Smile For The Camera

I managed to get in the car without so much as a few drops hitting my face, but I wasn’t quick enough to put in my headphones and blare music before my mom could say anything. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mom, I did, but talking to her was frustrating. She only talked about modeling, or the next shoot, or how she wishes she was young enough to still model.

“So,” my mother said with pursed lips. I turned to the window and rolled my eyes. I gave her no sign that I was going to talk to her, but she continued on asking, “How was the shoot?”

“It was fine, mom.” There was no emotion in my voice as I tried to drop hints to my mother that I wasn’t up for talking.

My mother was now aware of the bored tone of my voice but she urged for the latest gossip anyways. “Are you going to miss Tyler? Is that his name?” My mother knew his name very well. In the days that I had let her in the studio to watch my shoots, I noticed that she was very flirtatious towards the boy that was at least half her age. “He’s such a doll. How come you never started anything up with him?”

“How come you didn't?” I snapped. My mother flinched back, looking pained. “I’m sorry,” I whispered submissively. I hadn't meant to be so harsh; the words just came out. My mother wasn't usually one to scold me for speaking harshly at her. She really didn't have much self-respect.

“No, no it’s fine. I’m sorry. I won’t pry anymore.” She finally started up the engine and drove down the main road that would take us right up to our house. My mom was silent for the rest of the ride – something completely unusual.

When we finally pulled up into the driveway, it seemed like a million years later, but it was only a matter of minutes. I tried to apologize again. “Mom, I didn't mean it. I’m sorry.” I dropped my shoulders in defeat when my mother still wouldn't even look at me.

I was annoyed at my mother’s immaturity. I slid out of the car and swung open the front door of my mother’s house. The house was brick along the lower three feet and yellow siding above that. It was small, but still big enough for the two of us. The house looked complete and homey with a colorful garden in the front and wrapping around the sides. There was also an in-ground pool in the back, as well as a hot tub on the back patio. We weren't made of money, but I was paid well from photo shoots and from getting first in my childhood pageants. I paid the bills and carried our family on my shoulders. My mother was not the least bit guilty.

I used to love having my friends over, but lately I didn't have time to spare or friends to have over. My mom asked me dozens of times to have Tyler, my photographer, over. I nonchalantly denied those pleas. Tyler was a nice kid but I wanted to keep our relationship purely professional.

I stomped down the hallway, of the one story house, to my room and plopped down on my bed. I was lying on my back and staring at the ceiling. I was thinking about what I should do with the rest of my day. Sitting up, I trailed out to the kitchen where my mom was fixing a sandwich for herself. I watched, lost in thought, as my mom went through the motions of making the sandwich.

“Do you want something?” My mom’s voice was snappy and rude, a lot like a bratty teenage girl’s would sound.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m going out.” I shrugged and hoped that my mom wouldn't say anything more – but my hopes were crushed.

“Where are you going? How are you getting there?” My mother challenged.

“I was going to walk. I’m meeting up with some friends at the ice cream place.” I lied. It came easily to me. I was going to the ice cream place, but I had no friends to meet up with.

“Fine, but you’re not getting ice cream.”

“Of course not,” I nodded.

"You’re watching your figure.” My mom reminded me. As if I could ever forget anyway. My mother was a plump woman and I had always thought that it wasn't fair that she could tell me to watch my weight while she gorged herself with pizza and pop every night.

“I know, mom.”

“Be back before dark. Oh, and I got you a long-term job. It pays twenty-five dollars an hour and it has flexible hours. It's five days a week.”

“What is it? What do I have to do?”

“It’s a modeling thing.” I motioned for her to continue. “You model…they give you outfits and you model in them – it’s for a magazine.”

“Okay and when do I start?” I was annoyed with the lack of information my mom was giving me.

“Tomorrow,”

I nodded and then pranced off to my room and reached for my purse that was hung over the bedpost. I slung it over my shoulder and was out the door before my mother could change her mind.

I let my feet pull myself forward with the beat of my heart as I padded down the sidewalk. Shortly after, I heard another pair of footsteps beside my own and glanced down to see a pair of purple and black Nike shoes that were similar to the ones I was currently wearing; only these were men’s. I looked up and saw black skinny jeans – they weren't too tight, just loose-fitting. Then I looked up further and saw a regular white t-shirt with a band name that I’d never heard of. Then I looked up just a bit more to see his eyes. His long lashes batted mischievously and he winked at me.

He was a flirt.

He was a player.

Or so it seemed.

His hair was light brown and fluffy like he had blow-dried it. It was long enough to cover the tips of his ears, but no longer than that. His eyes were a stunning green and I starred into them for a few seconds before I realized and looked away blushing furiously.

“Whoa,” He reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me back on the sidewalk. I glanced away from him to see a car that sped past us on the cross walk and would have hit me had he not pulled me out of its way.

He saved my life.

Who was he?