Swans are Overrated

Chapter Two

"Marguerite, I'm leaving this joint. For good." I was at La Guardia airport, with a ton of ungainly luggage stuffed into many, MANY, Louis Vuitton traveling bags, a large jade vase under one arm and my Bang & Olufsen cell phone fixed to my ear.

"I couldn't have heard right. What did you say?" my best and perhaps only friend said. I sighed, and repeated myself, feeling extremely foolish as I did so. I absolutely hate repeating myself.

"No way."

"Yes, I'm leaving!"

"WHY?"

"Can you shout it a bit louder? I don't think the Greeks heard. I'm leaving. I am sick and tired of my parents controlling me and making me feel like the scum of the earth. I'm not that bad of a daughter," I ranted.

"But.. but... Lily! This is a bad idea. Where are you GOING?"

"Well, I thought California would be a nice change. I mean... what would YOU do if your parents tried to scrape you off onto the highest bidder? That was their exact terminology. Then again, your parents wouldn't, because they are good parents! Anyway, I have to get on my flight now, so I'll call you back as soon as possible." With that, I ran to catch my plane.

*

I found myself in paradise. Well, if paradise is a fist sized apartment. Still it was nice... and better yet, completely mine. I had bought it with part of the money that my grandfather had set aside as an inheritance for me, so my parents could not get at it even if they tried. A wonderful man, my grandfather was. He never did like my father.

Another plus about my baby apartment was that it was right by the sea. My apartment was on the top floor of an eight story building, with a little patio that could fit a reclining chair and a small table for drinks, as well as a good novel. The roof was also made entirely of heavy, bulletproof glass, so if I lay down on my back, I could see the stars and sky. Happily, I rolled up my figurative sleeves and got to work making the place home. I got the hardwood floors waxed and polished until they gleamed in that nice woody way. The little bedroom that had one wall glassed in so I could walk out into the patio, I covered with a lovely wallpaper of an amber color flecked with gold. I had chosen a luxurious bed in warm wood colors, with an Egyptian cotton bedspread of a pretty plethora of hues in jade to emerald to forest greens. The ceiling had a little chandelier of crystals and amber colored stones. I made the tiny bathroom into a beautiful place, all in white, with clear and silver fixtures, outlined with hydrangea tiles and shower curtain. A soft, amethyst colored shag rug was laid next to the pristine tiny clawfoot tub, and the door had been painted white, and held a cute little spray of hydrangeas wrapped in silver ribbon. The combination kitchen and living room was very nice as well. I liked the creamy walls with black and white photos, with the comfortable honey colored couch with several ruby throws on it in a nook, a coffee table the huge plasma screen TV against one wall, a towering bookcase at another. Next to the kitchen area, I had added a little bar table with those sparkling ruby swivel chairs, and it made a nice eating area. It was pretty, neat, and me. With the addition of certain knickknacks, some vases, videos, stereo system, and other things, it was a home. All mine.

After stuffing all of my clothes into the oak closet in the bedroom, I decided to go check the neighborhood out, find out the local stores and probably get myself a car. My parents had forced me to drive a plain black car in New York but now I had unlimited choices. I wanted something flashy and not too safe. Dressed in a loose white shirt and a pair of baggy gray jeans, I wedged my worn wallet and my cell phone in the pockets. After a quick check in the mirror which alerted to me that I had not suddenly turned into a Jane-esque beauty, I sighed, and walked out of the door. I locked the door with one of the keys on a sapphire heart keychain that Marguerite had given me as a souvenir after going to Germany. I made a mental note to call her later that night, and when I turned, I saw a very pretty little girl walk out of the door next to mine.

She had aquamarine eyes, light cinnamon-and-milk colored skin, and hazel colored wavy hair that was currently loose and held up by tiny pink barrettes. The girl (who looked all of eight) wrinkled her nose at me. "Are you the new neighbor? Those clothes are ugly," she said scathingly, pointing her tiny nose up at me.

The condescending, awww-she's-so-cute smile on my face curdled and went away. How could I have forgotten that eight year olds were always insufferable little snots? On the other hand... good sense of style. "I like you, kid," I said decisively. "And these are ugly clothes."

"Are you being nice to me so you can hit on my brother?" she asked, her eyebrows arching up.

I laughed. "I really doubt it. I'm twenty two. How old is your brother- twelve?"

Before the kid could answer, the door opened again and I heard a deep voice say, "Ready to go to the park, Carrie?" It definitely did not belong to a prepubescent boy.

*

The young woman standing next to his sister was... pretty. She wasn't all dressed up like a lot of girls around here, trying to impress guys. Don't get him wrong, Ryan liked girls in skimpy little tube dresses and fancy heels, but sometimes he preferred it when girls downplayed their charms. Like this girl.

She had loads of natural, undyed hair that was a warm honey brown color in the sun and fell loose halfway to her waist. And it was a nice normal waist that wasn't anorexic skinny. The girl had curves, not shown too much by the loose cotton shirt she wore, but he noticed that her full breasts pressed against it tautly. Ryan looked up to the small, oval face. Pale- hadn't seen too much sun, by the looks of it. She had dark dark eyes and a little red mouth that he could imagine doing many sinful things to him.

He shook his head. He didn't have time for a girl, pretty or otherwise. Ryan had to work two jobs to support his little sister and his mother, as well as go to college. No time for girlfriends. Not even hookups. Not even a conversation.

"Hey," he found himself saying nonetheless.

"Hi." The girl's voice was nicely modulated, more crisp than his own Californian tones.

"Ryan, she's being nice to me so that she can hit on you," his sister said, looking at the girl and sticking her tongue out. To his surprise, the girl didn't glare or ignore his sister. Instead, she stuck her tongue out as well, in a perfect imitation of his bratty sister, and he laughed, to his surprise. And it felt good. He didn't know how long it had been since he laughed, but it seemed a very long time ago.

"Lily Worth." The girl stuck her tongue back in, and stuck out her hand instead. "I'm your new next door neighbor, if you haven't figured it out by now."

"I'm Ryan Wilkes and this little devil is Carrie," he said, hugging his sister, who was oddly silent. Lily. It was a fitting name.

"Well, I'd better be going then. I have to check out the stores and such... I'll see you later," Lily said. She smiled, and it was as though for a moment, the stars had aligned and lit up the contours of her face. He watched her as she left, running down the stairs, then took his sister's hand, leading her to the elevator.

He noticed that Carrie was still silent. Ryan nudged her gently, and she looked up, golden eyelashes lifted from the eyes so similar to his. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, a small smile on his face.

"It's.. it's just that-" the elevator doors swung open, letting the sunlight fill his vision- "you haven't laughed in so long."

Lily Worth. That had been her name.