TRULY by Summer Day (chapter two: "Fangirl")

Chapter Two

Fangirl

I remember our summer together like it was yesterday… Confessions of a Post-teenage Hermit

     As a girl, I’d always looked up to Ben, not just because he was a year older than me. Ben was his own person. He didn’t need the approval of others to make a decision. For that, and so much more, I admired him.

    Even so, after all my on paper admiration, you should know that Ben didn’t look up far enough to see me standing there that afternoon. He didn’t meet my eyes and for that I was grateful. My ex-boyfriend didn’t even notice me. He was too busy reading the Vacation Care notice.

      Ben Wentworth had been more than unavailable over the years. The non-emails, the forgotten telephone numbers, the changed addresses, the lack of social networking sites between us weighed heavily on me in that moment.     

      I wore little make up and I was tired. My jeans were faded; my shirt was splashed with paint and a huge glittery star from the stage scenery I’d helped my class finish making that afternoon. I’d brushed my hair from my wan face and tied it in a bunch on the top of my head. I felt more than a decade older than my early twenties. Although I hadn’t seen Ben in almost six years, I had thought of him every day in absentee; his graceful walk, his blonde sun-kissed hair, his warm chest.

    My cell beeped. It was Keira.

    His brother and sister are vacationing with him – that’s all I know… so far!  The child is his nephew – dodged a bullet there. But he has a girlfriend of course… a flight attendant! Keira added in her next text. I blocked out the words and thought of the man.

    All of this flashed before my eyes in that one image I had of him. Boyfriend, first kiss, first love, only love, love lost; a true officer and a gentleman. I was grateful for the silence after that text. It meant I could gather my thoughts.

    His walk was familiar but the secret thrill of seeing him again was tempered by the fact that, once more, I was watching him leave. He was tall and his shoulders were strong, like his face. I recognized his walk long before I saw his smile. His right hand, the large one holding the child’s, was scarred and the way he rubbed his sandy, sticking up fringe with his palm  were all recognizable characteristics of the person I’d loved.

    As he collected the young boy from the classroom opposite mine, I remembered why we’d parted. I saw the younger teenaged faces of our friends from high school: Harley, Jenny, my sisters, even Serena Collins (mean girl extraordinaire). 

     What does his new girlfriend have that I didn’t? I texted.

     Quick as a flash Keira texted back: Familiarity! Plus, her family R probably a LOT nicer to him than yours was! And remember YOU dumped HIM

    Not exactly.

    I thought about the big questions of life. Does true love really wait? The answer was obvious. Is reclaiming love or ever replacing it even possible? I didn’t think so. How do you forgive someone for choosing someone else? 

     You don’t.

     That afternoon, I watched the children leave, one by one, with their backpacks – and their parents. As I packed up the day’s toys and placed them in a box, the hush of the empty school was eerie. The air was quiet and damp. The cleaning staff arrived as I collected my purse, stuffed full with children’s drawings.

    As I got into my car and turned on the ignition, I noticed it was getting dark. I’d had more work to finish for vacation care than I’d realised.

   I had no idea I’d feel this bad the day I saw him again. I switched on the ignition and drove, relieved that I was at least heading to my favorite place on the planet.

   When I arrived at my family’s beach house not far from Wentworth Boulevard, there was a note for me on the front door from Liz, my older sister.

    We’ve finally managed to rent the place at the price we wanted! Don’t panic; Melissa says you can stay with her and you’re always welcome at home with me and Daddy! Talk soon, Liz.

    After her name my older sister added a huge, smiley face.

    Was she kidding?

    There went my summer plans. Keira and I had even planned to go to Mexico for a few days (after vacation care had finished), then hang out at the beach house. Keira wanted to prepare her auditions for an acting course she planned to enrol in and I wanted to work on a piece I was writing for my blog about online dating. Of course, to write about it I’d have to try it and I hadn’t done that yet. Either way, we’d planned a blissful summer to look forward to and now those plans were in ruin. 

     Deep down, I knew there was more to Liz’s note than met the eye. My father was heading downhill financially and all of his properties had to be sold or rented out. Of course they’d decided to start with the property the rest of the family barely used – my current place of residence. It had a sign on the door Kellynch.  Pl-lease. I have no idea which pretentious relative of mine would bother to name a house but somehow just reading the name always brought me comfort. There was more valuable real estate with an even more exquisite view of the ocean higher along the cliff edge, but this place was familiar. This was home.

      I wasn’t sure what I’d do now as I unlocked the door and went inside. I glanced at the unexpectedly formal haul of family photographs (piled on top of the baby grand piano), as I threw off my shoes in the doorway. I’d taken the piano with me from the Bel Air palace I’d been raised in. It was the only keepsake I’d had removed. I looked around the now-shabby but perfectly positioned property and mentally kissed it goodbye. The financial crisis had hit my family hard but how could my father honestly expect sympathy? How could I? Dad had been so rich for so long… all my childhood. He was so entitled even I didn’t feel sorry for him.

