Camp Kiwi H.S.

She was a troubled teen sent away by her parents.
He was a counselor at an all girls summer camp.
Falling in love was forbidden . . . but inevitable. Or was it?

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3. II. Advice from my Built in Best Friend

CAST

One Direction as themselves

Barbara Palvin as Cheyenne "Chey" Bryant

Miley Cyrus as Melody Bryant

Pepi Sonuga as Kiera Jones

Lucy Hale as Brynn Sharpe

Emeraude Toubia as Demi Dargot

Aly Michalka as Ginny Alhurst

 

Chapter Two: Advice from my Built in Best Friend 

 

             After kicking Ginny out amidst my avid protests, my mother sent me to my room to sleep off what was to be my ‘last encounter with a bottle.’ Little did she know that in spite of drinking more than half of the wine to myself, I still was barely buzzed to say the least.

 

            And now I lay motionless in bed, snuggled underneath the familiar covers that would soon become foreign to me. I’m not tired at all, much to my misfortune since mother dearest blocked access to the internet and dismantled the flat screen TV from my wall. I sure as hell wasn’t about to read a book so instead I count the amount of ridges ingrained on the intricate designs of my dresser drawers. After continually losing my spot from the lack of light, I soon admit defeat.

 

            This was already torture and I hadn’t even left yet.

 

            Suddenly there was a faint knock at my door. I jerk up, knowing that such a delicate action couldn’t come from the heavy hand of my mother. When the door slowly opens and I'm met with the cerulean orbs that belong to my sister, I rest back against my beginning of the bed panel again. I'm not sure entirely who I was expecting, though it certainly was not her.

 

            “What do you want?” I grimace as she dares to step closer to me, plopping herself down at the edge of my bed.

 

            “I just wanted to say goodbye to you properly before you leave. Jeez, Cheyenne you don’t have to be so . . . unpleasant all of the time,” I flinch even harder at the mention of my name. I know she’s calling me by my full name out of malice, she knows how much I hate it. It never suited me, it always sounded too formal and elaborate for a girl like me. ‘Chey’ was so much less refined, rogue, and a little bit wild, which is exactly who I am.

 

            “I think I have a right to be unpleasant, Melody. I’m basically going to hell tomorrow,” I groan.

 

            “Don’t say such things!” She’s taken aback as if my reference gave her physical pain.

 

            I roll my eyes at her drama, she is an exact copy of our mother. Always putting God first, praying every night on her knees, (I’m not sure she has anything to pray for, she gets everything that she wants and then some) and refusing to eat a meal before saying Grace. She attends confessionals every other day, even when there isn’t anything that she could possibly be sorry for. I think the most rebellious thing she has ever done was drink milk directly out of the carton. She apologized immensely afterward, even buying a new one for the next day.

 

            If I were to ever step foot in a confessional, I don't think I would be released until hours later.

 

            Still, mother coerced us (more me than Melody, obviously) to be prompt at mass and Sunday school up until we graduated in eighth grade. Melody continued to attend Sunday service while I took full advantage of the open dance studio downtown. I guess it was considered breaking and entering, but does it really count if you never get caught?

 

            I wish I could take lessons privately, that was another luxury that mother was willing to withhold from me in an attempt to get me to obey. It wasn’t my fault that my grades were suffering so much, I genuinely just couldn’t grasp any of the concepts we’re forced to learn. My brain works in other ways, artistically and physically. Even though I was never properly taught the ropes of ballet, I could plea, pirouette, and grand jete better than any professional anybody has ever seen.

 

            I’m not even trying to brag, it’s true when they say that some are just natural talents.

 

            As usual, my mother would have none of this. She was so old fashioned and set in her ways that if Melody and I were to not attend college, then we could find a full time job and move out of the house. She was not going to support us if we failed to keep up with our education. Melody, the golden child that she is, has been accepted to Columbia University and is beginning her pre-med studies in the fall.

 

            A doctor. My perfect sister was going to become a doctor. There was no chance that I could ever live up to that. She’s always made it her life goal to compete with me, though she’ll never admit it. She secretly relished in the fact that everything came easily for her, her studies, her part-time job in the hospital, her Sperry wearing boyfriend, our parents’ evident nepotism. She says that it’s all thanks to the big guy upstairs and her faith in him.

 

            I think that it’s thanks to me.

 

            Of course she looks like an angel compared to my drunken, eccentric, graffiti loving ways. She never once has stepped outside of the barriers of our gated community into the other side of town. She didn’t have to, everything that her prissy little heart desired was right here on the Upper East Side. Me? I belonged in the ghettos of Brooklyn, where there was always fresh walls to paint, clubs galore serving alcohol to underage kids, and the perfect secluded entrance to veer in on dance lessons. Not to mention, the tattoo parlors never searched for I.D. and every Friday they were only thirteen dollars. My collection of art on my skin didn’t travel far from my inner and upper thighs, they had to remain hidden for as long as possible. “Tattoos are a mark of the devil on Earth, your body is a temple and you have tainted it!” My mother had yelled when she found all of my inked treasures. Another tipping point that led her to make this heinous decision.

