Dork Diaries: Next Generation

And So It Begins

New school. Fresh start. Nobody knows my name. Maybe I can change it like Tris did when she became dauntless. But then, if I have a friend and they address me by my new name, my parents would be so confused when I'd invite them over.

Haha... Friends... I wish I could have a real one. All my life, I've been famous because of my oh-so-wonderful parents, and don't get me wrong, I love them to death. But it's really hard to tell who my real friends are, especially if they know my parents. My mom, Nikki Roberts (formally Nikki Maxwell) is a model. It suits her well. She's thirty years old, and she has a killer body. My dad is her photographer. Crazy, right? Not only does he take her photos, but he takes mine as well as other models. He also is a veterinarian, which I find to be pretty cool.

Yes, I'm a model. Although, I don't think I want to be a model. Everyone says I'm the spitting image of my mother. Why have two models that look the same?

Anywho, back to what's happening at this moment: school. A new one. Where I can maybe, but unlikely, make a real friend who likes me for me. Not my fame or money or my parents' fame or money.

I stop standing at the front of the school, since a lot of kids have stopped and recognized me, and walk the halls to the office.

Of course there are gasps and shocked faces, which I ignore. I want to ignore the kids walking up to me, telling me I'm way more gorgeous in person, but it's hard to when they're blocking my path to where I need to go.

"Not to be rude or anything, but I don't want to be late for class. With you guys in my way, there's no way I'm going to make it on time. Excuse me," I say quite rudely despite my trying to be polite. And since I'm practically already ruler of the students, they part like the Red Sea, and I have a path to the office.

Opening the door to the office, a bunch of heads look up at me from computers. Then a bunch of gasps are yet again heard with the usual
'Oh my God!' and 'I'm such a big fan!'

"I'm here to pick up my schedule," I tell the lady behind the counter. She has brown hair that is cut to her shoulder blades and glasses perched on the tip of her nose.

"Brandy Roberts, yes? Funny, I was a friend of your parents before things between us got a little sour," she murmurs.

"I hear a lot of stories of school from them. Give me your name, and I can see if they remember you."

"Marcy. But to you, it's Ms. Marcy."

I tap my chin. It helps me concentrate when I want to remember something. I snap my fingers when I realize who she is.

"You're the chick who wanted to be friends with that Jessica person instead of my mom! Yeah, I remember you!" I laugh. She rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, that's me. Here's your schedule. You have fifteen more minutes before class starts. I'll have a student show you around..."

She gets up out of her seat and walks with me to the office door. She carefully looks around the hallway, I'm guessing to look for someone who will show me around. I guess correctly.

"You, Terra Cruise, this is Brandy Roberts."

"Wait, the Brandy Roberts? Like the one whose mother had her at 14 because her dad forgot to wear–" I cover her mouth with my hand. Whenever someone tells me that story, it makes me feel like some sort of mistake, some sort of burden, and I don't need some low-life loud mouth reminding me of that feeling.

"I wouldn't finish that sentence, but yeah, I'm the Brandy Roberts. The model child who's new here, and wants to be treated like a person, not a princess."