    I flicked through the rental notice on the kitchen bench and wondered how I’d managed to screw everything up so badly. As I poured myself some water, I downed it quickly, as if I couldn’t breathe. The fact that I’d allowed my savings to be mixed up with the family’s resources meant that I had no money in reserve. I was flat broke. Well, it was just too bad. No one deserves a free ride, but I’d been caught unawares. I felt choked, and quickly pulled open all the windows in the room to let twilight in.

    Apart from the financial collapse of the family company, I had little to be truly miserable about. Money had never really meant anything to me. If it had, I suppose I would’ve been more career orientated. I’d probably be studying futures trading or something like that.

    I flung open my substantial wardrobe. Already Liz had ‘helpfully’ tagged items of mine that she thought needed to be sold on e-bay or put into storage until I could find a home for them – and myself.

     Thankfully, my pets, Sable and Muffin, had a place to stay. My cat and dog hovered around my feet as I prepared their dinner and took their bowls out to the porch. They were already familiar with the family home in Bel Air which overlooked the gated community of Sunrise. Sable and Muffin had lovely little homes of their own in my father’s back yard.  Since it was obvious my father preferred them to me, he’d always kept their animal houses ready for them.

     It was true, I had barely enough savings for gas let alone a rental, but I’d have my summer job and that would be enough to get by on as long as I moved back home or stayed with Melissa in Venice Beach (a fate that had depressing implications).

    I knew, but dreaded the thought, that if all else failed I’d have to go and stay with Melissa and become weekend babysitter to her three month old twins until I could get on my feet again. As I thought of this possibility, I shuddered. My cousins already had a full house. They’d invited a family they’d summered with in Europe once to stay and “even floor space would be hard to find,” as Lia (my younger cousin) said. “But of course, we could offer you a closet.”

    I laughed.

   Finding sanctuary with my cousins this summer was not the best solution.

     Afternoon turned to evening as I sat in silence on the couch trying to distract myself by re-drafting the first lines of my latest blog entry.

     Lol (short for love of my life) has returned, I typed. He’s practically invaded my town, my school. Head is upside down... meanwhile house is not my own. I’ve just been evicted by my own family. Panic setting in at the thought of returning to a certain sister’s abode…. Must take summer job as waitress, it’s not so bad and the only job I’ll find quickly enough… Goodbye Cabo, hello Wentworth… Night. Confessions of a Post-Teenage Hermit

      Before I hit post, I uploaded a photograph of the view from my window.

A few bloggers clicked Night. I keep my blog semi-anonymous, of course, with just enough information to make it sound real (it is).

     Writing is something I’ve done on afternoons and evenings since I first held a pen and kept a diary. At high school, I was into writing. A few people read my blog, but not too many that I don’t feel I’m just writing notes for myself; a diary with pretty pictures and colorful headings. I guess it makes me feel present in my own world.

    I know there are others like me out there in cyberspace, love starved hermits who care and can’t give up on their first love, even when they know all hope is gone.

    Okay, time for a confession. I’ve only googled Ben a few times over the years. I try to limit myself which is why, although I have the basic information about his life, I didn’t know he was in town until I saw him.

    I shut the lid of my lap top; moonlight streamed weakly through the edge of the curtain. I found what I was looking for in the drawers of my desk and suddenly pulled out an old shoe box, feeling once again like a spoiled teenage girl.

    A faded photograph album, full of tucked away people and inside, the most hidden of all, the one photograph of Ben that I’d found bearable enough to keep. He looked so cool wearing blue jeans and a smile. I touched the film that covered the slightly tacky surface and kissed the image of his face.

   Stuck to the photograph, I found a birthday card he had given me for my sweet sixteenth, “whoever loved that loved not at first sight.” My older sister Liz had made a gag reflex when she found that. It was part Valentine joke; part declaration. I tucked it safely away inside my t-shirt drawer.

    Ben had done everything he said he would. He’d gone to college and graduated as an officer. I admired him for that. I looked around the room. Silently, I said goodbye to all that was familiar. I felt weightless, as if I’d started life a whole human being but slowly, surely, these particles, these molecules inside me, had been taken until there I sat, in a bay window, fragile as a shell.

Truly (chapter three: "How the Great Love Affair Began")

Chapter Three

How the Great Love Affair Began

We met near the crash and burn of the ocean.  Above us, a plane flew across the sky, far away from this place…

Confessions of a Post-teenage Hermit

      Okay, I may have given you a false impression; time to set things straight. No one should feel sorry for me. First of all, I am now officially employed most mornings at The Beach Shack, my favorite café overlooking the sea along the main boulevard of Wentworth. My cousin Keira manages this place. Like me, she’s kind of the black sheep in her family. Unlike me, her family are kind and generous and proud of her. It is from this lofty countertop that I can start to tell you all about the story of my young life, how I met Ben, fell in love with Ben, lost Ben (yes yes yes all of that is included) but also about my family and the picturesque coastline I grew up visiting.

