I’ve always had everything I ever wanted, materialistically speaking. Emotionally, well that’s another story. You know how it is, a socialite for a mother and a workaholic millionaire for a father.
Now, don’t get me wrong. My parents love me. In their own way, I suppose. They just have a difficulty showing it, other than buying me things, they don’t really have time for me. As far back as I can remember I always had one nanny or another taking care of me.
For some reason none of them lasted very long, so as you can imagine, attachment issues are no stranger to me. That, and having difficulty trusting people. Or so my therapist likes to point out.
When I was little I thought the nannies left because of me, because I did something wrong. Because I didn’t obey or I didn’t clean after myself or because I talked back. When I grew up and became more aware of the other sex, that’s when I tuned in on my mother’s insecurities. It wasn’t my fault the nannies changed so often, it was my mother making sure none of them stayed long enough to gain my father’s notice.
They were all young and hot, well, most of them. And my mother was concerned my father would take a liking to one and eventually leave her for a younger model. First of all, my father wasn’t home long enough to even notice the nanny, let alone talk to her. She was the help and therefore my mother’s concern and responsibility. My father was much too busy for that.
On the rare occasion my father did talk to one of my nannies they were replaced the very next day. I guess my mother didn’t want to take any chances.
So why didn’t she just hire some old shrew and eliminate the temptation in entirety is beyond me.
I got used to it though. And didn’t get attached to any of them anymore. When I was little I cried many times when the person I loved and trusted, the person who took care of me and was basically the only steady and present parental figure I had, all of a sudden left me and I was stuck with another stranger replacing her.
Over time it stopped bothering me and I viewed them as just another caretaker in our household. A person who made sure I ate and got dressed for school and did my homework and so on.
The only real constant in my life were my friends. The ruling trio. The three A’s, Ashley, that’s me :-P, Amanda and Abby, or Abigail, but she really hates her name so it’s always just Abby.
They were my family. No one could measure up to my A’s.
Surprisingly we weren’t all that similar. We were actually the polar opposites, well on most things. Shoes, bags and makeup don’t count.
We all attended the Hawthorn Academy, which catered to the children of the elite. I know it sounds pompous, but it’s just the way it is. Everyone who goes to the Academy is the son or daughter of someone important or someone famous, but either way it’s someone rich.
Except the very few scholarship kids who get accepted every year. But that’s like five kids a year, so they’re a serious minority. They try to fit in, and a few have actually succeeded in infiltrating the inner circle of our sanctum, but most try really hard to stay invisible, because if you hadn’t heard by now, rich kids tend to be over privileged pompous idiots.
Pompous – mean – nasty - idiots. And you don’t want to get on the bad side of one of those. Like it or not, money always talks. Especially in our town, which is overflowing with it.
Everyone is always trying to out due and outmatch the other, but lucky for me, daddy’s got it covered. No one can outmatch his little princess. When it comes to material things he’s more than happy to provide.
I admit, I definitely take advantage of that.
Speaking of…
I just turned eighteen last month and my parents made sure I had the biggest, most outlandish party our school had ever seen. I know, I'm spoiled, but only a bit. Trust me, some of the girls at my school would put the biggest Hollywood drama queens to shame, so when considering I'm surrounded by the starlet wannabes on a daily basis, I'm sort of normal. Just saying.
Anyway. The main topic of conversation at the party. Surprisingly, not who hooked up with whom or the latest scandal that graced our school and our little town, but rather our newest intriguing arrival at the school.
A hushed murmur spread around, and the plotting began. The most ridiculous ideas influenced by bouts of alcohol, most of them forgotten with the sobering sun peeking on the horizon, a few though, a few would definitely be tested. Boosted by short skirts and lacy bras, and very determined socialites. Now I got your spidey senses tingling, don’t I?
He is walking down the hall and all the girls stare unabashedly at him, turning their heads to not lose sight of him, his perfect physique, his confident stride, those abs that make you drool, strong powerful biceps and that ass, don't get me started.
You might be wondering which one of the football stars at our school or actor wannabes could possibly be getting that kind of reception.
Well, you’d be wrong on all accounts.
The guy all the girls want, the guy they would drop down to their knees and flung their panties in the air is not a student, not a mere boy, but a man of experience, a man who knows how to make a girl scream in ecstasy and beg for more.
Who is this perfect specimen you ask?
Well, that man just happens to be the handsome, deliciously sculpted, incredibly talented Mr. Adam Barnett, our new substitute English teacher.
