People always said that I was perfect. They said that I was beautiful, witty, charming, funny, and even talented.
Now here’s the truth: Never in my life, did I think I was any of those things.
I didn’t think that my dark brown curly hair was gaze worthy.
That my hazel eyes were something to look into.
And I sure as hell couldn’t fathom why people complimented me on my unique beauty; the kind they didn’t see often.
Never, did I think that I could make people laugh or that my voice would touch millions, and that I would be able to be anything but ordinary.
I always thought that I was a normal girl that was adopted by rich people after being in foster care for six years. So when people told me that I was perfect, I blushed and dismissed their complement. It was all jokes, right?
“Hey Alyssa! You ready?”
I looked up at the mirror reflection of Bane, the show’s production manager.
He held a clipboard in his hands, and looked flustered like his normal self.
I had grown accustomed to seeing his fiery red hair popping out from every inch of his head, and his thick rimmed glasses lop sided like usual.
“Umm...yeah. I’m ready.” I affirmed, checking in the mirror one last time to see that my makeup was done and my costume was worn.
“Great. This is your last show. Make it count.”
“Oh come on Bane!” I scoffed, “You say that as if I’m dying or something.”
“You’re not dying Alyssa. You’re doing something worse.”
I rolled my eyes. “Moving to London is hardly worse than dying.”
“That’s a matter of opinion, my dear.” Bane placed his hand on my shoulder with a steady but soft touch, “Instead of letting Canadians have pride for producing a magnificent Broadway talent like you, you’re going to let the British take all of our glory.”
“Oh Bane. You’re so melodramatic, I’m surprised you don't perform on stage instead of managing it and the people on it.” I uttered sarcastically, “Besides, Canada is always going to be my home.”
“They all say that.”
“Well they all aren’t me.” I smiled, “and if you still aren’t assured, I don’t plan to do any Broadway musicals in London. I’m going there to study. I’m going to be a pastry chef.”
“Famous last words.” Spoke a different, but still familiar voice. “We all know that with a voice like that and your acting talent- not to mention your beauty- there’s no place for you in the cooking business, however talented you are. Fame is your calling, my dear.”
“Thank you.” I meekly replied, losing words.
Ms. Robin had been my drama teacher ever since I started high school.
I wasn’t ‘The Alyssa Hart’ back then. In fact, I don’t think I’m ‘The’ anything, still.
When I first entered Ms. Robin’s drama class, I felt like I would never belong.
What would a petite, wild haired, bug eyed fourteen year old ever do in a classroom filled with stunning, confident persons?
But four years, five musicals, seven plays, and nine standing ovations later, here I was.
Tonight was the last night I would ever do Broadway, that I assured myself of.
Despite the lust of this life, this career, and who it made me, I was ready to retire at the age of almost eighteen.
When I first heard that I was given the opportunity to star in a musical that wasn’t held by my school and was in fact, directed by Toronto’s best musical director, I was determined to convince myself that I would never get it.
A senior in high school getting such a big role as Sandy from Grease? It was unheard of.
But I did get the role.
And now, it was the last performance of the show.
And in a week, I’d be in London.
I’d be in London with my best friends.
“Alyssa! Snap out of it!” Bane snapped his fingers in front of me to get my attention, “It’s show time!”
Come on Alyssa. Get it together. I whispered to myself.
The last few weeks had been anything but easy.
I had broken up with my boyfriend of four years.
I had graduated high school.
I had gotten into the best Culinary institute in England to fulfill my lifelong dream of being a chef.
And I had finally become the person I wanted to be.
I was ‘The Alyssa Hart’
Xxxxxxxxxxxx
“That was amazing Lyssi! And that ending? I never expected it!” Exclaimed my pretty blonde best friend Elizabeth, or rather, Lizzie.
“Liz. You’ve seen Grease before. And you’ve been to the past three nights of the show too. You know the ending.”
“Yeah but Alyssa! It’s like it changes everytime!”
I laughed, enveloping Lizzie in a hug. “Sometimes you remind me of a little wide eyed two year old, Liz. I could just eat you up.”
Lizzie frowned at the notion. “Well the way you all treat me, I feel like it sometimes.”
Lizzie (Elizabeth), who was usually referred to as Liz, was quiet to the usual stranger but an entirely different story to those of us who had the unique pleasure of her acquaintance.
You know how there’s always that random and clueless person in the group of friends? Well that was Lizzie for us.