      When I was small, my family owned real estate in a vast connection of Los Angeles streets, but it was the sprawling, ostentatious Bel Air mansion that my father liked most. My mother, on the other hand, enjoyed shifting with the seasons. She was from an old, eccentric European family but liked to roam around Venice Beach on weekends with me and my sisters after she’d finished shopping along Rodeo Drive. We took long trips together and one summer Mom discovered a tiny coastal town called Wentworth, not far from Los Angeles and fell in love with it.

    My parents were polar opposites, so their split, a few years later, was not a total surprise. My Mom liked picnics, markets and the beach, amongst other things. My father preferred expensive restaurants, designer stores and playing tennis at his stuffy country club. He owned an office block near Rodeo Drive and frequented The Hide Out (my sisters and I named the company-owned apartment because it was the place my father’s dalliances with his secretary took place) way out in the Hills. When we were growing up, Dad lived a life of careless disregard for the feelings of others and excessive monetary wealth gave him power he mostly abused. He was also almost as vain as my sisters and never met a mirror he didn’t like. Finally my mother had enough of his philandering and his selfishness; two ‘vices’ as she put it, one in the same.

     My mother returned to New York and my sisters and I became bi-coastal. As I grew up, my older sister Liz was left in charge of Melissa and me (a lot). When we were in our father’s care, his lack of parental supervision allowed me to effectively raise myself. In many ways I was a scholarly and quiet child. I was often found reading and scribbling whilst Melissa and Liz jostled for supremacy in front of the full length mirrors of their adjoining bedrooms, trying on our mom’s discarded designer outfits. There was only a year between us all, so we shared clothes as often as we jostled for parental attention.

     My sisters never showed any interest in the animal shelter I volunteered at when I was growing up and even less interest in the various dogs and cats I adopted and brought home. The good thing about my Dad is that he liked Sable, our part Persian cat; color: cream, coat: long, texture: fluffy and Muffin, our part boxer part something else rescue dog; color: tan, coat: short haired, texture: wrinkly. Most of the dogs are mixed with something else. It’s a sad fact of life but the pure breeds never get left by the roadside. I love my mutts, though. Sable and Muffin are the most gorgeous pets any person could want.

    It’s kind of strange that my Dad has a soft spot for them. I say “strange” because he doesn’t have a soft spot for any other living creature – although he’s quite fond of my older sister Liz. She’s made him proud since my Mom left; she’s sort of taken over. Before the financial crisis my father lived an extravagant life. Let’s face it, my sisters and I were spoiled; just not with any obvious displays of affection.   

    As our carbon footprint grew, so too, did we grow, living in a fancy house with plenty of food to eat and nice manners reserved for important people and lavish dinner parties. The Bel Air mansion where I grew up was effectively a house of women ruled by one man, my father. There were often producers and directors along with the actors wandering into the house in various stages of disrepair.

     Liz, my older sister, has been absent more than present. She only recently returned to LA, after going away to college on the East Coast. Melissa, my sister, younger by one year, had her own ideas and her own set of friends. As we grew up, we grew apart, and we’d never been close to begin with. Melissa married the first rich guy who asked her. She explained to my parents that she was “so in love” she couldn’t resist and they approved of her choice, though she was only eighteen.

    The summer house, Kellynch, has been in the family since my great-great-grandfather migrated from England to establish one of the big movie studios California would one day become known for. Over time, the family sold off parts of the land overlooking the beach; land that had been my family’s history, my father told me (my mother was not impressed with American history) for a hundred years. This was forever time in my world. My great-grandfather had married a European heiress to replenish the family fortune after the Depression but the money had long-since been depleted through the decades and divorces (my family was known for divorces and depression problems – “it’s just who we are” my mother informed me) before she went to New York to “fulfil her potential”).

   Anyway, we were still seriously rich up until a few weeks ago. Big deal, as you may have noticed we’ve been poor in most of the things that matter. There were family portraits in the hallway of the Bel Air mansion (I always called it that when I was older) of my great-great-grandparent’s wedding. My great-great-grandmother was pictured in her wedding gown; white lace dripping over her shoulders like she was drowning in snow whilst saying her vows (as if there would ever be snow in Los Angeles!).  As a little girl, I looked at her sepia image and wondered how happy she had been on that day. They never smiled back then.

    At sixteen, I believed in the perfect love. Mostly, I have Ben to thank for that.     

    Ben Wentworth’s family also had some claim on the seaside town that was named after his ancestors. Although Ben’s family had emigrated from war-torn Europe, they had once owned most of the beach side real estate until it was sold up over the years and the family assets were decimated in the same way my family’s assets had been enhanced. 

    One summer, Ben Wentworth was new in town and he volunteered to help the life guards near The Beach Shack on Saturdays. He’d made headline news amongst the summering teenagers because he was nearly famous. Ben had played a role on a children’s television show that filmed along the beach that summer (his aunt was the casting director) and he was officially on his own while he filmed the series. The production paid for him and the rest of the cast to stay in modest accommodation near the beach and on his days off he’d be surfing with his brother Harley and their friends, hanging out on the beach without their on-set chaperone. I’d noticed him loads of times but never had the courage to speak to him.

