How to be a Model

Chapter Two

I stared at her in astonishment. I hadn't seen my stepsister for nearly six years, due to the fact that she'd been attending a boarding school in Europe. Or should I say boarding schools. As I said before, she'd been kicked out of quite a few. I hadn't asked why. When I'd last seen her she was a scrawny, plain-looking fourteen year-old with braces and glasses. Well the braces and glasses were gone. She wore a pair of old track pants, a hoodie, and a scowl; none of which made her look attractive in any way. Her brown hair is thrown up in an untidy ponytail on her head with a scrunchie. Her black eyes (since when did she have black eyes?) narrowed.

"What?" she practically spat at me.

"Nothing," I said quietly. "It's good to see you Blaire... been a while."

She rolled her eyes at me, obviously oblivious to the fact that I had spent an entire morning cleaning out the spare room and doing it up for her.

"Whatever. Where do I sleep?"

I showed her to the spare room, wondering where the happy, bubbly fourteen year-old I knew had gone; the one who was always smiling, always so full of energy, always laughing. This cold, silent, sullen stranger was a mystery to me. I had been against Dad and Mom sending Blaire to boarding school in the first place, even if it was so she would become more independent. I was only sixteen at the time, and so my voice didn't carry much weight. Back then, Blaire had been a bit naive, and a little stubborn, but a sweetheart nonetheless. I searched for some sort of resemblance to this grungy, grumpy Blaire that stood before me. Dumping her backpack on the floor of the spare room, she turned back to face me, her eyes narrowed.

"Are you just going to stand there and gawp at me all day?" she glared at me.

"Sorry," I replied quickly. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Yeah," she said. "Some peace and quiet."

I left her room, wondering how on earth this was going to work. I called Dad to let him know that Blaire had made it.

"Is she always like this?" I asked him, trying to keep the note of desperation out of my voice and not quite succeeding.

"Is she giving you a hard time?" Dad sounded concerned. I laughed dryly.

"So far she's not giving me the time at all."

Dad sighed.

"I'm not sure what the solution is Alana," he admitted. "I think we just need to give her some time..."

"Yeah."

We finished our conversation, and I hung up, and headed back to Blaire's new room, determined to give our reunion another shot. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer.

"Blaire?" I knocked again. Still, nothing. Rolling my eyes heavenward, I took a deep breath in, and knocked a third time.

"Blaire, can I come–" the door suddenly opened. Blaire glared at me savagely.

"What?" she demanded.

"Uh..."  I couldn't think of what to say. "I'm going to make some lunch. How do you feel about some black sea bass and a spinach and rocket salad?"

Blaire made a face.

"Sounds gross," she barged past me and headed into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she flung back at me, "Got any real food in here?"

I was silent until she looked back at me, a smirk on her face.

"Oh, wait, you're a model, so you don't even know what real food is," she sneered. I shrugged, letting the comment roll off.

"I'm sorry, but I eat healthily. It's what best for my body, and yours too," I paused. "You might find you like the food I eat, if you give it a try."

She laughed haughtily.

"Yeah, right."

When she found nothing in the fridge that constituted real food she slammed the door and went back into her room. I sighed and opened the fridge, getting out the black sea bass. Heating it up in a pan, I washed and shredded the spinach and rocket salad, drizzling over some lemon. To me, the smell of the fish was supreme. I sat at the bench and shovelled it down (can I just say, as weird as loving healthy food is, it is so good, because you get as much enjoyment out of food as people who eat unhealthy food, while also getting all the benefits of eating healthy, and avoiding the pitfalls of junk food! Not that I am not partial to a few naughty treats... salted caramel baked cheesecake comes to mind). Putting the leftovers in a container in the fridge, I sat down on the couch, trying to figure out my next move in terms of Blaire. She was plainly not impressed with Mom and Dad's idea of sending her to live with me; her open hostility told me as much. It was also evident that she looked down on my lifestyle, and everything I stand for. She considered me superficial. Just another airhead blonde. Well I was going to have to prove her wrong. But how...? Something had to be done about her appearance as well. Now that she was living with me, she would be in the spotlight constantly. The paparazzi would die to get a snap of "Alana Beckett's trashy sister".  As much for Blaire's sake as my own, something had to be done. I considered all the stylists I had encountered in my modelling career. Who would be the best for the situation? It had to be someone strong and determined, with a clear vision. A stylist immediately came to mind. Jonathon Hector would have to be the most obnoxious, arrogant, and irritating of them all. He might do... I picked up my cell phone, a plan formulating in my head.

"Jonathon, hi."