Double Hemmings

Adam Lancaster is your typical nerd but without the whole nerd look. He's good in school; always gets straight A's; and he is even what you would define as slightly attractive. Nothing is great about Adams current life.
Six months ago, it was completely fine. It was exactly the way Adam wanted it to be, but events made it impossible for Adam to fully be himself and by himself. At some point on his journey through life, Adam figure out something about himself, that he never even thought was there.

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6. 6

-Adam Lancaster-

His fame is really not the problem for me. My problem is why the hell his mother called my mother and why she asked for my name out of everything. When I got to my room last night, I searched on google for Liz Hemmings. I wasn’t expecting anything as I didn’t expect her to be someone important. Then I figure out that she is Luke’s mother and a photographer. The first link was very helpful but I just had to look through the pictures to figure it out.

The question is however, why the hell she called my mother.

I’m not going to bother my parents with it just based on the reactions I got yesterday. I can’t really be bothered.

I stand by my locker at school just minding my own business, when this girl comes up to me. I raise an eyebrow at her and purse my lips. I have seen her somewhere outside of school, but I can’t remember.

“You’re Adam, right?” She asks. Her voice is so familiar. I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.

“Yeah,” I answer and furrow my eyebrows.

“Why were you at the 5 Seconds of Summer sound check yesterday?” My eyes widen and I am lost for words. “You told some other girls that you didn’t know them, so why did Luke Hemmings say, that you were going on tour with them? If you are, why are you still here then?” This girl sure asks a lot of questions. Questions I’m not able to answer.

“Uh, well, I- you see-…” I stammer but stop when the bell rings. I sigh in relief and rush of the class. Saved by the bell.

“I’m not done with you, Adam Lancaster!” She shouts after me. I shake my head and roll my eyes. At least now I know where I know her from. She was that girl that talked to so last night at the sound check. How annoyingly convenient. It’s just not my week.

 

Throughout my math class I maybe listened in once. I have no idea what the teacher was rambling on about, I just know I wasn’t listening.

“Adam!” The same girl yell through the hallway. I groan and continue walking to my next period, history. “Adam!” She yells again and wrap her hand around my wrist. I turn around and tuck my wrist out of her grasp.

“What?” I ask a little too hard. She blinks.

“Answer my questions,” she says and fold her arms over her chest with a determined look on her face. I sigh heavily.

“Listen, I can’t answer your questions,” I answer and turn to walk away.

“Are you, like, family or something?” Sha asks loudly, attraction the attention from some other students. I freeze mid walk and turn around to look at her. I don’t know what to say, so I just turn around and walk away. A lot of other people are now looking at me. I sigh. I just feel like crying. I hate this attention; I hate her questions; and I hate this school. Why would she ask such a question? If it was anywhere near the truth I could still hurt to be asked something like that.

It’s not like I’m complaining. I have had a great upbringing and my parents have been loving when they have been there. They always made sure I have okay, even when they weren’t there. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel out of place in the big house and with the many different babysitters I have had until I turned fifteen.

I just can’t help but wonder if what the girl said could be true. I mean, we already look like each other so why not? Except for the fact that I’m an American and he is wherever he’s from. I never figured out where he was from. He has the same accent as his bandmates, so they will have to be from the same country and it sure isn’t America or England. So much I do know.  

 

“Mom, dad,” I say to grab my parents’ attention, or whatever they are. Either they’re not hearing me or they’re ignoring me. I try to grab their attention by speaking louder, but that not successful either. I take a deep breath and slowing let the air out again. Then I make the boldest move I have ever made in my entire like; I switch off the electricity. I may seem like a brat because of how desperate I want my parents’ attention, but this time I think they will forgive me. Especially because of the things they have had the nerves to hide from me for so long.

“Adam!” My mother gasps and looks at me with widen eyes. “Do you have any idea of what you have just done?”

“I don’t care!” I shout back at her. “I deserve to know who I really am!”

“What do you mean, son?” My father asks, obviously, a lot calmer than my mother. I once thought I had inherited his calm posture, but now I know that’s not true.

“Who am I really? Is Adam even my birth name?” I ask. My parents don’t answer but just shares a glance. I wait patiently.

“Of course, it is, dear,” my mother says and walks around her desk to comfort me. I take a step back, rejecting her. She is obviously hurt, and I don’t blame her. I walk to my father desk and look him in the eyes.

“What is my surname?” I ask, making sure I pronounce every syllable clearly so we don’t have any misunderstandings.

“Just tell him,” my mother says and place herself back into her expensive desk chair.

“Hemmings,” my father finally says and sit down as well. I stand in the same position, trying to think.

“So, the lady, Liz Hemmings…?”

“Is your mother, yes,” my mother answers.

“Which means…” I trail off again. I can’t seem to be able to form a full sentence. 

“You are not an only child,” my mother whisper with tears in her voice. I choose to ignore her change for voice as I don’t want to spark another fight. I just nod and leave the room. When I reach my bedroom I slowly close the door behind me. I look at the paper in my hand with Liz Hemmings’ phone number on it. I took it was my father’s desk before I left. I want to be able to contact her.

“Hello Laila,” she greets when she picks up the call. My breath catches in my throat and I swallow.