    I was way too shy to become an actor or a model like my sister Elizabeth; and as my father assured Liz when he thought I was out of earshot, “Jane’s not nearly decorative enough. I mean, she’s pretty but she lacks that certain… star quality. She can barely manage to speak up for herself in company. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with her. Perhaps she has one of those modern conditions…”

    “Aspergers?” my older sister ventured.

    “That’s not funny Liz…. I can hear you…” I yelled from the kitchen as I helped stack the dishwasher.

    “Ah, she speaks,” my father said, in one of his rare displays of humor. 

     I was used to the hurtful comments Dad found amusing and usually did my best to ignore them. I’d take off after I’d arrived home to go up to my room and write. I loved that summer in Wentworth and I refused to let my family ruin it. I’d seen Ben for the first time, the weather was almost always clear, the sky a perfect blue.  My aunt and uncle had bought the coffee shop along the boulevard and renamed it The Beach Shack. The place served good coffee. It housed perfect light and benches for me to use while I wrote in my blog.

    Ben had finished filming the television show by then and attended the local high school. My sisters and I were preparing to go to boarding school after summer. We’d previously attended high school in Los Angeles (The Los Angeles High School for Young Ladies or HSYL) with our cousins. HSYL was a notoriously snobbish place filled with stuck up girls from rich families like mine. The difference between our old school and our new school, Hallowed Halls (HH), was that HH was co-educational. My Godmother insisted that Hallowed Halls would be better for forming social connections. Our cousins still attended HSYL but were transferring to Sunrise High – where the notoriously mean Princesses, a social group only comparable to the Socials in our select new boarding school, ruled.

    That summer I religiously took Muffin (who was just a puppy) for his morning walk along the boardwalk from our beach house. I’d stop off at the café to write; anything to get away from my family as breakfast was a noisy affair inevitably resulting in an argument.

     Sometimes I’d meet up with my cousins, Keira, Lia, Hailee, Ella and Kate, and their parents along the way. Keira was the cousin I was closest to and we were so alike we’d become close friends over the years. Together, we’d shop or go to the beach during summer and sometimes all the sisters would join us. It was always fun with them around and for some reason I got along with my cousins way better than my own sisters.

      I tried to write in my blog most days but often I wasn’t sure where to start. Back then, my journal was titled, Confessions of a Teenage Hermit. Original, I know. It was just before freshman year and my sisters and I were in the process of transferring from The Los Angeles High School for Young Ladies to Hallowed Halls. There was a more official sounding name but that was the name we called it. It had an ominous façade and dark lattice work, but a strangely modern, welcoming interior.

      I was excited to be getting out of my immediate area. After all, only summers were spent in Wentworth. The rest of the time I was in Beverly Hills and Bel Air and those streets, though lovely, were as familiar to me as air.

      When I wrote in my blog I usually added a few words and pictures describing the places and people I was acquainted with, “nothing of consequence” my father noted when he found one of my printed posts lying around in the living room of our beach house.  I wrote about meeting this cute boy (Ben) and how I’d probably never see him again.

    “Who’s the boy?” my sister Melissa giggled.

    I snatched the page away from my nosey little sister.

    My father showed less interest.

    I’d met Ben earlier, at The Beach Shack café and way before that when his father had worked for us. Ben was older now. I was fairly sure he’d have plenty of teenage girl admirers. It certainly seemed like he did if the text messages that kept beeping on his cell as he sat with his friends over lunch were anything to go by. I remember chewing the end of my pencil, as I tried to conjure up the structure of a particularly meaningful sentence. I was just looking at him walk out of the room and return.

    “You love to watch him go,” my cousin Lia (who was a year younger than me), added as she wrapped her hands around my face, to surprise me, giggling as she entered The Beach Shack. I blushed and looked away. 

     He’d had a slight smile when we met up again in the coffee shop that summer before my freshman year. 

     I was reading Sense and Sensibility.  It was one of my favorite Austen novels. After reading Little Women and all of the Brontes I’d now set myself the task of reading the complete works of Jane Austen. 

     “Hey, I’ve read that,” Ben said, as he leant over to help me retrieve my papers from the floor. Conveniently, a rare ocean breeze had swept them off my table after my cousins had left. I could not hide my surprise.

     “You’re the first boy I’ve ever met who’s read a Jane Austen novel,” I said, in disbelief. 

     “Well, I’m not exactly typical.” He leant in closer, “My agent was putting me up for a role in some British film, it’s Austen-inspired, so I had to school myself up.”

     “Wow. Did you get the part?”

     “Nah. Would I be hanging out on the beach if I got the part? They said I wasn’t the right type, wanted someone more like a teen Hugh Grant.”

    “And what are you?”

    “The casting agent described me as a teen Channing Tatum.”

    “Oh, please,” I said. It was true. Ben was so buff but I was barely out of middle school and wasn’t going to be the first to tell him. Lack of confidence was not his problem.

