The Remarkable Romez

Chapter Four: Twelve and Hating It

Ever since we took the trip to NYC, I was filled from head to toe with inspiration about fashion. Fashion was the only thing that was on my mind for quite a few years. I asked my mom to teach me how to sew, use thread and needle, and design fabric. By the time I was seven, the first garment I created with my mother was an adult's pink faux fur coat. Pretty impressive, right? To this day, I still have it somewhere in my wardrobe and when I can find it I'll try to incorporate it into my outfit that day. And my mom wanted to sell it.... pssh!

Even though fashion was everything to me at the time, when I turned twelve, my parents had been losing guests for some reason, and in this case, they'd also lost quite a bit of money. Dad claimed that we needed something that would really hook 'em to our B&B, something glamorous enough to stop people in their tracks and amaze them.

"Byonca, can you perform?" I heard my father say, loud and clear. It took me completely by surprise. He clearly had asked me.

"Who, me?" I said, completely staggered.

My dad looked around sarcastically. "See any other Byonca's?"

"No."

"So?"

"So.... What? You want me to entertain?"

That's precisely what he wanted me to do-cheap, not willing to hire real entertainment for money.

"Dad, I can't do anything."

"Sure you can, you can sing! Play guitar, or the piano."

He was actually right. I sung in the school choir for a bit and I learned to play guitar and the piano when I was six.

"But it's embarrassing!" I argued. "I see kids from my class ride on their bikes past the B&B all of the time! I'll be a laughingstock!"

Dad just sat there looking through the window when I saw him flash a smile to himself. His eyes grew large with excitement. "Hey, in that case, you can entertain outside! It'll grab pedestrians by the second! Plus, your little friends can tell their parents to visit!" my dad said, unsympathetic towards my case of humiliation. "It's settled!" Dad spoke sharply. "Byonca, you prepare a song to sing and play, and Daddy and I will get you a little microphone and stage!" Mom barked. I slapped my hand against my forehead in frustration, in what you call a face-palm. I stormed out of the room into my bedroom, where Acacia was.

My nine year old sister and I shared a room together. I slammed onto my bed, face down on the pillow.

"What's wrong BB?" Acacia puzzled. Stupid nickname. "I can tell you're angry." she pouted.

"Will you shut it? Dad and Mom have ruined my sixth grade social life." I rebuffed.

Acacia took no heed to my 'shut it' motive. "How 'd they do that?"

I lifted my face off the pillow and gave her a sneer. "Why do you care?"

Acacia shrugged, her eyes getting a little moist with tears. "...cuz I'm your sister."

I looked at her and sighed. "I'm sorry, Cacia." Stupid nicknamed her back.

She wiped her face and nodded solemnly.

"Dad and Mom are pretty much forcing me to sing and play instruments."

Acacia lifted an eyebrow.

"To entertain guests and passersby, outside, in the hot sun, humiliated by kids from school."

Acacia turned her head sideways. "Why would you be humiliated?"

"Because I'm not a good performer." I replied sadly.

Acacia widened her eyes and grinned from cheek to cheek. "Yes you are. You're great."

"What? No. Wait, you mean it?"

Acacia kept her grin and nodded. "Every word, BB."

I stole her smile and didn't care about my dumb nickname. I was preoccupied with the thought that I was maybe a terrific singer in the perspective of other people. Acacia had just instilled a whole new level of confidence in me. I hugged my sister with glee.

"You're the best sister ever." I whispered in Acacia's small ear. She giggled. "I know."

The time had come, in about four days. I had prepared a song to do, and my parents got me a little stage and microphone, attached to amplifiers. I had butterflies when I was on the stage, holding the microphone in my sweaty hand. Even though there was no one paying attention to me, I was nervous because I knew my fate was set with people paying a lot of attention to me. As soon as I was about to start my first note, I heard how loud the amplifiers made my voice. I turned my head from the microphone and muttered to myself,

"Oh god."

Acacia was sitting criss-cross on our lawn, in front of me. She gave me a 'thumbs up' with that lovely, yet slightly irritating smile of hers. I smirked back. I tried to remember the confidence she'd given me earlier that week. I started to sing, quietly into the microphone so nobody's ears would start smoking with exhaustion. Before I knew it, the words of the song were flowing out of me like a river. I felt like no one could stop me. I felt fearless. Unknowingly, I escaped my daydream and saw people crowded around me. It was intimidating, really intimidating, but I just told myself to carry on, and so I did. The song ended, and I thought it was an hallucination of how many people clapped and cheered for me. But no, it was real. It was amazing. A little fidgety with excitement, I bowed to my audience. As I stood back up, a little part of me broke. I witnessed something across from me in the crowd through my shrinking, now terrified pupils: Gilda Geld.

She was crossing her arms and shaking her head at me, a devilish smirk across her mouth. She turned her head and began whispering and giggling in the ears of the two girls hanging about her, including Farah Moonbiscuit and Shelia Deadbones. They made up the most horrible and terrorizing clique at our school. From that day on, I knew they were about to make my life a living hell.