 

            “You know, this could be good for you,” Melody starts, filling the awkward air that had fallen between us, “it doesn’t have to be all bad. Maybe you’ll even get to draw while you’re there!”

 

            I almost laugh at her ignorance it’s only because of the time that I don’t. The last thing I want are our parent’s waking up to barge in here and lecture me on what a horrendous influence I have on Melody, keeping her up at this hour. Even though she is the one who came to my room.

 

            “The only good thing I have going for me is that this isn’t a bible camp,” I chide.

 

            Melody’s eyebrows knit together, forming worry lines atop the bridge of her nose. That girl overthinks far too much. “Why are you so set on denying our faith?”

 

            “I don’t deny it. I just don’t believe in it,” I confirm, unsure if that even made any sense. It’s not like I'm trying to ignore it, I'm not about to abide by a long list of rules that I don’t agree with, much to my family’s dismay.

 

            “I see. I suppose that’s fair enough,” she dismisses the topic with a longing sigh.

 

            “What do you care anyway?” I ask, bluntly.

 

            She flashes me a slight smile, laced with pity. “I’ll always care for you and love you despite what you may think. You’re my sister, my built in best friend. Even though we may not act like it most of the time.”

 

            I take a deep breath as the weight of her confession hangs in the air. She takes it upon herself to lay back so that she’s beside me on my queen sized bed.

 

            Instinctively, I retract away from her body practically falling off of the edge. “What are you doing?”

 

            The corners of her mouth twitch upwards as she studies my face from left to right. “Do you remember when we were little and even though we both had our own rooms we always wanted to sleep together?” She turns on her side towards me and pushes down the fluffiness of the pillow.

 

            Nostalgia washes through me while a smile plays at my lips. I stare up at the ceiling to replay the memory in my mind. “Because it was too terrible to be apart for even a minute, let alone a whole night. Though we would be totally unconscious,” I laugh at our innocent stupidity and she follows right after.

 

            Our giggles are short lived once she turns the conversation more serious, a special talent of hers. “I’m going to miss you. We’ve never been apart for such a long time.”

 

            “What are you talking about? It’ll only be three months. We’ve gone without speaking for much more than that.” Once the words are out of my mouth, I instantly regret them. I brought up the time that I gave her a ten month long silent treatment for outing me on riding Liam’s motorcycle around the city. That was back when I was fifteen, and having matured a little since then, I realize that she was really trying to look out for me. I was by no means licensed so the danger level was at a maximum. I could have took a wrong turn, fallen off or landed up in a freak accident, severely injuring us both. I was not in my right judgment then. I guess I hadn't been for a while.

 

            Melody nervously bites down on her bottom lip and then subsequently releases it to pout back out to it’s full shape. “Oh, um, yeah right. Three months . . .” she trails off with a weird lilt in her tone that I can’t pinpoint. Guilt? Anxiety? I wasn’t sure.

 

    “It's fine. Maybe, dare I say it, I’ll make a new friend,” I say just to ease her mind. There will probably be some other girl at this camp who sympathizes with my current existential crisis. Right?

 

            “Maybe you can make some male friends,” she winks and her tone is back to teasing. I roll my eyes at her for the third time tonight.

 

            “You idiot, it’s an all girl camp.”

 

            I can’t believe she just suggested that I use this unequivocal opportunity to attempt to scout out a boyfriend. As if. I’ve never had one and I'm pretty convinced that I never will. And that was perfectly fine with me. If my own best guy friend didn’t want me, who would? The other guys around here were either complete lowlifes or total squares. The only men that I fancied had deep British accents, rode horses, and had an insurmountable amount of money to pay off my sister’s dowry.

 

            Yes, I’m referring to Mr. Darcy. The movie version starring Colin Firth, not the book version by Jane what’s-her-face. The last novel I had read cover to cover was the Junie B. Jones’ saga in second grade.

 

            She bats her eyelashes innocently, probably feeling embarrassed by her mistake. “Oh true.”

 

            “How are things with prince charming anyway?” I inquire.

 

            Her gaze shifts from mine to the bare white wall as she speaks, “Niall? Oh, um, we’re . . . fine. Better than fine, we’re great! Just great.”

 

            And she’s back to the mysterious voice again. In between the talking and the unintentional reminiscing, I managed to attain heavy eyelids. Sleep envelops me before I can protest, and when I awaken I'm met with the classic Armani suit and premature receding hairline that could only belong to my father.

 

            This meant one thing; It was time to go.

 

 

 

a/n; omggg you guys i'm so excited my physics summer class is officially OVER! Thank the lord. anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope you're liking the story so far! It will get better i promise. let me know what y'all think ;)

xxxKate 

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