Original Work: You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home, Chapter 3, Part 4

thefinalgirl (62)in #writing • 8 years ago

Chapter 3, Part 4

Emilia didn’t come down for dinner and, in fact, I didn’t see her the whole rest of the night. To be completely honest, that was just fine with me; I didn’t think I was up for any more sparing with my sister at the moment. Linda chattered on and on to Garth like I wasn’t there at all, which I didn’t mind so much because it was the first time I’d ever really gotten a chance to just sit and not have to think through anything, to try and rationalize my situation and there was still so much to process. However, Linda was talking about the upcoming day, when she planned on scheduling a press conference for “Emilia” to begin showing the world her modified attitude and showcase the “person she truly was, inside.” Her exact words, I assure you. What she really meant to say, however, was that she was scheduling a press conference for me to see whether I could honestly and truly convince everyone I was Emilia and save Emilia’s career from continuing to spiral down the toilet.

Once dinner was over, the exhaustion of the day finally began to set in. I headed upstairs, after offering slightly stiff good-nights to Linda and Garth, as though they were the parents of the friend at who’s house I was staying the night at. Emilia still had her music blaring, though she’d switched from angry death-metal to Mozart, though playing the compositions at that volume seemed to detract some the music’s peaceful sentiments.

As I closed the door behind me, taking in the room in front of me, I felt homesickness begin to set in once more. There was no chance that I would go to sleep in this bed and wake up back home in Independence, though I wouldn’t have been surprised if this house and this entire situation turned out to be a dream.

Sitting on the window ledge, I pulled out my phone and dialed my house, hoping that hearing my dad’s voice, or any of my family members for that matter, would make me feel better. It wasn’t until Dad answered that I remembered the time difference between where I was now and where a part of me wanted to be. It might be only a little after eight thirty here, but back home, it would be almost midnight, something that was reflected in the slightly panicked, sleepy tone of my father’s voice when he answered. “Hello? Scout? Is everything okay?” I could tell that he was trying to pull himself out of sleep to adequately deal with whatever crisis I was about to present.

Instantly, I felt guilty for having called at all. “Yeah, Dad, hey, sorry.” I said quickly, hoping that my voice sounded completely normal and didn’t betray even a little bit of homesickness and second-guessing that I was currently feeling. “Sorry, I forgot about the time difference. I was just calling to say goodnight but I guess…” I shrugged, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “I’m sorry, go back to sleep.”

Clearing his throat, Dad sighed, relaxing. “S’okay.” He muttered sleepily. “Call you tomorrow?” I assured him that was fine and after mumbling a groggy ‘love you’ the phone call was disconnected.

Trying not to feel disappointed a set my phone down and glanced out toward the backyard. The last fingers of the day were still stretched across the deep green grass, but more shadows were taking over, making it harder to see my surroundings. The dog I had seen earlier was gone now, but I hadn’t seen it in the house, which struck me as both weird and perfectly normal. Everything in this house seemed to perfect and orderly to risk a dog running around.

Briefly, I thought about making another long-distance call to Jordan or one of my other friends, or maybe even Zach because he was sure to be up. But it was a school night and I hadn’t exactly briefed my friends on where I was going to be the next few weeks or possibly months. If I called Jordan now and explained to her where I was, she’d probably never get tired of questioning me and demanding why I hadn’t told her right away. I wasn’t entirely sure I had the energy to deal with her uncontained excitement, though I made a mental promise to myself to call her as soon as I got a free minute tomorrow. Though, it might be awhile, because I was sure that Linda had booked a full day.

That thought made me wonder if maybe the best thing to do wouldn’t be to just go to bed. After all, who knew what tomorrow would bring and I had to be rested and completely centered if I wanted to pull off being someone else and be polite about it. I’d heard that jetlag was a force to be reckoned with.

But I didn’t feel tired enough to lay down and drift off to sleep, especially in an unfamiliar environment surrounded by unfamiliar sounds and Mozart pounding away beside me. I didn’t want to venture downstairs and try and finagle the movie-theatre sized TV and I’d forgotten to stuff a book into my suitcase along with all my clothes. I sat down in front of the vanity and pulled my hair out of the ponytail that had been restraining it throughout this very unusual day. I never would have guessed two days ago that I would be sitting in a mansion in Los Angeles, California about to give up my teenage anonymity and face the world as Emilia Thompson, starlet bitch extraordinaire.

Whenever I was asked, I usually admitted that my favorite feature about myself was my hair; not to say I didn’t take pride in the rest of my appearance but I always seemed to put a little extra time and attention into taking care of my hair. Whenever I needed to relax or just let my mind wander, I always found that brushing my hair was the best way to let that happen; I could always lose myself in the mindless activity, comforted by the motion of continually running the brush through the dark locks until the action became almost automatic.

Thankfully, the trick seemed to be working right now. As I brushed my hair now, I felt myself beginning to relax, the stress of the day and the worry about tomorrow beginning to fade away. The sight of my reflection grew somewhat hazy and out of focus as I let my mind stretch a million miles away, lost in thoughts I didn’t bother to sort out.

I was jerked from my reverie by the sound of Mozart abruptly being cut off; you’d think that the sound of the music would be distracting but it seemed that my mind had other ideas. Emilia’s bedroom door opened and I could hear Linda’s voice, only slightly muffled by the walls demanding to talk to Emilia. I was sure that Emilia was none to happy about her request.

I couldn’t help myself, I stopped brushing my hair so I could turn all of my attention toward the conversation in the next room. “Emilia,” Linda was saying as she closed the door behind her, “if you’re hungry there’s-”

But Emilia was quick to interrupt. “I’m not hungry.” She practically shouted back at Linda, her mood a little off for the matter she was discussing. “Leave me alone.” There was a pause. “Please.” But she didn’t sound like she meant the request.

I waited for the sound of the door to open and close again but Linda stayed put. “You need to lose the attitude, young lady.” Obliviously Linda was going for the motherly, authoritative tone but it wasn’t one she used very often and it sounded strange and out of place, almost like a shirt that was too big and hung off your shoulders in an awkward and unusual way. Emilia seemed to know this as well, because she didn’t rush to apologize or assure her mother that she would try to be better next time. She just turned the music back up, though Mozart didn’t last very long before the stereo went silent again. “You might not like this, Emilia, but it’s for your own good.”

“How is this for my own good?” Emilia fired back and I heard the squeak of bedsprings as she threw herself onto her bed. “You don’t know anything about me. This isn’t going to help and this isn’t going to work. She’s an idiot Mom.” I wrinkled my nose, taking offense to her words. “And so are you if you think this is actually going to work. No one is going to think that bumpkin is me. You’re going to be creating more trouble than good. And this time you won’t be able to blame me.” Emilia scoffed.
With a heavy sigh, Linda jerked the door open again; I could hear whatever Emilia had hung up on the back of her door rattle and smack against the wood. “Emilia, this is your last chance. For God’s sake don’t be stupid for once and trust me.”

But it didn’t seem like Emilia was interested in doing what Linda had asked. “This isn’t going to work. You’re going to regret bringing her here in the first place. You can trust me on that.”

I really didn’t like the sound of that.