Chapter 1 - The Boy Who Just Wanted To Be Normal

"Ok, now turn your head a bit more...and...good! We have 5 more shots to take; go ahead and get changed into the next outfit." The bland man whose name I didn't remember said.

I dropped the pose I was in and relaxed my shoulders with a sigh as I made my way over to the rack of clothes. After picking out the outfit marked by the number 14 on the tape surrounding the hangers, I shuffled my tired feet to the makeshift dressing room of my family's small studio apartment.

There were no rooms in this apartment, just one open floor plan, which worked perfectly for what we used it for. This was the personal photo studio my parents bought to help me in my acting and modeling career. At only ten years old, I was a successful child model and minor film star¹. Think Disney, Cartoon Network, or Nickelodeon child star.. This apartment was where I could take promotional pictures and conduct interviews.

We were currently working with a photographer from Cam & Sons Recording for a new brand of clothes I had inspired during a recent school drama movie I had starred in. Not that my family needed the money, mind you; we were already filthy, stinking rich even before my little career took off.

Sounds awesome and amazing, right?

Wrong.

It was tedious, boring, and I wanted nothing else than to be done with it.

I had been at it since I was 3, and at this point, all I wanted was to be a normal kid, go to a normal school, and have normal friends. It was incredibly lonely being idolized by everyone, as stupid as that sounds. I even tried to explain it once in an interview and was mocked online as the rich, pretty boy complaining about all the good things he had.

So I gave up on a normal life, and just decided to do the best I could while I slowly dying inside, like "Hide-The-Pain-Harold." I bet we could be friends if we ever meet...

This whole apartment was only as large as my family manor's living room. Don't take that as the size being, "Too small for one such as I!" The size didn't bother me, but the heat generated by the three huge lighting units pointed at the green screen backdrop against the north wall was overwhelming in the smaller space. Pointed at me, I was roasting alive.

I was glad for the change in clothes because if we hadn't taken a break soon, I would have passed out from heatstroke and sweat off all my makeup.

The "dressing room" was just a giant, white sheet separating a third of the apartment. The windows of the room were similarly covered in a white sheet and the walls were painted a uniform (can you guess it?) white. The dark wooden floorboards were the only contrast and were shinned to perfection so that I could see my reflection staring back at me. 

I looked at the brown-tinged mirror of my shoulder-length blonde hair that was styled in a wavy and almost messy bedhead kind of way.

You know, the way that takes 3 hours to do every morning?

I moved my gaze to the round features of my boyish face that would undoubtedly end up sharp with a defined jawline and slightly square chin just like my father and all the males in my family.

I wore the 13th outfit well, or so I thought anyway. A military green sweater unzipped in the front, a grey t-shirt underneath, a pair of dark blue jeans, and some black sneakers. As I looked closer at my reflection, I noticed my piercing gray-blue eyes reflected in the brown of the floor as it highlighted the shadows and bags that were peeking through my makeup.

All in all, I looked like a hot, tired mess, but that is what post-image processing and touch-ups are for, I suppose.   

As I parted the curtain and stepped inside the "Green Room", I saw my mother sitting on the couch transfixed to her phone. This was the only room where the light wasn't blocked by a curtain, and the noonday sun shone off my mother's auburn hair. Her round, heart-shaped face, and delicate features were juxtaposed with the same piercing grayish-blue eyes she gave me.

I would define her as regal, and her simple yet elegant green dress highlighted this. She was a fierce and confident woman with a smile and laugh that could steal the room...or so my father would tell anyone who listened.

This side of the studio apartment was much like the last, with white walls and shining wooden floors. In the center of the room were two couches and a love seat forming a "U" with the opening facing the changing room separator. A long coffee table was in the middle of the formation with my mothers matching green purse on top as well as my makeup kit and several water bottles.

On the South side was the bathroom, the only closed room in the apartment. Next to that was a Japanese-style, paper-changing screen and a pile of unfolded or hung-up clothing, courtesy of me.

The north side had a staircase leading to the apartment's front door. The east wall, the one I am facing coming into the room, had a large window looking out onto the street below. The changing room doubled as a lounge and waiting room for anyone with me while I worked and was where my mother spent most of her time as my manager.

She looked up from her phone as I walked through the sheet dividing the apartment and smiled at me as she said, "Come here, sweetie. Let me fix up your makeup. I can see the bags under your eyes peeking through again."

I stopped and looked at her with a tired gaze, trying not to rub my eyes as that would just make the makeup worse. "This is the last photoshoot for the week, right?"

"Yes..." She replied, looking at me worriedly and a bit hesitant. She sighed and patted the seat beside her, instructing me to sit before she continued. I walked over and sat down as she grabbed my hands and turned towards me.

"Jordan...Tell me the truth. Do you want to quit modeling and acting?"

'Yes!' I screamed in my head.

I wouldn't say I liked it. In fact, I hated it with a passion.

Meeting all the same bland cameramen, shady producers, obnoxious actors, and uncaring directors. Then there were all the people trying to suck up to me outside of work, and all the fake friends that just wanted me as a trophy to show off or for me to buy them things.

I was only 10 years old, but even I understood when I was being used and that I had no real friends. It hurt, and I hated it.

But...it made my mother and father proud.

I can still remember the giant smile on both of their faces when I was in my first children's magazine. They were smiling like idiots for months, and showing the pictures to everyone who never asked.

