiled and rolled my eyes. My mom steered me towards the table and I slid onto the wooden chair in front of me, worn smooth by years of behinds enthroned upon it as they dined.

My mom had prepared our classic Sunday breakfast, eggs and hashbrowns and a strawberry smoothie, a Berling family special.

At least, it used to be. My dad had cancer and died two years ago, and looking at the smoothies reminded me of how he and I used to make them together every Sunday morning, him singing in his smooth tenor and my soprano following along.

I felt a pang in my heart as I looked at my cup, and felt my mom's reassuring hand on my shoulder, reminding me that it had been hard for her too. She wasn't ready to start seeing other men, she had told me.

She loved my dad too much. Times had been hard for us without him, but we made it through, partially because my mother was a rock during a time in which I was a puddle of tears more often than not.

I pushed those thoughts away and resolved to have a good day. Finishing my food, I put my plates in the sink and wheeled my suitcase into the garage, slipping on my shoes and jumping shotgun. My mom was inside three minutes later, all smiles and fruity perfume, with our Disney keys in the ignition and pop music on the radio. We were finally off. I sent a text to Miriam to let her know we were coming, and closed my eyes.

Hollywood, here we come.