    “It’s okay; I’m over all of that. It was my aunt’s idea. She’s the agent. I think I’m going to concentrate on high school now. This acting gig was just a favor to her. All I’ve ever wanted to be is a pilot; a fighter pilot in the Air Force. I need perfect grades for that.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket in the shape of a paper plane and glided it through the air.

     “Besides, I just got a letter. I’m going to Hallowed Halls in my junior year. I just won a full scholarship.”  

     “Wow. That’s where my sister and I are going to school this fall.”

     He considered my response and nodded.

     “It wasn’t my idea,” he continued, “I didn’t even submit the application, my parents did. But I need to do well at school and… that’s the best place to go… no distractions. They’re not enrolling me until junior year. My parents don’t want me moving away from home until I’m sixteen.”

    I could have told him mine were glad to see me go, but I didn’t. I was disappointed I wouldn’t get to see him again for another two years, if ever. Plans could change. 

    Just then a plane flew overhead beyond the windows of the café. We both stopped and watched it form a tiny blip in the distance.

    “That,” Ben said, “is pure freedom.”

    Wow, actor, waiter, officer-to-be. Was there anything this boy wasn’t or couldn’t be?

    “Rich,” my sister Melissa informed me when I told her about him that night. “I heard about his family. Sure, they founded Wentworth but now they are just poor relations. The Elliots bought up the town about twenty years ago so I don’t think you should tell Dad too much about your new best friend.”

     See what I mean about my family being elitist? I’m totally embarrassed for them, it started way back then.

     That night, as I lay on my bed in the beach house I finished blogging. I remembered Ben’s smile, his tan and his faded t-shirt. He looked like he’d been living outside his whole life. His hair was a blonde streaked, tousled mess. He smelt like flowers and sun. I remembered his parting words…

     “The story was kind of interesting. It’s what girls read, right? I have an older sister so I’ve acquainted myself with the female mind.”

     “Is that a joke?” I mumbled.

     “Just kidding. I’ve got an older sister and she left it lying around.” 

     “Oh, I have sisters too.”

     “Younger or older?”

     “Both.”

      And our conversations continued like that, every morning for the next week until he turned up on my porch a month later.

      “Just like one of those strays you insist on bringing home,” my sister Liz noted.

TRULY (chapter four: Preparations)

Chapter Four

Preparations

We got to hang out together while the porch was being built…  Confessions of a Teenage Hermit

    Ben’s dad was the builder hired to extend our beach house and Ben came along to help out. My older sister was too busy socializing (and bossing the decorators hired to restore the inside of the beach house), to notice Ben’s arrival. Later she wondered aloud, “he’s cute but isn’t he too young for a job?”

     “He’s just helping his dad,” I said.

      My sister shrugged, unimpressed.

      Ben’s Dad parked his car on the street and that’s when my father magnanimously stepped up and offered them the guest house to stay in while they were building the porch over the week it took to finish. This saved them the long commute across town and allowed them to start early. 

      I think Dad regretted it when he noticed how well Ben and I got along.

      During that week Ben and I became inseparable. Ben was a year older than me and wore sunglasses to halt the glare which made him look even cooler than he was. His skinny arm muscles were beginning to stand out in the morning sun and he smiled, a lot. Compared to my family, he was warm and friendly and not just because we’d already met at The Beach Shack. Together, we swam in the pool and tanned until my sister went nuts and told us to come inside or else use more suntan lotion.

     Mostly, we’d just hang out together. Ben was my first real friend. Because he also had a sister, he was used to talking to girls. 

     We talked about music and novels we’d read, or novels he said he’d read; he wasn’t really into Austen, he’d just pretended to be “to impress me” he said.

     The dream to fly like a bird was real. It was all he’d ever wanted since he was six. He was just working with his Dad over the summer to help out but he didn’t want to build porches forever. Ben had big dreams; bigger than mine, I thought.

    Being born wealthy made me reflect on what I lacked – the intangibles. The love and loyalty of my father for one thing, changed with the seasons. It seemed obvious that Dad didn’t think I’d amount to much and though I heard him describe me to my older sister as “pretty enough in an understated way,” I could tell my hesitancy in pushing myself forward irritated him. I’d try out for the cheerleading team because my Godmother encouraged me, but my older sister would be captain, if she had her way. She mostly did.

    Liz was already planning to take control of the Socials (a select clique of girls at Hallowed Halls, our new school). My older sister was clearly on the fast track to success. There was no doubt with her drive and all of dad’s contacts; she would rule her new school and go on to attend a prestigious college. My father had set up a kind of competition amongst his daughters and already picked the winner. I refused to play the game.

    Instead, I focused on matters of the heart.

    Already, I liked Ben Wentworth, even though I doubt he thought beyond summer sun and the next plane flying overhead. 

     Inside, I melted every time he spoke to me or asked me to pass him his Dad’s tools. We ate lunch together every day. I brought my notes outside to work on never ending stories. My father and sisters barely noticed the time I spent away from them, “scribbling.”  They were only interested in their own worlds: Dad in his latest “case” and celebrity client; Liz in her high maintenance beauty and study routines; and Melissa in her dolls and their dreams. 

