As I step off the plane and enter Heathrow Airport, I’m immediately aback.
Everything looks…
the same.
I was expecting strange European signs and confusing foreign gibberish everywhere, anything to prove I was nowhere near the U.S.
But even the people looked the same, the technology, the building-
My thoughts are lost as I am suddenly rammed from behind, my face gingerly smashing against the ground.
“Keep moving, sweetheart,” I hear a man snap and storm away. “Stupid Americans.” He mutters under his breath.
I never realized I had stopped right in the middle of the busy terminal, star struck at everything that lay ahead of me. How embarrassing.
I quickly get up and brush myself off, my cheeks burning. I sigh as I notice a rip in the knees of my new jeans.
“Asshole,” I curse, and nonchalantly walk over to the side of the hallway, trying to look as if nothing happened.
“I believe you mean, ‘twat’,” I hear a lady say behind me, and I snap around.
A lady in a black uniform who looks in her 40s walks up to me, and tips her hat, greeting me.
“Are you Beth Meyers?” She asks in a thick Irish accent.
“Um, yeah?” I responded, perhaps a bit too harshly.
“Your father sent me to pick you up,” She says, grabbing my bag. “Your luggage is already in the car.” She flashes a toothy smile at me.
“And by the way,” She starts, leaning in my ear, “no one says, ‘asshole’ much here.”
“Good to know.” I mumble, rubbing my cheek as it screams out in pain.
I should have known my father was too cowardly to come pick me up himself. I follow my chauffeur through the crowded airport like a lost puppy, staying about 2 steps behind.
She doesn’t say anything as she leads me to the posh taxis you see occasionally on ‘Super Nanny’. It takes me awhile to get used to the driver’s seat on the opposite side, a sight that I’m not used to.
Once we are driving for a bit, I ask the woman a question that had been swimming in my mind.
“Excuse me, ma’am? How did you know I was Beth?”
Her dull gray eyes snap to the rearview mirror.
“You look American.” She quickly says, and I immediately look down at my clothing. Really? I was wearing a beige trench coat and knee-high boots. I thought this was what people wore all the time-
“Not the way that you dress, miss. The way that you act.”
I blink a few times, and then look out the window at the passing trees. Great. So Brits can smell out an American by just looking at them.
“Plus, you look just like your father.” The woman mumbles, tightening her grip on the steering wheel.
I pretend not to hear her as we drive the rest of the way in silence.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
“Holy guacamole,” I breathe, as soon as I enter my father’s mansion.
It took me awhile to generate the courage to even come near the house, my heart racing a thousand miles per hour. My chauffer, whose name I learned is Louise, took many efforts to drag me out of the car, including threatening to have my father personally drag me. Finally, after 20 minutes of pure anxiety overload, I agree to trudge up the steps of my father’s huge estate.
“Your father has quite the fortune,” Louise says, pulling in my large load of luggage.
“I mean, I knew he had money,” I say, picking up a vase that had to cost more than me, “But surely not this much!”
I gape at the stuffed animals scattered around the living area, they must have come from my father’s various travels to Africa. Everything was in pristine condition, and it looked like I was in a museum, not a house. I mean, my mom and I weren’t pigs in any stretch, but there were various stains in carpets that we never bothered to get rid of, and I quite relished the worn in leather couch we had rather than the stiff white sofa that was in this house.
“Hellllllo!” I hear a woman sing from up the grand staircase in the foyer.
I jump and nearly drop the vase I was holding, before quickly slamming it back down on the table.
I pull a smile when I see her, but inside I groan.
Oh god. It’s a slut.
A woman much younger than Louise glides down the staircase wearing a dress that is barely covering her ass. Her blonde straightened hair cascades in front of her makeup caked face, and her lips- well, lets not get into that.
Let’s just say that she got into a fight with Botox, and the Botox clearly won.
“You must be Beth!” The woman squeals.
I wince. “Mmhm!”
“You are absolutely gorgeous!” She breathes, grabbing ahold of my cheeks, her long nails digging into my skin.
I’m not sure if she’s just out of college, or just retired.
“This is Samantha,” Louise introduces me. “She’s your stepmother.”
“Oh!” I clench my teeth. So this was the tramp my father ran away with.
Samantha smiles and gives me a wink, gently patting the place where she had just had an iron grip.
“What can I say,” She twirls around and fixes her hair in the adjacent mirror. “Men just can’t stand us English women.”
