Hello, Our Name Is Shea. (ON HOLD)

Chapt. 1-Someone's Running Up The Bill With Condoms.

"Seamus Taylor Smith, what is this?" My father bellowed.

My head jerked up from my phone in surprise, even though I was used to my father saying these lines in that exact tone.

The last time this happened was last week, on the last day of school, when I spray painted the principal's office bright green. I had then received a slip of paper from the principal, which was also a bright green color (which I think was to humour me), that procliamed that I was suspended from my fifth private school in a row.

So yes, my father bellowed a lot, considering that I am somewhat of a 'delinquent'.You see, I never really wanted to be a troublemaker; my enviroment made me this way. Now this is usually the time someone asks me what the hell is wrong with me.

Why?

Because I live in a big ass mansion with a view of the Hollywood sign with millions of dollars at my expense. I have a famous father, being a famous chef with his own TV show and such, and I have been featured in several magazine and TV interviews as the daughter of Chef Garrett Smith.

So what exactly is wrong with my life?

The fact that I have no actual friends because they all like me for what I have; not who I am. Actually, I addressed them as ass kissers.

The fact that being alone in a mansion gets lonely and cold sometimes. The view of the Hollywood sign only mocks me, showing me the source of my misery.

The fact that my father is so busy with his Hollywood life that he never has time for me. That's right. He'd rather show America how to cook omelets to perfection instead of spending Christmas with his only daughter.

The fact that everything I do wrong eventually comes out as magazine headlines. Maybe it got to the point where the tabloids started picking on my mom; accusing her of cheating on my dad. Maybe then there were arguements constantly echoing around the house. Maybe it got to the point where my mom couldn't take it anymore and walked off.

Maybe the years following built up my 'character', the one that stirred up trouble wherever she went. The rebel who did what she wanted whenever she wanted, on her own agenda.

I did this to get my father to pay attention to me.

It worked, naturally. I mean, I was part of his image in Hollywood. Of course he had to try his hardest to keep me in line. Not that it works, but. He tries.

And part of his trying included bellowing.

"What are you talking about?" I asked innocently. But unlike all the other times, I wasn't faking, I really don't know what I did wrong. I mean, it's only 9:30 in the morning and I don't actually start fully functioning until at least 11:30.

"THIS." My dad thrusted a small slip of paper in my face. Looking closer, I saw it was a receipt form Wal-Mart.

What the heck? I thought. I rarely buy anything from Wal-Mart. That's my maid's job. As a millionaire's daughter, I had no issues with money, and Wal-Mart was no Betsy Johnson.

I read the reciept:

-Axe body spray

-A Twix bar

-An extra large condom

My face flamed when I read the last item. "Dad, what is this?" If this is his twisted way on giving me The Talk...

I mean, I didn't want him to care like this.

"This is only a sample of what you bought over the past month," he fumed, handing me a bunch of papers which, as I examined closer, had other bogus items such as sports equipment, tickets to see Miami Heat, and even more...um, rubbery protection.