They say L.A. is easy. The weather, the lifestyle, the people...all easy - except for me. Having a rockstar for a father, and a Grammy-winning songwriter for a mother should automatically make me a free spirit, but for some reason God had a sense of humor.
He made my legs too long, and my green eyes too bright, and my hair the most annoyingly perfect shade of blonde, causing people to notice me when I didn't want them to. I never wanted to be noticed, I wanted to be respected and valued, but never noticed. So, I wore my clothing too baggy, and my hair too short in the hopes to blend in, but I never did.
Perhaps it was the black Range Rover my father gifted me on my eighteenth birthday, or the legacy my last name carried. I just couldn't get away from the attention, and my Freshman year at UCLA was no exception.
Girls were just as cruel as in high school, and guys were just as...interested. I paid neither any mind, even when my boobs expanded and my hips curved out, and they came around often. God, why did they have to come around so often?
Truth be told, I was already in love and I had been for years. With my best friend. Who I hadn't seen since my Freshman year of high school.
Elijah West was a legend in Southern California. He was beautiful, and athletic, and gorgeous and every girl within a ninety mile radius knew about him. Or his father. Or both. He was my very best friend, until he left high school his Senior year (my Freshman year) to take a job in Vancouver, British Columbia.
The only problem was that the job was an acting one, and he hadn't been home since. He'd filmed the pilot episode and it was an instant hit, turning him into an overnight celebrity, gracing magazine covers and entertainment television shows nightly. His social media accounts had millions of followers, and he had a supermodel ex-girlfriend list a mile long. But to me he was always Eli, my best friend, and I was his Aves, the girl who he grew up with, and loved always...like a sister. Which was the fucking problem.