I force a laugh, and notice that Louise is wincing as well.
“Anywho,” Samantha starts, with a wave of her hand. “How was your trip?”
I could tell that she clearly could care less as she pouts her lips in the mirror, so I kept it short.
“Interesting.”
“You could say that again!” She laughs, and I don’t get the joke.
“Well, we are glad to have you here.” She turns around and grabs my shoulders. “I’m so sorry about your mother.”
I delicately take her hands off of my shoulders, careful not to upset her. “My mother is fine,” I say quietly.
If Samantha was offended, she didn’t show it. “But my dear, you lost all your money!” She scans over my outfit like she expected me to dress homeless. “How dreadful is that?”
“We’re fine.” I coldly say, and fiddle with the end of my coat zipper.
“Well,” My stepmother snaps up straight and her cheeks turn slightly red. “Okay.”
She brushes off the incident and begins to explain the daily routine here at “Meyers Manor” (I nearly gagged when I heard that.) and how they lived a “simple life” compared to most millionaires.
Sure.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” Samantha’s eyes widened as she remembered something clearly important. “Your room is upstairs, next to Angela’s.”
Angela? What?
I gulp. Does that mean I have a-
“Angela is my daughter. You have a stepsister! How perfect is that?” Samantha grins and I can see every tooth in her mouth. “She’s about your age, I believe.”
My eyes widen. “Perfect!” I say, a bit too enthusiastically.
Perfect.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Louise and Samantha left me to my own devices whilst I set up my room. It was painted with a horrid green color, and was filled with all contemporary furniture, which I didn’t mind.
I spent most of my time setting up little things that reminded me of home; a stuffed elephant that Kelsey gave me, a few photos that I had taken of my neighborhood, the air freshener that we used to use back at home.
“So you must be my new stepsister.” I hear a voice snarl at the doorway.
I snap around to look at the girl who was standing in front of me. She looked like the epitome of her mother, with a body that screamed ‘skank’ and makeup that screamed ‘whore’.
She had the exact same blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, and even though she was wearing her school uniform, she clearly folded it up at the waistband to make it shorter.
“You must be Angela,” I extend my arm out in a friendly gesture. Trying to get on her good side was my only option coming here with the disadvantage of not knowing anyone.
She snorts; extending her hand to accept my handshake then immediately chooses to look at her nails instead.
“You must be Beth.” She shoots a cold look with her blue eyes. “The American.”
I roll my eyes. Obviously the nice-girl outlook was not the way to go.
“You’re right, I am American.” I say coolly, turning my back to her to take out the rest of my clothes from one suitcase.
“I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” I say, folding up a black pair of skinnies and throwing them into the ‘pants’ pile.
“Well, we are in the same year.” Angela says. “Unfortunately.”
“You’re a senior too?” I whirl around, gaping at her. So we’ll be going to the same school. And seeing each other every day. And be sleeping right across the hall from her.
She raises her eyebrows. “I know! I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me, the ‘big bad stepsister’,” She annunciates each word like she was talking to a baby.
“You don’t need to talk to me like that,” I snap. “I’m not stupid.”
“Oh sweetie, but you’re American.”
I roll my eyes again at the ridiculous stereotype. “Okay,” I chuckle, beginning to fold a cream sweater.
Angela stands there for a bit, and I could feel her eyes burning holes in my back.
“You can leave whenever you want, you know,” I say, after a few moments of silence.
“I know. But you can’t.” She sneers, and walks away.
My heart catches in my throat at the realization, and I stop over and slam the door. I can almost hear Angela snicker as she realizes she struck a chord in me.
I run over to my bed and curl up among my stacks of clothing, slamming my head into my pillow and letting the tears freely flow, not worrying about mascara getting on the expensive white pillow.
“Oh mom,” I whisper. “Why did you have to go and do this?”
[A/N: uhh, how dreadful is this? VERY. So now that you have a handle of Beth's new family, how do you think this is going to effect her? hmm? Let's just say that it will be surely interesting. On another note, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! I guess you could say my creepy addition to this chapter in the Halloween spirit is Samantha and Angela. *shudder* Creeepy.
Anywho, make sure to comment and stuff, it would seriously make my day. I'm hoping to add in an interesting new character in the next chapter... hmm. can you guess who that isss? Stay tuned! See you all next Wednesday!