Chapter 4- Rachel Berry and Musical Education

When I opened my eyes again, I find that I am lying down on the couch; my head propped up a few inches by plush, ornate pillows. I find several faces looming above me, one of the being Simon’s, which is almost enough to make me want to black out again.

                I can’t believe I never put two and two together. My mother’s maiden name was Cowell, but I had figured that that was just another common name in Europe. Simon, on the other hand, I actually knew about five Simons in my classes at school alone. And, according to Facebook, there are about 100 other Valerie Sykes out there in the world. Simon Cowell? Psh, that name is almost as common as John Smith.

                I blinked a few times before trying to sit upwards, and a strong hand pushed me back down. “No. You need your rest. I was telling your uncle that the reason that you fainted was because of how stressed you were about being in a foreign country, combined with the jet-lag from your flight, and I also heard that you just found out that your uncle signed One Direction to his record label?” I blushed slightly, feeling childish, but he continued on. “Don’t worry about it; my daughter is a fan too.”

                I looked at the man who had just been speaking to me, and I figured that he was a doctor; by the way he seemed to be analyzing me, waiting for me to do something strange so that he could record it, and write a paper over my strange tendencies.

                “For a moment, I thought that Ethan had been daft enough to pick up the wrong girl, who was probably another crazed One Direction fangirl. I called your parents, but they told me that it was you.”

                “Wait. How did you know it was me?” I wasn’t particularly anything special with my honey blonde hair and green eyes; I could name off at least ten other girls just in my band at school that could be described the same way as me.

                “That little scar next to your eye.”

                “Oh.” When I was around four or five, I had gone to visit my aunt on my father’s side home, and her dog had tackled me when everyone had turned their back for a few minutes. Luckily, the scar was tiny, and was barely noticeable, unless you were looking for it.

                Next, I manage to croak out, “Why was I never told this?”

                “Didn’t seem like something that was important.” Simon shrugged; acting like this wasn’t a big deal.

                “You’re lucky that I’m a forgiving person. Normal people would be going insane with rage right now,” I retorted.

                “Your mother always was a bit off,” he chuckled.

                I sit up, even though I can still hear the doctor grumbling behind me. I take a peek at the clock that is resting on a table nearby and see that it is nearly 7 P.M. Which means I had just missed dinner while I was still in shut down over the fact that Simon Cowell, who basically owned One Direction, was my uncle.

                My stomach was griping at me, and I leapt up to find some food. “Did you eat?” I ask Simon, while I am making my way to the fridge.

                “Yes. There are leftovers in the fridge if you would like some.”

                I snatch up the Asian food that is resting in a little carton, and plop down in a chair on the bar of the kitchen island. I try to keep my eyes averted from the expensive slab of rock that I am eating my food on, with no such luck. It still amazes me how some people can live in such luxury, while others lived in rags.

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