     By the time the porch was finished, summer was almost ending and school was about to start. Hallowed Halls had a junior, middle and high school. All of the Elliot sisters arrived together.

     With mom on the East Coast, one of the most influential people of my life stepped up to take her place, my Godmother. Eleanor Russell was stylish, rich, charming and as luck would have it, also our next door neighbor.

     Before mom went to New York, Eleanor promised to “keep an eye on me.” She became my advisor and confidant and assured me I was, “so much like my mother we’d get on fine.” My mother’s relocation to the East Coast gave Eleanor an opportunity to get to know us as “almost adults.”

     Eleanor also counselled my sisters, but they were less in need of her friendship since they had each other. Eleanor took Liz to modelling classes on Saturdays (Eleanor assured Liz good deportment would help “bring out her personality”) and even enrolled Missy in a “high class” beauty pageant where one of her old sorority sisters was the judge (Missy won). Our Godmother also drove us to dance classes, assuring us that, “cheerleading would make us ‘popular’ if we tried out for the team at Hallowed Halls.”

     While Mom was mostly absent that summer, Eleanor literally became devoted to our upbringing. She listened as my sisters told her their concerns about Mom leaving daddy to “fend for himself.” I remained silent.

   My Godmother came to my room that night as I sat on the edge of my bed in my pyjamas, drinking honey cinnamon milk. Eleanor discarded all of the clothes that I’d chosen from my own wardrobe in favor of the ones that she had chosen for me, more conservative, perhaps fashionable and certainly less comfortable.

   “Never mind, dear,” Eleanor said, “who needs comfort at your age? There are sure to be some suitable friends for you at your new school and you never get a second chance to make a good first impression.”

   Of course she was right.

   I suppose I could have looked more fashionable on my first day at Hallowed Halls but I didn’t think anything would change with Liz the star and Melissa the up and comer. I’d be happiest just blending in with the scenery… or so I thought. 

   “You know, I only imagine the best for you; to be safe and happy. I want you to call me up on any of these numbers if for any reason at all, you need to talk,” Eleanor said.

    I looked at her complacently then leaned in and hugged her. I felt there was something she wanted to tell me, something about my parents maybe, something worth sharing but we remained silent and she patted my hair and left the room.

     Later, I learnt my parents had decided to divorce and thought it best if my sisters and I were out of the house for a while. Perhaps they were right.

     I knew it upset Eleanor to have to send me away but I didn’t complain because a part of me wanted to go. The thought of being sent to a new school gave me mixed feelings. To be banished from the privileged world of my upbringing was almost a relief. I knew there was a secret that lay in wait for me there; Ben. He was sure to arrive by my sophomore year. It wasn’t that long to wait.

      And so I found myself at twelve, a boarding school brat. As the weeks went by, I found more and more excuses not to return home every weekend, especially once my mother left for good. It seemed like I’d wait forever for the boy who never showed.

     Finally, when my sisters packed for a long weekend and there was no one but me left at school, I relented and went with them. I was greeted coldly by my father and I felt, no I was sure; I’d been replaced in whatever was left of his affections.

     Back at school, the following week, my sisters were fully prepared to rule Hallowed Halls (when the time came). They had a “Plan of Action” that included becoming very, very popular to pave the way for Liz to rule the Socials by the time she was a senior. 

     It was kind of funny, at first. Then, they became totally obsessive and of course, wanted to include me in their plans. As Liz said, they could “rely on my vote and my lack of desire to usurp them.” Of course, being two of the richest and prettiest girls, they drew a lot of attention to themselves at Hallowed Halls.  

     That was until Ben and his brother Harley arrived. By then, even I knew what it took to become popular.

TRULY (chapter five: "Ben")

Chapter Five

Ben

The boy who almost never was, finally showed up and boarding school was lit with a new kind of sun. By then, I’d made friends…

Confessions of a Teenage Hermit

   I met Jenny at the start of freshman year.

  Jenny Covington, my new best friend, was another reluctant cheerleader and in many ways, my savior. For a previously lonely girl like me, one who’d had few acquaintances beyond her sisters, to be accepted into Jenny’s world was surprising.  On paper I made the perfect foil for her outrageous antics. Plus, I introduced her to the Socials. 

    I was quiet, shy and mostly polite. Jenny was loud, outgoing and as pushy as she needed to be around teachers in order to get what she wanted. We both came from similar backgrounds but her family were warmer and friendlier; her family’s summer house had a different dynamic – welcoming.

    Jenny discovered me hiding in a library on our first day at Hallowed Halls. I saw Jenny’s flaming red hair through the stacks before I saw the boy who had chased her there.  They’d only made the school co-ed in the last few years and the older students seemed to have a kind of “fall fever” in relation to inter-school dating, which was still a novelty. Even so, Jenny and I were more interested in cheerleading than boys. Both of us had the idea that when we met “the one” we’d know it.