“Oh come on Lizbutt,” I teased, “You know I love you and all your twirks and quirks.”
Lizzie twirled her hair absentmindedly, already going off into her own little world. It was quite a challenge to maintain her attention for more than a few measly seconds.
Although I didn’t like to much compare her with stereo types, Lizzie was the typical girl-next-door equipped with the whole blonde hair, blue eyes, all innocent look about her.
And she acted like that too. Lizzie was a great artist, like her mother; she could draw almost anything and make it look wonderful.
But her closet talent was dancing. It was something she didn’t show to a lot of people except her dance teachers and partners, but I had gotten the chance to watch her dance and it was like all of the hidden emotion Liz had was shown in her dance moves.
Now, she was coming to London with me and leading an accomplished dance crew. That was a big step for her.
“There’s a party outside especially for you, Alyssa, and you and Liz have been bunched up in here all night. Now that’s not fair!” Said my other best friend, Sana as she entered Lizzie’s bedroom.
It was true.
This was my party, thrown by my closest and bestest of friends to congratulate me on finishing my performance without a hitch.
After the last show, I was ambushed by my four closest friends- Annabelle, Chrissy, Sana and Lizzie- and taken to Liz’s house, where I was surprised to find a big party complete with my social life and then some.
I was relieved to have chosen the red one shoulder, short dress instead of just plain jeans and a t-shirt to have worn after the show. I had felt the need to celebrate by looking nice for once.
“We’re coming!” Lizzie said, ushering me out of her room and into the massive living room that was awake with the excitement of the party-gooers and my comrades.
Sana walked right in front of us and I couldn’t help but smile at the fact that she had properly gone through a lot of tricking and deceiving her parents in order to wear that short of a dress, much less even attend the party.
Sana was Pakistani and came from reserved, religious parents that weren’t up to letting their one and only child party and have too much excitement in her life.
While she loved her heritage, her culture and their values, Sana disagreed with the confined manner of living her parents forced upon her.
She had a knack for Rebellion.
Maybe that was the reason it took her a long time to open up to a person, and in a way, she was mysterious.
But when you got to know Sana, you realized that she cared so much about you and anyone she loved.
Sana was home. She made you comfortable around her.
Her caramel skin, her cat-like amber eyes, her long silky straight hair and her almost dark and mysterious personality granted her admiration from all.
Sana listened to music she pleased, read what she pleased, wore what she pleased.
As I looked at her making her way through the party, I couldn’t help but feel proud.
“There you three are!” Annabelle, my head strong and head fast best friend cried over the loud music. “I didn’t get myself all hot and skimpy in this dress to have my four best friends completely vanish out of thin air. Speaking of which, has anyone seen Chrissy?”
“Dunno, last time I checked she was flirting with some Latino guy with an angelic accent.” Sana winked at us.
“When is it that Chrissy isn’t flirting with a guy?” I questioned.
“When she’s worrying about her studies or fretting about her grades and extra-carriculars?”
“Well there is that.” I agreed.
“Enough talk about her. Can we please discuss the fact that this dress is quite amazing.” Sana gestured towards her emerald green, similar off the shoulder dress.
“I take credit for that!” I proclaimed.
“Oh please, Lyssi. You take credit for everything.” Annabelle muttered,
“I. Do. Not.” I scoffed, “Don’t you rain on my parade Bella!”
“The truth hurts my dear,” Bella (Annabelle) remarked.
Despite my familiarities with Annabelle’s ‘Always speak the truth’ policy, I couldn’t help get a little hurt by what she had said.
Annabelle, or Belle/Bella as we called her, was my spunky, loud over the top and too-truthful best friend.
Bella, reminded me of Blair, from ‘The Gossip Girl’ because she always said exactly what was on her mind and knew exactly what she wanted.
Belle was a force of nature that would do anything and everything to get what she wanted. Though a lot of people thought she was heartless at times, Bella was just set on what she wanted and had her own way of getting it.
“What? Is that something you’ve written in that blog of yours? ‘The truth hurts my dear’ sounds like one of your blog life lesions.” I mimicked.
“Well it’s called a ‘Life Blog’ for a reason.” She snapped back in more of a playful banter manner than a harsh one.
Annabelle wanted to become a journalist and had a very famous blog about the outlook on life.
She had started blogging at a young age and I had to admit, her writing was exceptional.
