My Sister's Best Friend [T.Chalamet]

1

I stand outside of the airport with my luggage beside me, waiting for Saoirse. She said she would be here, but that was 45 minutes ago. I keep checking my phone for messages. None. I sigh and sit on the curb of the road. I reach towards my pocket and take out a packet of cigarettes. Just as I am about to light one, I hear someone scream my name. "Y/N!!" I turn around to see Saoirse. I can't read her facial expressions because she's wearing sunglasses, but I can already picture them. Her eyes were widening in surprise and disgust at the same time. I'm guessing my parents told her—our parents told her what happened.

I got kicked out of school again. That was the last chance for me, but it was not my fault, yet nobody was going to listen; nobody ever does. So, my parents, obviously furious at my actions, mainly my mother; my father could not care less, sent me to go live with Saorise in New York. They thought I would feel better in New York than in Dublin.

She paces forward towards me and grabs the cigarette in my hand, immediately throwing it on the ground. I freeze and look at her, then reach forward for another cigarette from the packet. She huffs in frustration and snatches the packet from me. "Y/N really, Christ! Mom and Dad said you had changed, but really? I thought you were getting better." I don't reply; I just look at the ground. I used to feel humiliated, almost embarrassed, at how everybody was disappointed in me, but eventually you get used to it.

How could I compare to the Saorise Ronan?  Saorise was only 20 years old, but she had been in many TV shows and movies, including an Oscar nomination for her role. She was one of the youngest actresses to be nominated for an Oscar. Then she received a nomination for the Irish Film & Television Award in 2009, for which she was nominated for a BAFTA Award, and in 2010, she won the Irish Film & Television Award for Actress in a Supporting Role. And I was only two years younger than her.

See what I mean? I already knew my place in the family. The disappointment. I could never compare to her success; my parents were never fully satisfied by my grades or my actions. Why can't you be more like Saorise? That constant question was like a stab in my gut, so I found many other ways to satisfy my needs. I found friends—well,  at least I thought I did. Then I got permanently excluded, so now I'm in New York.

She takes one glance at me, then looks back at the cigarette packet in her hand. I avoid her glares and instead stare at the ground. She sighs, then picks up my suitcase. "Come on," she says, "let's get some brunch." I take my other suitcase in my hand and follow her. We reach a black car; it looks expensive, but what else should I expect? It's Saorise. As we sit down, she whispers something to the driver, then comes to sit next to me at the back. "Okay, Paul is going to get us brunch; I thought I would show you around our place," she explains, correcting herself. "I mean, it is going to be your home now."

I look at her, then silently nod my head, then turn to look outside. New York. It's kind of like Dublin in a way, just more urbanized; there are more people walking at flash speed, carrying multiple bags while on their phones, and balancing a cup of coffee in their hands. It reminds me of the Devil Wears Prada.

"We're here," Saorise announces to me, and we both get out of the car. I carry my luggage with me, declining Paul's help, and follow Saorise up the stairs.

Eventually, I unpacked all my clothing and readjusted the room to suit my needs while Saorise made lunch. Silently, we sat and ate lunch together. "By the way, you're starting school tomorrow. It's one of the best in New York, so please behave yourself and work hard." She explained, "Prove Mom and Dad wrong, okay.". I looked up at her and silently nodded my head. She placed her hand on top of mine to comfort me. I was about to say something when we heard the door open. I turned to see a boy.

He had emerald-green eyes that resembled nature and leaves. His ringlet curls were spread across his face from his NYC hat, further defining his face as sculptured like a Greek god.

"Sorry, I'm late. Just the traffic. Man," he said as he walked further into the room. He stopped and looked at me. "I take it, you're the sister, right?" He pointed his finger at me while running his hands through his brown curls. I nodded, my lips agape.

Saorise got up and took the bags he was carrying and placed them on the table—it was more food. Just what I needed. As Saorise went to get more plates for us, he came and sat next to me. "We haven't formally met yet. I'm Timothée; well, Timothée Chalamet or Timmy, but it's whatever you'd like."

I looked at him and raised my eyebrows. His hand was in front of me, waiting for me to shake. Reluctantly, I shook it and gave him a big smile, sarcastically, of course. "I'm 18," I said, causing him to raise his hands up in surrender and move backwards in his seat.

"Okay..." he paused. "18. I mean, I just came for the food. New York's food is pretty good, better than Dublin."

I rolled my eyes at his response: "My name is not 18. It's Y/N."

"Pretty name for a pretty girl," he responded. Just when I was about to respond, Saorise walked in with the plates. "Let's just eat this, then I thought Timmy and I could take you through a quick tour of NY." She said she was pouring some of the food onto the plates. "How does that sound?" She asked me.

"Great," I said, taking the plate from her. I began spreading the food across the plate to make it look like I had eaten something; the truth is, I couldn't. It just felt hard to devour food; I could never keep it down. I cleared my throat and excused myself to the bathroom.

I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. I was nothing like Saorise Ronan. I was simply the other Ronan. The one nobody wanted. I felt the bile rise in my throat and the taste of the food suffocate me. I opened my mouth, moving directly towards the sink. Nothing came out. I opened the tap to make the water sound, so nobody would hear me. I stuck my finger in my mouth, so it reached my tonsils instantly, making a retching sound. Straight away, all I had eaten came back out, and I wiped my mouth, rinsing it and the sink, so nobody would see or notice anything.
I looked back in the mirror, fixed my hair slightly and then returned to Saorise and Timothée, who were in mid-conversation.

"Hey, Y/N I've heard about the school Saorise applied for you. It's pretty good; they've got some surreal performance classes. You should check them out." Timothée said to me:.

I smiled at him, "Sorry, but acting is not for me; it's more meant for Saorise," I said, looking at Saorise and giving her a smile, which she returned.

Once lunch was finished, we got ready and left Saoirse's flat. We went downstairs to find Paul waiting and entered the car.

Buildings raced each other in a quest to touch the soft blue sky and people littered the streets and sidewalks. Life there was upbeat and fast-paced and everyone and everything was moving, but then you crossed into Central Park. Crossing the sidewalk into the large park was like crossing the border into another world. The milieu changed from the rapid-fire movement of the concrete jungle to slow-moving peace in the blink of an eye. Skyscrapers were replaced with real trees that stood tall, though not tall enough to completely block out the looming buildings. Vibrant green grass perfectly covered the ground in place of the bleak blacks and greys of hot cement that coated.

-

(1390 words)