Backstreet Boy

|Chapter 06: Uninvited Guests|

Isabella

Mother was livid by the time I announced my presence back at home.

There she was, fretting away with her hand theatrically against her forehead and the other by her chest. Her cheeks were crimson, but I had a sneaking suspicion she may have pinched them prior to my arrival. "Pinch your cheeks to add colour to them. Well, I should really be saying it to Abigail... she needs to lighten up her pale skin," is what she always tells me.

"Where on earth have you been, young lady?" she screeched.

Now, Mother, that wasn't very ladylike.

With the use of the scolding that was "young lady", I knew I was in for a special lecture entailing safety and the strict times in which I have to be home by every single day. But my deadpan expression lingered, however, and I let Mother rush on with her lecture. The sooner she commences, the sooner it's over and I can traipse to my bedroom and do the walk of shame.

"I went to get my car serviced," I interjected. "It was off-centered."

"Where did you go?" She had never been successful enough to conceal her sly expression.

"Mr. Donagon's," I replied.

He was also a teacher at North Valley High but only a supply so he wasn't always teaching habitually, but he still did have to come in every day. Also also ran a garage in town which lots of the occupants in The Valley visit whenever they have a vehicle dilemma. It's not a big garage – certainly smaller than McCann Motors but he also lived up to expectations. People raved about him and everyone always said his future would be ordained in the way that he would expand the garage soon. He had enough people working for him, too and he sold cars as well that were always displayed at the front of the garage.

Mother, devoid of a comeback but knowingly indecisive and not believing me in the slightest, did back off and retreat into the kitchen. Actually, it was more of a scurry back to the kitchen and from there, she could fret about dinner and making sure it was cooked to perfection – much like our whole lavish lifestyle. Now this was my cue to go upstairs.

From here, I sat on my bed and all I could think about was my car that was parked in the garage next to our home which other people deem a mansion. My spine hunched so my shoulders slouched forwards, much to the dismay of Mother if she was in my room right now. Involuntarily I collapsed back onto the bed.

Jason McCann.

Just the name alone gave me chills. It felt taboo. It sounded like a bad boy name and his whole personality and demeanour validated that. The tattoos lining his arms and chest ignited something, too. They felt personal and you'd have to be someone special if he'd confide in you about their meanings. Something about him doesn't quite add up, however, but I couldn't quite pinpoint the generalisation of it, never mind specifying it.

I had to rush to complete my homework in the next twenty minutes before dinner was done. Mother was sceptical and always surveying me throughout dinner. Not that she could have endeavoured a little discretion.

Felix was rambling to Abigail about some girls in his culinary class. He fancied one of them – her name was Stacey Cruise. He's been giving her some private intuition to benefit her cooking. She nearly had an accident the preceding lesson. Abigail giggled hysterically.

"How's the latest portfolio coming along?" Father queried.

I had an ever-expanding portfolio on dresses and another for sets of clothing. Then I have miniature ones for tops, shorts, trousers, skirts etcetera. Then I had a humongous one for accessories which was segregated into diverse divisions for belts, hats, and scarves and such. The same went for jewellery with similar partitions of necklaces, bracelets, anklets and more. My latest one was anklets; they're seeping back into fashion.