Keiko appears in this chapter! Rach, I believe you're in the next chapter. :-)
-Mia
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Keeping Hollywood: Chapter 2
To make a long story short, that’s how I ended up here, and by here I mean everywhere. I mean that’s the reason why my face is plastered across every teeny-bopper magazine, why there’s a doll who looks freakishly like me, and why I have to be at the studio at 10AM tomorrow to start working on an album. I didn’t end up signing with Sterling. I went bigger. I’m sure you’ve heard of the company. You’ve probably even heard my music, but you wouldn’t necessarily recognize me.
I write this in old sweatpants and a white, v-neck shirt, a far cry from designer dresses and shoes with names you can’t pronounce. This is me, at least I think it might be. I’ve become so lost in this world that it’s hard for me to differentiate any longer between the “me” I see in People magazine and the “me” who used to make silly videos with Meech.
Aimee Fitzpatrick no longer exists. The girl whose friends used to call her “Fitz” is gone and in her place has arisen a superstar who bears no resemblance to Aimee. Her name is Autumn like the season she was born in supposedly, Autumn Freeling. According to publicity the name is supposed to conjure up images of freedom and expression, but to me it resounds only of a lie, a lie which has since locked me in.
My sister has it okay. She’s still Michelle Fitzpatrick. She goes to public school, albeit her high school is a far cry from any other public school I’ve ever seen. Where we live now, there’s no reason to go to private school, the public school’s too nice. Everyone knows she has a sister named Aimee who’s a sophomore in college at Columbia University. My parents and she live in a small, modest home compared to the ones around it, but stick it in any other suburban neighborhood and it would dwarf the neighbors’ homes.
I live on my own, in an apartment closer into the city, though tomorrow I’m moving into The End, a recording studio built into the basement of a house. If this is only to make musicians record at horrible hours then I despise it, but in all honesty the place is pretty cool. Meech is coming to stay with me, but we have yet to come up with a name for her. I’m thinking I can pass her off as a miscellaneous distant cousin from France, but I’m not sure if Meech is even taking Friench. I think she may be taking Japanese or something and Meech doesn’t exactly look Japanese so we’ll see how that one goes.
I think she really misses her old life, even though she’d be the last one to ever tell me. Whenever I see her she’s all smiles, sucking in the unhappiness of the world and spewing out radiance and content. And I think that’s what gets me the most. She thinks I’m living out this great dream and her sacrifices are well worth it because I’m happy, but I’m not as happy as I have to look and she’s certainly homesick.
For the first couple months I lived out in California alone but my parents decided to move when Meech graduated from 8th grade; it was meant to be a clean break, but it was like Keiko and her were attached at the hip. I’ve never seen two friends who were as close as they were. I didn’t mind leaving my friends simply because we were bound for college in a few months and they promised to visit, but Meech? Sometimes I just want to hug her and apologize a thousand times. She has friends now, but they haven’t known her since nursery like Keiko had. Their parents drive fancy sports cars and they don’t appreciate the simple things like going swimming in a lake when it’s raining in the summer or climbing trees to catch the fireworks show on the fourth of July.
We’ve drifted apart, Meech and I. We used to talk every night, but now she’s too busy with clubs and high school and maintaining the façade of having a sister at college. I wonder what her friends think or say to her about me when they see a picture of us together.
“Shellz, your sister looks freakishly like Autumn Freeling, but with brown hair!” They call her Shellz she told me. My sister is not a Shellz, much in the same way that I’m not a blonde. Aimee Fitzpatrick is not a blonde. Autumn Freeling on the other hand, has every hairstylist marveling at her sleek golden locks and asking her who does her highlights. Autumn laughs and waves them away; Aimee however makes a note to run to the grocery store and replenish her cache of hair dye.