    Jenny’s hedonism impressed me. When she joined the cheerleading team (and dragged me with her) it was obvious she grabbed life in a proactive way. Up until this point I’d been content to look on and be directed.

    “Whatcha reading?” She’d asked me that day in the school library, with a swiftness that betrayed her near total lack of interest in my response.

    I showed her the cover, Mexican Travel.

    “Mmm... I always wanted to go to Cabo San Lucas,” she said it as if she thought she might not do this, adding, “...We should go for spring break, when we’re seniors.”

    “Sure,” I nodded thinking, as if my family would ever let me do that.

   “You responded quickly. I think you must want to get away from home even more than I do,” Jenny added.

    I smiled, “I guess.”

    “What’s your name?” she asked.

    “Jane Elliot. It’s an old family name, Plain Jane.” I grimaced.

    “I think it sounds regal,” Jenny said, “and you are the least plain girl I’ve ever met.”

     I smiled. “Thanks. It sounds boring though… just Jane.”

    “Mmm… seems to me no one is just anything. We need to get social, girl. I’m Jennifer Covington.”

    “I know.”

     “Hey, we should try out for cheerleading together.”

    “Okay,” I pushed my hair off my face and Jenny noticed my wrist. 

    “I just adore your bracelet. Where did you get it?”

    “It was my grandmother’s.”

    “It’s beautiful.”

    “Thank you,” I replied.

     I needed a friend like Jenny. This girl was larger than life, but in a good way.

    “I have to say, this school is way better than I thought it’d be. Still, no one could blame us for wanting to get out of this place. Me? I can’t wait. I have no idea why my parents are even bothering to educate me since I’m taking a year off and heading to Los Angeles the minute I graduate. Hey, you want to come with me? I’m going to be a singer in a band…”

   At the end of this speech she struck a pose that made her look like a 1960’s rock star.

   “Sure,” I said, with a smile on my lips, “sounds like a great idea.”

   “What do you want to do when you get out of here?”

   “I guess I’ll go to college. I’d like to become a journalist or maybe a teacher. I like looking after kids.”

   “Well, it seems to me you could do all of those things… A teacher is probably the most helpful but a journalist sounds more glamorous. Maybe you could report from a war zone.” Jenny said.

   “Mmm,” I hesitated. Living dangerously wasn’t quite in the plan. Being resigned to the status of friend in her shadow, though, would suit me more than she knew.

    “I’m going to make you over, Jane Elliot. I mean, I know the Socials have a dress code but that doesn’t mean you have to look...like this.”

    “Like what?”

    “Mmm...” she pulled at the Peter Pan collar of my shirt, a season out of date according to Jenny, “I believe the polite term for your look is so yesterday.”

    “Thanks.”

    “But never mind. We can change all of that. We’ll go to my room after practise for a makeover. I’m awesome at making people over,” she assured me.

    That sounded like a good idea, a makeover couldn’t hurt, so I was happy to oblige. 

    “By the way, if you’re interested in actually joining the Socials, my sister is a member and aims to be head of it,” I announced.

      “No way! Are you serious? But we’re only freshman.”

      “I know, but they like to train up younger sisters. I’m already in and you are too, because you’re my friend. Besides, we don’t specifically have to hang with them, just turn up for mixers, dances, help organise the bachelor auction, that kind of thing.”

      “Jane Elliot, even if you weren’t a Social, I think we are destined to be the best of friends.”

      I smiled as I gathered my notes and together we prepared for English class.

TRULY by Summer Day (chapter six: "The New Boy")

Chapter Six

The New Boy

Even before Ben arrived, there was a lot of whispering in the halls… Confessions of a Teenage Hermit

    The summer of my childhood friendship with Ben had almost been erased from my mind by the time I reached sophomore year.

    By then, I’d learnt to be a popular girl – a Social. I hadn’t asked for inclusion into this elite group but Elizabeth’s leadership aspirations and plans for Missy to take her place after her reign, meant my vote would be useful in all matters and I was an accepted addition. The inclusion of the Elliot sisters (and friends) into this select school society was a given. We were the legacy of one of LA’s most scandalous and celebrated families. Liz even held secret dinners in her dorm room most weekends, plotting sororities she might join at East Coast colleges. We’d spent part of summer at Kellynch and the other parts shifting between New York and Los Angeles. I was still reeling from my “vacation” in Bel Air at dad’s place.

     One weekend early in August, we’d been preparing to attend dad’s birthday party. The Bel Air house was decorated and staffed for this express purpose – a formal dinner. I wasn’t sure how I’d endure it.

     “The Elliot name stands for all that is good, sociable and well-bred,” my father announced that weekend during one of his infamous gatherings where his “perfect daughters” were expected to impress members of the Board, as his birthday present. 

      “The Elliot name stands for all that is shallow, groundless and possibly corrupt,” I whispered to myself under my breath when it seemed no one else was paying me any attention, except my father.

     There was a moment’s silence before people resumed eating. One of the hired hands delivered a note to me direct from Dad, along with my side of mashed potatoes. On the paper he had written; “Just to let you know you are not too old for me to ask you to leave the table. Now.”

