When you're good at something, or when you possess a special quality or ability, you are totally aware of it. You can be modest about it and politely brush off the various appreciative and awe-stricken comments you receive but deep inside, you know that it's all true.
You just know. It's like a special insight you have into yourself and your own potential to do great things.
But I just haven't experienced that feeling yet. I'm almost positive that there's nothing unique about me. I don't possess any quality that sets me apart.
And I know that makes me seem like your typical teenage girl that sits on the computer and types out the sad woes of her life on some rubbish blogging website like Tumblr, telling some nonexistent reader over and over again how she feels like a good-for-nothing potato that has no idea what to do in life whatsoever.
It's probably because that's what I am, precisely. A potato. But even potatoes are versatile little mofos that taste scrumptious no matter how you prepare them: mashed, whipped, baked, fried, served with or without gravy, found in fries, pancakes, soups, etc. Case in point: potatoes are fucking awesome.
And me? I'm just plain old Teagan. And I'm not even nearly as cool as a gnarly, brown vegetable.
See, I come from a family of successful and brilliant individuals. My older brother Sean is a stellar businessman who earned his first million before his 25th birthday. He's Mum and Dad's bundle of pride and joy, and a household name all over Ireland even. He's your typical golden child.
And then there's my older sister Fiona who I love and admire to pieces. She was a shoo-in gymnast for the 2008 Olympic Games in Beijing but she met with a life-threatening ski accident right before the Trials and it was honestly such a miracle that she even came out alive. She had to give up her gymnastics career forever and naturally it devastated her.
It was her biggest dream, her greatest ambition, and the one thing she'd dedicated her life to and just like that it was gone and snatched from her.
But Fiona was a fighter. She realized that she had to pick up the pieces and get on with her life and she chose to mend her heart along the way. She'd always been a genius film maker, so she applied to USC Film School in the States and received admission and graduated with Honors last year. She now has her own film company in London and she's slowly working her way to the top.
Her story inspires others and she is constantly complimented on her resilience, courage and fortitude. She made Mum and Dad so amazingly proud and she's a role model to people everywhere.
So now do you see what I mean by brilliant? It definitely doesn't help that my father himself went from being the son of a milkman in Feeny (a Northern Ireland village town of 542 people) to gaining the title of 'entertainment industry mogul', representing high profile clients across the UK and Ireland.
The bar has always been set high for me and my siblings, but I suppose I'm the only Burke child that hasn't been able to succeed and meet expectations. I'm the big disappointment. Not necessarily the black sheep, because to me personally a black sheep seems quite exotic and fascinating and strangely alluring and well, I'm not any of those things.
When I was in primary school and worrying about things other than my blandness, such as the time of the ice cream man's arrival and the kind of chocolates my father would bring home from work, something my mother told me remains etched in my brain.
"You're different, Teagan." she'd proclaimed. "You have chutzpah. Not the kind of audacity Fiona has. It's more than just bravery. It's, well, it's chutzpah. That's exactly what it is."
And I was perpetually confused. Even after referencing to the definition of 'chutzpah' in numerous dictionaries, I didn't understand how it applied to me.
Even today as an 18 year old, I don't view myself as the audacious type at all. Much the opposite, really.
But I did love the word.
Chutzpah, chutzpah, chutzpah. I loved the way it rolled off of my tongue. It just felt so right. I even loved popping the 'p' at the end. Over the years, it'd become my one of my favorite words, along with wanderlust and daylight and dream and genital.
Don't ask about the last one. Really. Just don't.
Anyways, this summer before uni was supposed to be my chutzpah-stic summer. My chance to prove to Mum and Dad that I was more than just a wild heart, more than just some lazy dreamer with no initiative.
See, I had applied for this one prestigious medical internship program at Cambridge with an acceptance rate lower than that of Cambridge itself. I thought it was the perfect opportunity for me to grow and show others that I was actually serious about my career goals. My mum had once said that I had chutzpah after all, and I wanted to make clear that that daring and ambitious girl was still alive, ready to leave her mark on the world in a prominent way.
And I knew that internship would help me do that.
However, I got put on the dreaded waiting list. I was really bummed about it for quite some time but just two weeks ago, I received a surprising call from a professor who said that a spot had cleared up (which perplexed me, because who refuses an internship at Cambridge) which gave me the opportunity to take the fool's place.