“Excuse me. Have any of you girls seen Chrissy?” Inquired a handsome, tall and dark guy. “She said she had to go call her older brother for some reason.”
“Umm...no, we haven’t.” Told Sana. “Sorry.”
The guy walked away, defeated, towards the kitchen where he was presumably heading to get some alcohol.
“I’m guessing that was Mr. Latino.” Annabelle hypothesized.
“Hmm...” I trailed, “Poor guy. He doesn’t know Chrissy doesn’t have an older brother.”
“The only brother she has is the one that’s six months old.” Lizzie added, “And I doubt he has a phone.”
“Well can’t blame a girl for getting bored.”
“Chrissy!” I yelled immediately embracing the tall, pretty figure of my last and final best friend.
Despite the fact that we were polar opposites, I got along with Chrissy the best.
Chrissy (Christina) was funny- really, really funny and was the caretaker of all of us.
Her responsible and intelligent character made her the supposed adult of our group.
Chrissy was anything but ordinary and I envied her for that. She was eccentric and crazy yet sweet and knew exactly how to fit in with everyone.
She was beautiful too, with her light brown hair cut into a pixie cut and her tall, thin figure. Her face was contrary to my dark and definite features. She had a soft yet strong look about her. Her eyes were perfectly shaped with look eye lashes and caramel pupils.
My pale skin was no match for her lightly tanned look. Her thin, perfectly shaped lightly pink lips differed my thick and red ones, and it seemed that everything about her was superior than me.
There was not a time where Chrissy didn’t have a guy on her arms. Men were just attracted to her and she to them.
But Chrissy was smart enough to avoid getting hurt by them. She on the other hand did break a lot of hearts.
Chrissy was not just looks. Quite the contrary, actually.
I could say that Chrissy was the smartest girl in the country and that still wouldn’t be enough.
When applying to universities, she got scholarships to any Ivy League school out there. She got awards like there was no tomorrow and she had even worked with her father’s prestigious law firm for a whole year when she was sixteen.
Chrissy even belonged to the perfect family. One brother, two twin sisters, and her mother and father.
They were all beautiful, all successful and all...perfect.
I envied that most times.
The fact was that I didn’t know who my real mother was.
Not until I was sixteen, anyways.
When I had finally gotten the courage to track down by biological mother, I got to know her for three months before she passed away from a drug overdose.
The first six years of my life were torturous.
I skipped from one foster home to another and back again.
Under the makeup and foundation that encased my body were copious amounts of scars, burns and marks of the torture and abuse I went through until the age of six.
The first few years of a child’s life should be filled with love. Mine were the contradiction to that.
I was not the perfect painted picture that everyone thought of me as.
Many nights I woke with nightmares that I couldn’t shake off. Delusions and sicknesses still surrounded me.
I was broken in many ways.
But London would be a better start for me.
Here in Toronto, many of my friends knew of my life as a child from before my parents adopted me.
I would finally get to shed the sympathy votes and comments when I went to London.
“Come on you guys. Only a week or two until we’re in London! Just the five of us living our dreams!” I announced, “And until then, let’s party it up.”
“Come on girls!” Laughed Annabelle, “We’re the five hottest, smartest, most talented girls.”
“And we have a goal.” Chrissy winked, “Don’t you girls remember that?”.
“One Direction.” Whispered Sana. “Oh they’re going to be in our hands in no time.”
“Five of us, five of them.” Lizzie added.
We turned to Annabelle for her final words. “I’m glad you guys are coming with me. I wouldn’t be able to survive without you all. We met when we were six. And despite it all, we’re still here, together. Were like the crazy idiots who do unspeakable things that somehow work to our advantage. It can’t get any better than that.”
And that was our group of best friends. One was rebellious, one was charming, one was daring, one was innocent.
And me? Well I didn’t know what I was yet. I had London to figure that out for me.
And so what if I could get Harry Styles along the way?
None of us knew how. Or when. Or even if it was remotely possible.
We just knew that we were each other’s lives. We would stand beside each other through thick abd thin and we could each other anything.
We laughed a lot together and had so much fun raising each other up.
And dreams weren’t meant to be broken.
They were meant to teach. To help us learn how we are and help us feel better about ourselves.
So I guess this is my story. How I realized that I’m not perfect.
And it didn’t matter. Because I’m perfectly happy.
At the end of the day, There was no difference.
This is how I live: