The Fourth of July and the Surrounding Events

CHAPTER 21

The next week passed in a blur as I sulked in my self-condemned misery. I couldn't bring myself to do anything, much less seek Morgan out to apologize. Even Tyler seemed to notice my crappy mood, as he laid off the disgusting comments. This was probably a bad sign, seeing what happened last time he did that, but I wasn't about to worry myself questioning it. Tears upon tears stained my cheeks and phone calls upon phone calls piled up on my phone. I had texted Jayde back once to let her know I was ok after she left a very threatening voicemail. But other than that, I sat in my sadness and watched NCIS, ignoring everyone, until I couldn't stand the hunger pit in my stomach, which only then, would I get up to eat.

"Alexandria Sophia, get your lazy ass out of bed," I heard my mom say as she pried open my curtains that I had super glued shut. They just wouldn't close properly and I couldn't find a stapler.

Great, the she-demon is home. Just what I need.

"I don't know why you're still in bed at 2 pm but I do not want to know. You have fifteen minutes to get out of bed and get dressed nicely before I drag you out."

Rolling my eyes, I turned over and looked at my phone for the first time in a week. Well, my mother was right on time with her arrival back to dismal Maine. The time read 2:04 pm, Sunday, July 16.

"Fine," I muttered under my breath. She had a point, I hadn't showered for three days and I've been living in the same sweatshirt for the whole week.

Cleaning myself up didn't take too long, and seeing as I was under a strict time crunch, it's not like I had a choice anyway.

"You look decent," my mother said with the same passive-aggressive tone she always uses to criticize my clothing.

"Whatever. What am I doing in nice clothes? Where are we going? Church?" I joked. We hadn't gone to church in over 10 years. We stopped going when the fighting started, there wasn't time for it, not even between the "fuck you's."

"Watch your tongue, young lady," she snapped at me, already fed up with my bull shit. "And for your information, we're going to a shoot."

"What? Are we gonna shoot Tyler today?" I sarcastically asked, only getting her to roll her eyes.

Grabbing her heels and purse, she walked out the door and into a taxi. "Follow me."

Doing as I was told, I stepped into the taxi, which was pretty nice, considering that it's Maine.

"What's with the taxi, Mom?" I asked, sliding into the seat.

Setting her things aside, she merely waved her hand, presumably waving my question away.

"Fine, jeez," I sighed. Sarah has a thing for mysteries, especially when it came to me. Maybe that's why I don't know where my father is now.

The ride wasn't long, the roads being relatively clear for some unseen reason. Our place of arrival was a sunny part of the pier, where a few tourists were playing in the sand drifts.

"Here we are," the taxi driver said, calling over his shoulder.

"Where is here?" I tried to ask before I was cut off by my mother shushing me.

"Here, is Clade Models," she said proudly, sweeping her hand, and only then did I notice the white tent off to the side. "I've taken the liberty of sending in your headshots and information. They were very pleased and fortunately for us, they're here in Maine for a few weeks before they go down to New York."

As mad as I was that she didn't ask me before submitting my photos, my frustration was overridden by my entire shock that Clade Models noticed me. Clade Models Agency was part of the "Top 25 Model Agencies" as recognized by many magazines and were highly particular in the "look" they achieved.

Holding back the sharp words I had for Sarah, I gingerly pulled my dress down, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

Alexandria, you've made it. You've goddamn done it. CMA knows who you are.

"Okay, let's go," I said, trying to keep my emotions in check, ushering my mother forward with a hand.

The big white tent was decked out with fairy lights and green vines made to look like a fairy wonderland. Inside, CMA swag, food, and clothing options weighed down tables, as cosmetologists rushed around preparing their stations. And that's when I saw her, the girl Morgan was all cuddled up to the night of the restaurants.

What the hell is she doing here?

Stopping in my tracks, I tried to turn around, not ready to face the girl who stole Morgan from me. Fear taking over, I pathetically grabbed onto my mom as a child scared of clowns or heights.

"I can't go over there, Mom," I anxiously whispered to her.

"What do you mean, Alexandria? Yes, you can, and yes, you will," she said with a glimmer of concern in her eyes. Following my train of sight, she shook me off her arm, "Alex, that's the daughter of Ms. Clade, she's one of her scouts, not the devil. My goodness child, pull yourself together."

Fear, anger, betrayal, and sadness rushed through my body like waves, the image of this girl holding Morgan flashing through my eyes. Why do my relations with women always have to be so messy? It's like I can never catch a break. First Jayde, then Katelyn, next Morgan, and finally this other girl. 

Suck it up, you idiot. For all you know, Morgan and this girl could be related. That's why Morgan went in the car with her willingly. 

"Okay, I'm fine," I murmured to my mom, saying it mostly for my sake, not hers. Walking over to the big tent, I was greeted by a hair and makeup artist. Clothes shoved into my arms, I was turned away from my mom and towards a makeshift changing room. With no time to think, I did as I was told, and the shoot went smoothly. Lights flashing, my cheeks chilled from the cool wind that blew in a few hours after we started, I finally felt able to breathe. 

From ages 3-8, I did minor modeling and acting gigs, nothing too much, but I loved it. Cameras, people, clothes, acting, everything. I would ask to see the before and after photos from the shoots, just to see the artistic changes the editors would make. My dad bought me my first camera at 7, so I could make my own magazine. That "magazine" turned out to be the photo album I found the pictures of Morgan and me in. 

Shortly after I filled the photo album, I was the cover feature of my first magazine. My parents took 8 years old me out to celebrate at a fancy restaurant outside of town. It was one of the only times during the divorce that the fighting ceased. They told me how proud they were of me, and I insisted on taking a photo of them with my new camera. The photo is still taped up to my mirror. 

Modeling has always allowed me to feel free. Though many people see it as a trap, or that I'm vain, it's an outlet. A way for me to cope. When the lights flash, I have time to ignore all my thoughts and just be present.