As expected, I was absolutely elated and excited beyond belief because that's generally the feeling that overcomes you when you get accepted into a program at Cambridge fucking University.
I remember turning my iPod on full blast to rock out to some jams and do my traditional happy dance all around my room. I probably shouldn't have done that though, because the first song that came up on my shuffle was Nelly Furtado's "All Good Things Come to an End" and I suspect it had some weird jinxing power.
Why you ask? Just guess what happened next.
Just guess.
Nope, you're wrong. You think that the internship got taken away, correct? Nope. Not yet. I dropped my Macbook Air on my big toe and broke it. Exciting story, I'm aware.
And THEN, yesterday I got an uncanny call from the same professor, who first apologized for unprofessionalism and then broke the news to me that I was only 2nd on the waiting list and the internship was going to some other bint. Somehow I just saw it all coming.
Damn you Chris Martin, why do you have to write such perfect songs that I feel the need to load up on my iPod? Just why?
So just like that my summer suddenly became everything I didn't want it to become.
Well, I could still do pints and watch football and gossip and eat and have late night adventures and the like.
But it was still going to be a little awkward staying in my parents' bungalow in Dublin. Josh had broken things off after three bloody years and we had too many mutual friends and if I stayed here, run-ins with him were more than just inevitable. They're 110% certain.
I was usually not the type to avoid my exes like the bubonic plague but I think my actions are justified considering the fact that Josh and I were together for quite some time. And our relationship had never suffered. Maybe that was the problem? There needed to be some bad along with the good in order to create that balance in the relationship right? So you could figure out what the weaknesses are in order to fix them. I think. Gosh, I really needed to stop analyzing my failed romances. It didn't do me any good at all.
Anyways, my only choice was to go back to Westmeath and spend the summer there. The idea was almost too tempting. I missed Mullingar and Athlone, as I had grown up there. I had lots of friends that would welcome me back with open arms and possibly even throw a party in honor of my return. That kind of a thing was regular there. They weren't the rich and stuck-up folk but rather the more down-to-earth, exuberant, and friendly people that characterized the Irish really well.
But regardless, I definitely wanted to stay in Ireland for the summer before I headed off to the UK for uni. My father on the other hand really wanted me to go to London for a while and see if I could scout out some internships there because the whole Cambridge thing didn't work out. I protested against it, but before I could begin to argue he'd revealed that he had a plane ticket booked for me to fly from Dublin to London the next day.
Daddy dearest could be quite aggressive in that way. He means well, I'm sure, but I just wish he wouldn't be so darned domineering all the time.
So yeah, here I am, unattractive black circles decorating my features and hair mussed to look something like that of a poodle, lugging this awfully large Louis Vuitton suitcase and my Gucci tote towards the international arrivals area of Heathrow, hoping by some grace of God Fiona is on time because I'm starving.
I really need to learn to think in shorter sentences.
Well, I'm famished, and it's a miracle that I'm even thinking at all. Where was I supposed to go anyways? I feel like I'm dilly-dallying all over this damned airport. God, was that chicken? I swear I smell chicken. I turned around, and saw this middle-aged woman diving into a platter of Nando's peri-peri chicken along with an appateaser of peri-peri wings.
Seriously, the lord is testing me.
I was just about to pull out my cellphone, not to call my sister but to check out where the nearest Nando's was (because food anything else, including getting home safely), just as I heard her call out to me.
"TEA!"
I whipped my head around and smiled warmly as I met my sister's bright blue eyes that outshone my paler ones. I forgot about my raging need for something edible as soon as I saw her.
"COFFEE!" I yelped out the nickname I had for her and ran into her outstretched arms for an embrace. "I missed ya so much, Fi."
She kissed the top of my head and mussed up my already shabby looking hair and I frowned playfully. "Stop messing with my hair Fiona, it already looks like a haystack." I pouted and glanced enviously at my sister's own glossy locks that were naturally curled to perfection. Why couldn't I have been blessed with such beautiful hair? Sometimes, genetics was a real arse.
She sniffed the top of my head and wrinkled her nose. "Urgh, it smells like one too. When's the last time you showered baby sis?" I whacked Fiona's shoulder and pretended to be annoyed.