It was one of my first memories and it seemed so warm.

The block party and screening of my first movie they threw for the whole village was still talked about as if it was a legendary night to remember.

The tight hugs, words of encouragement, happiness, and love they shared with me that night keep me motivated. So, I would grin and bear it as long as they smiled and told me they were proud of me. 

"Where is this coming from, mother?" I faked a shocked look. Even with four years of acting lessons, I still did a poor job of lying, apparently. If the cocked head and slight frown she gave was anything to go off of, she saw right through my deflection.

"Jordan Godric Leoren," my mother started and I knew that this was a serious conversation that I wasn't going to be able to get out of with a smile, "tell me the truth. Do you enjoy this? You always say you enjoy it and you always claim to be happy with what you are doing, but every now and then that actors mask you wear cracks." She sighs again and caresses my cheek softly and lovingly with her hand.

"You don't need to do this for your father and me. We want you to be happy and do what you want to do, not what you think we want you to do. We are proud of you no matter what, and God knows we do not need the money! I fear I pushed you too hard when you were younger. I just wanted the world to see how beautiful my baby was...I don't want you ending up like one of those Holywood child stars!" She ends this with a smile and a light smack on my cheek. 

"I have cleared your schedule for the next month. Your birthday is coming up soon, and I was hoping you could give this acting and modeling situation a good think. There is a chance this will all be for nothing after all."

She trails off at that last sentence and I look at her curiously. "Mother..." I hedge, "Why is my 11th birthday so important? This is not the first time you have mentioned that something might happen. Is there...something wrong with me? Am I sick?"

"No, baby, nothing like that!" She says and scoops me up onto her lap. She combs through my hair with her fingers idly as she explains. "It has to do with our family. Like a family tradition, but one that has not been seen or realized in a very long time. It is difficult to explain, and you will learn more about it as you come of age. Don't worry about it for now, and just focus on spending the next month relaxing and having fun until your birthday. In fact..." She trails off again before yelling over the curtain,

"Richard, we are going to end it here. Jordan is not feeling well and we need to get him home to rest."

I was about to protest when Richard, or so I now remembered his name, opened the curtains a bit forcefully and looked more than a little upset by this turn of events.

"We have him booked for 5 hours and he has only been here for 4. The Greenback Photography Company is already going to be making a killing with their promotional pictures and interview with him last week, so we need him for another hour or two at least. This was in the contract, so there will be no complaining or backing out. Now, hurry up and get changed, boy. We have five more outfits to do, and then you can return to your rich mansion with your Mommy. If you think you are going to throw up, I can grab a garbage can and have it on hand." After saying all this, he begins to turn around as if things are settled.

Oh boy... He does not know my mother...

An icy smile forms on my mother's lips, and the room seems to get a bit colder. Wait... No... The room is getting colder? It must be my imagination.

"Mr. Proudmore, I believe you have overstepped your bounds. Apologize and be on your way."

Richard spins around and sneers at my mother as he says, "Just because you and your son are some rich pansies from old money doesn't mean the world revolves around you. You signed a contract, so your son can man the fuck up and do what I tell him, got it?"

The smile from my mother only seemed to grow wider and colder as she looked at the man.

'Ok...the room is definitely cooler now...what is going on?'

Pretending the photographer asshole didn't speak, my mother begins again in a clipped and unhappy tone, "I will allow you a chance to apologize to my son for the way you spoke to him, and then you will leave this apartment. If you do so, we may contact your company again in the future. You will also leave the camera's memory card here as we will need to renegotiate the contract after your insult just now. Thank you for your time today."

Richard's face goes red in rage and he raises his hand as if to slap my mother. "How dare you talk to me like that, woman! Bitches should learn not to bark so loud." As he finishes saying this, many things happen at once.

First, his hand descends to follow through on his threat. Second, my mother's eyes widen- not in fear but rather in glee.

'She's looking forward to ruining his career, isn't she?' I think with a sigh.

Lastly, I stand up, spread my arms defensively in front of my mother, and scream, "No!" Even if she was excited to deal with the aftermath of this idiot's choice, I was not about to let some random asshole hit my mom! 

Inexplicably, and as if in slow motion, a wave of...something...comes from my mouth, and the photographer-turned-assailant is blasted back through the curtain. He slams hard into his camera and lighting equipment on the other side. After he finishes crashing through and ruining thousands of dollars worth of equipment, I hear a faint groan and curse.

I turn to my mother, who is staring wide-eyed at me. Her smile is wider than I have ever seen, but has lost all of its frigid edge. 

"I have a feeling you will not be modeling or acting anymore, after all, honey." She whispers, almost giddily, as she looks at the pile of broken equipment and cloth across from her. 

I stare dumbly at the result of...whatever the hell just happened as my mother picks up her phone and starts taking pictures of the scene and posting on various social media sites about Richard's attack. She would milk the angle as much as she could and secure plenty of concessions from their company.

After finishing, we gather our things, leave the used clothes in a pile, ignore the knocked-out asshole in a similar pile, and exit out onto the street into the noonday sun. 

Looking down at me with one of the proudest smiles I have ever seen on her, my mother says, "Do try to rest and relax this coming month. If I am right, things are about to get much busier for you in September."

I give her a quizzical look but otherwise ignore her knowing smirk. 

'Still...what the hell did I just do? ...And, more importantly, how did I do it?'