The word paparazzi took a
whole new meaning. I clutched the magazine hard, as though it would erase the
foreboding photo in front of me and change into something coherent and
possible. Nevermind the laws of transition. This must work. This insanity must
end. This atrocity, violence of – of my – violence of my privacy and of my
well-being. And of my sanity.
My eyes swept through the
cover title, though my brain was refusing to accept the words,
The lovestruck billionaire and the flare. Then below that was worse,
mush worse. This month’s latest issue –
18 year-old heir to the fortune of Gedi Institute and his newfound love. For
more information on Mr. Travis Warner and Ms. Avery Allton, see page 19.
Page fucking nineteen.
I held the rest of the
package under my arm and frantically started flipping the pages. My breath went
short – it’s a five-page article.
Five.
Pages.
The first page had Travis
and I walking casually, but it had been shot at the most opportune moment; we
were looking at each other. Intentionally or by accident, I don’t know, I don’t
care, the headline read, The multi-million dollar relationship. And
the byline in smaller letter size read, by
Cassandra Watts.
I never in my life,
wished anyone to rot in hell. Never, not until now. This Cassandra Watts should
just stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. While my academic mind profusely
reminded me that the sun literally doesn’t shine on the Arctic and Antarctic
region, I started reading the first paragraph,
The media and the worldwide press has always been covering stories,
issues and financial breakthroughs from the known company of Gedi Institute for
high-ranking and high-flying lawyers in the city. Mr. Anthony Warner, age 35,
has always been a prominent figure in the upper circles, as expected by everyone
from his only son and heir, Mr. Travis Anthony Warner.
Mr. Warner, age 18, has had his own share of the public media and
spotlight, but now, he may be able to bask in it. Following the events of
yesterday afternoon, Mr. Warner was seen out with a Ms. Avery Allton. From very
reliable sources, Ms. Allton has apparently, been in a relationship with Mr.
Warner for many months and both are deemed to be serious with each other.
Ms. Allton, age 17, has some very surprising academic background and an
IQ of 109. A new student at the same school with Mr. Warner, it is assumed by
our sources that it was instant attraction that had them knowing each other.
The couple, as their classmates had said, always “made time for each other” and
it is undoubtedly clear in our photos that the statement is true to every inch.
They were spotted at a local park in Melbourne, namely Royal Ridge Park,
spending the warm afternoon walking, away from prying eyes. From the time –
“Avery? The magazines.”
“Yes, Mom. Coming.”
I turned back to the
article, wiping my sweating brow with my arm. Words were swirling around my
head, making me dizzy – some are full-out lies and the others are nothing but
the horrifying truth. Months? It’s
not bloody months, fuck their sources. And just who the bloody hell said that we were ‘making time with each other’? People
at school are so twisted and wretched!
They can’t just keep their mouths shut, can’t they? Just fuck this.
Lies, lies, lies. And
‘instant attraction’? Just who the fucking hell do they think they’re kidding?
And what is this shit with ‘serious with each other’ relationship?
It’s blatantly obvious
that Cassandra Watts – whoever the hell she is – just ate some crap out of some
‘sources’ and published – published! – this fucking story without any heads-up
of any fucking kind.
Just who do they think
they’re dealing with?
And my IQ isn’t a hundred
and fucking nine – it’s 113. I sat down on our lawn and spread out all the
magazines before me – Billboard, Details, Ok! Magazines, U.S. Weekly, PopMatters,
Life&Style Weekly, and some more others that makes me want to puke.
They all have different covers,
different headlines, but one topic in general.
Fuck.
With a shaking hand, I
picked a paper at random – Variety magazine. Its front cover was of Travis and
I when we were back at the car. He was pinning me against his car, his arms
snaking around my waist and my arms were doing the same with his neck. He was
smiling radiantly, his assets in full-view mode, but it wasn’t that observation
that made me stop and look.
It’s me. My face.
I had no idea what I
could be thinking in that particular moment, but my physique looked
more…vibrant. Alive. I looked really happy. Energetic and inexplicably happy. I
remembered what Nicole said on the phone,
“I’m glad you found him.”
