Autumn Henningsen lives and breathes music. Just like her father, and his father before him, she has dreams to be a star.
But those dreams won't happen if she stays in Gullwitch Cove, LA, a small town with a population of about 1000. Nothing ever h...
When Emery packed us up from Beverly Hills and moved us down here, the paparazzi hounded us. Apparently, our choice to move out of the house that we had lived in for almost two years after our parents left, the house that we should be 'grateful to even have' was the top choice for a news article. They found us at every stop we made. They nearly ran our car off the road in Oregon, and almost broke Emery's nose in Kansas. Then we found Gullwitch Cove, and the press haven't found us since.
For almost a year, it's been blissful, every waking moment spent alone, press free, no cameras or 'Where Are They Now?' columns being waved in our faces. Emery's loved it. She gave up her dream of being a book publisher to come live here, with a bank job that doesn't pay her much, a seventeen-year-old girl to raise on her own, and bills that she has to pay in order for us to be able to keep our home. She loves country living, saying that it's clear and calm, better than the mansions and the parties back in the city where we grew up.
I hate it here. It's too slow for my taste. Yes, while the music scene has really begun to pick up around here, it's still a quiet, sleepy, small town. I prefer the big cities, where everything is alive and buzzing, where the streets make their own music. Cars honk, lights glow, and yet you can still see the stars. I used to love those stars.
I roll out of bed, wincing as my knee bumps into the smooth wooden floors. I yawn, rub my eyes, and crawl toward my closet door. I stand up and grab the first sweater I touch out of my closet, a thick, black, off-the-shoulder top that I haven't worn in months. I look at it and shrug. This should be fine.
Emery is downstairs in the kitchen, cooking eggs and bacon. The Backstreet Boys blares on her loudspeaker, and I can hear her singing along, in a surprisingly good mood. I smile, shaking my head, and walk into the bathroom. Changing quickly, I throw my clothes in the hamper outside of my room and run down the stairs, two at a time.
"Hey Em-" My voice fades as I see who's sitting in our kitchen, "Faye? What are you doing here?" Faye grins sheepishly, pink hair tied back in a tight bun. She's looking extra nice for a Saturday morning. Her lips are pale pink, shiny with gloss. Her long red dress falls past her knees, and she adjusts the sleeves of her denim jacket.
"I need your help." She sighs, biting the bottom of her lip. She can't stop fidgeting. I sit down on the stool next to her. She's not looking at me. That can only mean one thing.
"What is it?" I ask, thanking Emery as she puts some bacon on a paper plate.
"I need you to go on a double date with me." She looks at me with wide eyes. I gag on my water, spitting it back into my cup.