     I returned to school early to prepare for the coming semester. 

     Boarding school was making me independent, but as my Godmother told me that night before I left, “that is no excuse for publicly humiliating the family.” Eleanor had a point and I resolved to hold my tongue in future.

     My sisters were happy to be literally fed by the same system which seemed to subject me to a subordinate role. I had to learn what was expected of me as an Elliot. It was as if, once I’d learnt to style my hair perfectly and apply the right brand of lip gloss (our allowances had always been very generous), and fit in by being a shadow against the cool crowd – an almost-pretty girl (how I saw myself) with no obviously conflicting opinions of my own – everything would be okay.  By then, I walked a fine line between outward popularity and inward chaos. 

    I had slowly built myself again from the shoes up in the shadow of my fashionable older sister. By the start of sophomore year and with Jenny’s help, I’d decided to reinvent myself from the child I had been, to the “in control” young adult I was becoming. I’d drifted through my classes until then, transforming from a hermit-like teen to a social, well-dressed cheerleader, gaining above average grades. 

    I knew I’d have to lift my game by junior year in order to get into a college worth attending, but deep down I wasn’t ambitious for anything beyond a good relationship with a boy I could love. A job I enjoyed would also be nice. I liked reading, writing my own stories and babysitting. My Godmother had taught me to draft patterns and design clothes, so that was another of my interests, my “little hobbies” as my father referred to my passion for design. My least favorite subjects were biology and math and I generally found myself sketching under the desk while my teachers talked.

    I’d almost ceased thinking about Ben on a daily basis when he finally arrived at Hallowed Halls. I remember hearing about him first from Jenny Covington, now my closest friend. I was surprised Serena Collins (another Social with leadership aspirations) held bragging rights already.

    “He’s mine,” she announced over lunch at our special table with a full view of other, less socially connected aspirants.

    “She needs to take a chill pill already and get over it,” Jenny whispered.

     Dana Lawrence, Serena’s bestie nodded her head in perfect agreement and gave me a knowing look. Ever since I’d taken a more central position than Dana on the cheer squad she’d been acting jealous and mean towards me. It was only because I was Liz’s sister that either of those girls were even civil.

    “Oh, she played spin the bottle with him at a party once,” Jenny assured me as we walked to class. “No big deal. They were only eleven.”

     I zoned out as Jenny talked schedules for the day. 

     I interrupted her when our teacher, Miss Clay, brushed past our lockers.

     Miss Clay was very well-dressed and held her head high, high enough to look down on her own students. Miss Clay, under the guise of friendliness, stopped me to talk about my father.

     “Is your father coming to parent-teacher evening, Jane?” she asked me. Miss Clay was very keen on all things my-father related. She’d wanted to know, “how he was getting along,” since the divorce. I found this quite amusing but Eleanor Russell, who came to take me for lunch one Sunday; assured me I needed to be more perceptive about people’s true intentions.

    Eleanor went so far as to suggest my teacher, Lilly Clay, was interested in my father romantically and that he would be susceptible to the charms of a much younger woman. Perhaps Eleanor was right.

    All I could say was, “poor Miss Clay.” Even though daddy was my father and thought himself very good-looking, it was clear to me, that since he drank too much and exercised too little, his skirt-chasing days were way behind him (I’m just being honest).  Eleanor assured me this was not true, that men like my father enjoy the chase at any age and that I should be careful about Dad connecting with unsuitable women.

    “What do you mean?” I asked Eleanor.

     “That woman, Lilly Clay, has her eye on your family’s money - mark my words; and marrying your father would be the fastest way to get it.”

     “Oh,” I said, this was an eye-opener to me. I really couldn’t see how any younger woman, in fact any woman, would find Dad appealing but let’s not go there right now.  I put thoughts of Miss Clay out of my head. I had to, in order to stay sane.

       My sisters and I generally carried the notes we needed to class and kept spares in the row of lockers which made Hallowed Halls seem more like a six star resort for unwanted rich kids, rather than an academically focused boarding school for Type A personalities.

    That morning, the first day of Ben’s arrival, Serena Collins and I had just come back from our morning gym session. I loathed gym but Serena loved it because she liked the coach’s assistant, an older student from the nearby college campus. Soon Serena would have someone newer to focus on; Ben.

    Jenny met us for hot chocolates post-shower and pre-first class. We had an awesome cafeteria which remained open from dawn till dusk. The facilities at Hallowed Halls – an Olympic sized swimming pool, tennis courts and a games room - were pretty amazing by the stretch of anyone’s imagination. We were seated at a round table when Serena started gossiping.

    “So, let me tell you more about the new boy....” Serena stated as if she already knew him well. It was a given that she would have the jump on me in the way of any sort of juicy details.  I listened absently as I readied myself for cheerleading practise. Ben Wentworth was all Serena talked about for thirty minutes. I was elated that he’d arrived but I didn’t show it. I acted cool since I was learning it never paid to let mean girls like Serena and Dana know everything I was thinking. They’d just use it against me.