I smiled involuntarily,
flipped the magazine open and looked for the scoop. It said the same things all
over again, but the way they told it made me look and feel like Cinderella. The
pictures weren’t so bad – what I meant to say is that there are no photos where
we kissed, and that’s the crucial part. Just the pictures where we were fooling
around and of him taking a picture of me.
Now, in that picture, I definitely looked happy.
I sighed again, feeling
the pressure close around me, trapping me with no way out. I breathed in and
out, counting the seconds before exhaling. I bit my lip worriedly and faced me
dilemma.
What should I do?
The most practical thing
to do would be to call Travis now. And I mean, now, now. But Mom’s waiting for the blasted magazines and I really don’t
know if I should…I glanced at the monstrous bamboos and a risky plan made its
way to my mind.
The bamboos look tall and
thick enough to cover Dad. What more to a harmless little package of magazines?
This scheme is so childish, but this
situation is pushing me and leaving me no choice in the matter. Childish be
damned. I started getting up and stuffed the magazines back randomly when I
paused.
So what should I tell
Mom?
Mom, there has been a raging hurricane outside and I barely escaped with
my life. Let’s just forget about the magazines and cherish each other and our
family.
No, I don’t think that
would work.
Okay, slow down. There’s
always a solution to a problem. I looked down at the package in my hands. It’s
a matter of will, and it also relates to the fact of my readiness to tell them
of my situation. Shit, I can’t do this. I can’t tell them now; I need time.
Five minutes later, I
sighed. Okay, I’ll follow my subconscious thinking. To hell with everything.
My legs moved forward
shakily as I closed the door behind me. Elaine and the others went back to
their game, but she glanced at me worriedly, asking, “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I responded
in a raspy voice. After clearing my throat I tried again, “I’m fine, El. I have
a bit of a headache.” Her look of concern intensified. “Do you want me to get
you something? Just sit down, Ave. No offense, but you look terrible.”
I feel more than that.
‘Terrible’ doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling right now. It’s not
even barely adequate.
“It’s okay, El.” I gave
her a smile and before she could stop me, I moved forward to the dining table
where my alder relatives are chuckling amusedly. Mom quickly turned to me,
“Where – Avery, are you okay?” she urgently stood up and placed a hand on my
cheek. Her hand was like a blaze of fire against my numb cheek. “Did you eat
something, honey?” Do I really look sick?
“Nothing, Mom.” I guess I
can use this to my advantage.
“Ave, you alright?” Dad
joined in the conversation in hushed tones while everybody else on the table
went along as they were. “Did she eat something, hun?”
“I didn’t eat anything,
Dad.”
“Well, why didn’t you?”
Both of my parents asked in unison. Mom sad worriedly while Dad held my hand,
“You didn’t eat anything?”
“Mom. I meant that I
didn’t eat anything bad that I know of and Mom, they probably delivered the
magazines in a wrong address; I didn’t see them.” Please, please, please.
Surely, anybody can read the telepathic message I’m trying to send –
“It doesn’t matter. Just
rest upstairs, okay?”
My knees seemed to give
in from my weight and I trembled violently. I exhaled.
Someone up there must
really love me.
“Ave, get better, m’kay?”
Dad said as he pecked my cheek, “Now, let me help you up – ”
“Dad, it’s fine. I’ll go
with Dels.” I need to speak to someone before I faint. “Okay,” he said. “Get
better, Ave.”
“Rest, okay?” Mom
reminded.
“Will do.” And with that,
I started towards Delsey, who was lounging on the couch reading a book. I stood
awkwardly in front of her and tried to keep my cool. “Dels? Can you help me for
a minute?” She looked up from the book and immediately, her expression morphed
from curious to absolute concern.
“Ave? Are you okay?” She
discarded the book without even putting her bookmark. “You look like ice.” She
started getting up and out a hand on the small of my back. “C’mon. Let’s get
you upstairs.” I didn’t even bother replying because I know she would just tell
me to shut my mouth tight as a coffin. And I’m really tired.
I somehow managed to get
to the second landing and she gently pushed my bedroom door open and settled me
on the bed. I lay down and immediately felt extreme comfort and weariness at
the same time. I can’t help closing my eyes and breathing in deeply.
“Hmm.”
I opened my eyes again
and saw Delsey assessing me with her eyes narrowed in speculation and her hands
on her hips. She pursed her lips and then moved forward. While removing my
flip-flops, she lectured.
