Chapter 2

"What on earth is this?" My father questioned, thrusting the Post in front of me as I sat down for breakfast. I'm pretty sure any other father would have sworn when they asked this, but my father never swears. I suppose it comes from not being able to on television. Never let the audiance see you are affected by a story or something. Oh, but he was definately affected by this one alright. "Well?" he asked again, shaking the paper.

It wasnt such a bad picture really. Of Pheobe at least. They had caught her just as she was starting to turn away from me, so she was sort of facing the photographer. A small, patient smile was playing at her lips and her hair was cascading gracefully over her shoulders and down her back. She had her hands folded neatly on her lap and her ankles crossed. It was actually quite a good picture of her. She looked like she could be a model

Then there was me. Even if I hadn't been sticking out my tounge, it still would have been horrible. My hair was looking frizzed (I really should go get it cut) , and it appeared there was a run in my stockings.

"Underappreciated?" shreiked Pheobe from over my shoulder as she caught glimpse of the caption. "But I loved it!" she added with a slight whine looking over at our father for comfort. He gave her a sympathetic shrug and she turned back to me. "Honestly Jan, can't you just act normal for two hours?" She demanded, more than a hint of annoyance clouding her voice.

"It was more than two hours," I started to protest, but the look from my mother shut me up quickly. Oh fine. I get it. I do feel bad too. Really I do. It's not like Pheobe should have gotten the negative label in the paper, but thats really not my fault. If she wants to be mad at anyone, it should be that reporter who apparently has nothing better to do than follow a couple twenty two year olds around to boring concerts. Thats the real problem here.

Pheobe left to drive back up to campus soon after breakfast. She didnt say anything else to me for the rest of the morning. How old are we now? Come to think of it though, my father wasnt exactly being very sociable either, and when my mother tried to make a joke of the situation, he snapped at her, then she went off on him in a stream of French. Yet they say I'm the one who doesnt know how to behave properly? Yes, I am well aware there is a difference in saying French swear words to your husband at home, as opposed to the reporter interviewing you at your graduation, but whats the point in being so fake for the paparazzi? Besides, I'm sure the reporter from Fox News hadn't the slighted idea what merde meant, and he certainly didn't include it in his broadcast, so really there was no damage done there.

The phone rang just then, interrupting my thoughts.

"Jan," my mother said, placing the reciever on the countertop, indicating it was for me

"Hello?" I said putting the phone to my ear

"Oh my God," shrieked the voice of Amber, my best friend, in my ear, causing me to wince slightly and pull my head away "You're in the Post again"

"Yea, I know. Fantastic, isnt it?" I added sarcastically

"Its great," she exclaimed, obviously not catching my tone, "Thats twice already this week". Damn. I forgot about about the museum opening. I looked bored in that one too

"Listen," Amber said, her voice calm and demanding suddenly, "Ford is having a party tonight. I told him we'd make an appearance"

"In Baltimore? But its so far," I protest. It wasnt really, but in all actuality, I just wasnt that interested. Ford was dull. We had all gone to high school together at Foxcroft Academy. We weren't very good friends then, but the two of went to Johns Hopkins together and somehow ended up actually getting along.

"We can stay there," she adds quickly, "They wont mind"

"No," I say stealing a glance at my father. He was still seated at the kitchen table shaking his head at the paper. "We have to come home"

"Ok," she said excitedly, "come over at 7"