“Hello, Liz, this is Adam Lancaster, Laila’s son,” I answer and hesitate with the word son as I am basically Liz’s son. She is quiet for a short period before finally saying something.

“Hello Adam, of what do I owe the pleasure?” She asks in that dialect I can’t place the right place.

“I was just wondering if it would be possible for us to meet up? I have something important to discuss with you,” I say and hold my breath as I wait for her reply. As the seconds slowly tick by I get more and more nervous and think it is a bad idea.

“Sure, Adam, I would like that,” she answers. I can almost hear the smile in her voice. I smile as well.

“Awesome,” I answer. I agree to meet her by the cheesecake at the Grove tomorrow at midday. I hang up nod at myself. I have a feeling that she knows exactly what I have to discuss with her, and it only makes me even more nervous.

 

The next morning I am out the door and on my way to the Grove at exactly 11:40 am. I park in the huge parking space I also parked in the other day. Luckily, it’s Sunday so I don’t have to think about school until tomorrow. I put on my sunglasses and exit the black Mercedes my parents gave me for my sixteenth birthday last year. My birthday is next month so it is almost two years old.

“Luke?” A voice asks from beside me as I stare out at the big fountain. I have always loved this place. If it wasn’t for all the people that is always around, I would be here more often. I react to the name out of pure instinct and see a short lady with blond hair and blue eyes.

“I’m Adam, Mrs. Hemmings,” I answer and take of my sunglasses. She gasps a little and cover her mouth with her hand.

 “Is it really?” She whispers. I just nod with a small smile. I look around me to see if anyone is looking, but that again how would I know if there is? “Don’t worry about cameras, dear, they will think is it Luke anyway,” she comments and sends me a happy and reassuring smile. I just nod and relax my shoulders a little. It doesn’t make me any less worried for myself. Fans, cameras, news, is that really something for me?

Liz and I sit at a little two-person table and talks for a couple of hours before I receive a text from Luke Hemmings himself.

“Why are you talking to my mother?”

“What do you mean?” I type and press send. I few seconds late Luke sends me a picture of a post on twitter posted about an hour again of Liz and I. I suddenly get really insecure and I forget to answer Liz. I look around me, paranoid.

“What’s wrong, Adam?” Liz asks with worry clear in her eyes. I just simply show her the texts between Luke and I without saying anything.

“You have talked to my son?” She asks. Is that really the only thing she has to say about it? That I talk to her son? I shrug.

“Not really,” I reply and give her look. Luckily, she seems to understand my discomfort with the topic and doesn’t comment on it. However, I know she will later.

“That just makes it all so much easier for me,” she answers with a relieved smile.

“How?” I ask. Doesn’t she still have to tell everyone else, including Luke? Luke doesn’t know just because I know. Plus, Luke told me he has to elder brother. Well, that will mean that I have, too.

“Because, I am seeing Luke and the boys tonight and so are you,” she tells me. My eyes widen.

“I am?” I ask, dumbfound. It seems like the phrase “the boys” is very commonly used to describe Luke’s friends.

“Yes, you are and – oh! – will you look at the time; we have to go!” She says and pulls me along by my hand. I almost trip over my own two feet, walking behind her, but finally we reach the parking space.

“Do you have a car with you? I took a cap her,” she says. I just simply nod and walk towards my Mercedes. Liz comments on it by saying something along the line of; “Boys and their toys.” I refrain from saying it was a gift from my parents and just simply nod as if I agree with her.

“Where to?” I ask.

“Four Seasons Hotel Los Angeles, please.” I nod and try hard not to roll my eyes. Expensive hotel, of course. It’s only about a ten-minute drive from The Grove without traffic and I know exactly where it is.

I’m nervous about seeing Luke again. What if he hates me for what I wrote to him the other day? It wasn’t fair of me to do that even though he did something insanely annoying to me. I am never going to live it down at school; I will never be able to be left alone again, not with Luke in the picture and anywhere really.

I really don’t like that he is famous, and he knows that, but there is nothing he can do about it as the things is right now, even though it annoys me to no end. I wish I didn’t have to deal with it. I have to get used to it if I want a relationship with my own brother.

I park just outside the hotel and take a deep breath before I exit my car. Immediately a valet offers to park my car. I just shrug and give him my keys, mumbling my last name to him. Liz and I walk into the hotel and we are again greeted by employees offering different things. I take a deep breath to prevent hyperventilating, but I fail epic. I feel lightheaded and my chest tightens, making it hard for me to breath properly. I feel squished and like I am getting pulled down. There’s not really that many people around me, maybe about four or five, but it is enough. Plus, it is a new place so it just makes it worst. I get eye contact with Liz who has been pushed off to the side, silently begging her help all while I try to stay conscious.

“We really need to get going, my son has a very tight schedule!” Liz says and pull me along. I almost trip over my feet again, but I remain standing. We enter the elevator and I slide down the wall and close my eyes. I place my head between my legs and take deep breaths just as I have been told so many times.

“What happened out there, Adam?” Liz asks softly and squat down beside me and the elevator slowly takes us to whatever floor.

“I have-have claustrophobia and-and a little anxiety,” I answer in between heavy breaths. Her eyes show nothing but worry and sympathy. I look away and close my eyes again. The last thing I want from my own mother is sympathy. God, I hate this. 

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