“Don’t tell me you have
been eating something not good for you. You really look terrible, Ave. Like
that girl from the Corpse Bride.”
“Thanks, Dels.” I
muttered in a hoarse voice. That was extremely encouraging and just what my ego
needed. She instantly erased what she said in my mind with a warm smile. “I was
just joking. You should look in the mirror more closely.” Yeah, and see my
skinny self. That’s nothing new. I grabbed a pillow from over my head and
hugged it tightly. My caring cousin sat down by me on the bed and surveyed my
face.
“I know what you’re
thinking, Ave. And I’m guessing the reason why you’re so out of shape is
because of some problem. Am I right?”
She’s such a mind reader,
but I think that’s one of the qualities that made her such a good role model
for us. I sat up slowly and faced her.
“Before I say anything,
uhm. Could you please remind your Dad about my ten bucks? He was going to give
me, you see.”
“Got it. So what’s the
big problem?”
I sighed and looked deep
in her eyes. Okay, no beating around the bush this time. I licked my lips and
started, “I have this problem. A really, really big problem. And I really don’t
see how – ”
“Is there a solution?”
she suddenly cut me off, her eyes testy. “Ave?” she prompted. Why is she asking that? Shouldn’t she be
asking about the problem?
“Yes, there is. There is
a solution.”
“Then why are you
worrying?”
That was unexpected.
For a moment, I couldn’t
speak. Of course, I’m worrying because – it’s just – it’s a fucking problem!
We’re supposed to be worried sick over them. But her remark had me thinking. If
there is a solution, then why am I
worried? I bit my lip again and looked at her and I saw her smiling like she
knows what I’m going through.
“What if there’s no
solution?” I said, “At all? No solution to this miserable problem that I’ve
gotten myself into – ” I was cut off by her laugh and she said, “You sound
silly, Ave.” Silly? How the hell could I be silly? “What?” I asked her, still
puzzled.
“You said so yourself –
there is no solution. None at all. So why are you still worrying?”
“But – I don’t have a
choice! You don’t even know – no one knows!” I said hysterically. Damn. She’s
really good in these things. Delsey arched her eyebrow slowly. “Well, then.
You’ll just have to tell me everything, right?”
20 minutes later
Her hand was trembling as
she held the page torn off from a magazine. I held my breath, having explained
everything to her already as she turned to the next torn page. Then the next.
And the next one.
Slowly, she raised up her
stoic face and met my gaze. She released a breath I hadn’t known she’d been
holding and she only said seven words, as though she’s in a dream-like state,
“You’ve got to be fucking with me.”
I exhaled.
“Ave, this is – this –
wow. I can’t – ” she looked at lost for words and she just gaped at me
soundlessly. “Look,” I started. “I know this looks ridiculous and you’re
probably waiting for me to shout ‘Happy April Fools’ but the point is that it’s
really, really true and it’s not April.” To be honest, my speech looks like it
had no effect on her.
“So, you’re in a
relationship with Travis Warner. The
Travis Warner.” She chuckled in disbelief, “I’ve read about him a few times.”
She shook her head and chuckled again. “Wow, Ave – just – wow.” She blinked
rapidly and said, “Do you want a quick math?”
No, I don’t like that.
The term we use for my counting disorder is ‘quick math’ but Delsey looked so
expectant that I felt like I really had no choice in the matter.
“Dels, you know how I
hate that…thing.” I gave her a withered look as I elaborated, “It makes me feel
like a freak, as though I’m in a circus for weird people.”
“You, Avery Jacob Allton,
are not a freak.” She stressed out then said, “Now, Ave. Two hundred, fifty-six
thousand, one hundred forty-two minus five thousand, two hundred thirty-one?”
“Two hundred fifty six
thousand, nine hundred eleven.” I answered, bored. Really. I feel like a monkey
behind bars in a freaking zoo. Delsey’s eyes spoke out her awe for the disorder
and I resisted the urge to grit my teeth. It’s not her fault that I’m an abnormal
person. I had to live with it for seventeen years. She suddenly said,
“I don’t think the quick
math is helping.” She bit her lip as I replied, “Yeah. It makes the headache
worse.” Then she smiled.
“I have the perfect
alternative.”
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