I began to walk ahead of her and I stuck up my nose in the air, acting like a total diva.
"Er, Teagan, the car garage is this way." I heard her call out behind me, probably suppressing some kind of a smirk.
I furrowed my eyebrows and spun on my heel, noticing Fiona roll her eyes playfully. "You're really something else, Tea. I've missed your antics."
I held back a grin. I loved it when my sister threw a compliment or two my way. Her appreciation always made me feel really special, although I'd probably never admit it to anyone. "No antics this time though. Atleast until I secure an internship, especially after that whole fiasco with those idiots from the world's greatest research institution." I sighed as we stepped onto a lift that would take us to the parking concourse.
"Aw, baby. Cambridge doesn't deserve you. You're better than what they and their rubbish internship programs have to offer."
I blinked forcefully and bit my lip, looking up at my sister. "I'm just—I'm just so sick of not being enough, you know? First, being waitlisted at Oxford and then being dumped by Josh and then this Cambridge nonsense. I don't know how I'm supposed to just pick myself up every time and brush off the rejection. It's difficult after the first three times." I laughed bitterly as we stepped off the lift and made our way to her trusty and old Ford Focus—well Dad's Ford Focus, which was the passed down to her after he began to receive six digit paychecks and load the family garage with Italian sports cars.
Fiona draped her right arm around me and squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. She used her left hand to lift my chin up to face her.
"Look at me, Teagan." I hesitantly lifted my head and looked into her glittering blue eyes. "You are more than what you make yourself out to be, okay? You are so full of potential. You're going to do something great. Something massive. Something revolutionary. Maybe you're already doing it. Don't let your past haunt you. Remember, what Mum always told us when we were little?" A sly smile spread across her face and I smiled a bit as well.
"Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life." We repeated together.
"But you know what I think, Tea? Tomorrow is for the losers and procrastinators. Today. Tonight, even. Start living for yourself and doing what you love. Just do you. You're going to go places. You know why? Because you're extraordinary, Teagan Burke."
My smile spread to my eyes and I grinned widely. "You really think so?"
"I know so."
Somehow my sister's words were encouraging. If anyone else had said them, they wouldn't have had the same effect. But coming from her it really meant a lot.
Suddenly, Fiona stopped randomly and I shot a confused glance at her way, as if to ask why we'd stopped by a row of cars that did not include her Ford.
However, I was soon distracted by a beautiful, sexy, awesome, amazing, perfect sight behind her and I died a little on the inside.
It was a god damn Range Rover.
I'm not weird or anything, but if I had to marry a car, it would definitely be a Range Rover. I don't know, they just make my tummy do backflips and turn my insides into mush. Yes, okay, I have the mildest crush on a car. Sue me.
"Speaking of extraordinary things…" I gestured to the gorgeous vehicle in front of me.
Fiona looked perplexed for a second but then she realized what I was pointing at and a huge smile spread across her features. She walked right over to the Range Rover, pulled out some magic keys (that I swear were not on her keyring 2 seconds ago), pressed a button, and the beautiful bastard beeped.
Like you know that magnificent sound that Range Rovers make when they're unlocked? Yep.
My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Fiona!" I shrieked. "What are you doing? You didn't have to steal a Range Rover for me! Oh my god you shouldn't have played that much Grand Theft Auto over Christmas Holidays I told you oh my god Mum is going to be so disappointed! You've gone mad! You're going to get arrested! You are in so much trouble young lady!" I was panicking. Perfect Fiona committing a felony? No…wait….it didn't add up….unless….
"YOU BOUGHT A FUCKING RANGE ROVER!" I screamed out and began jumping around crazily, causing my suitcase and tote to fall over. Fiona started laughing at me and grabbed me and tossed my discarded baggage in the back of her car.
"Get in, you silly goose!" she said in between laughs and I literally bounced in, excited beyond belief.
"Does Dad know you bought it?" I squealed, taking in the insides of the gorgeous car.
"Yep, he paid for half of it actually. Isn't it awesome?"
"YES! Oh my goooood, can I drive it! Please, Fiona can I drive it!" I begged and threw on my favourite I'm-the-sweetest pout face, but just at that moment my stomach decided to let out an especially obnoxious grumble.
And then I remembered that I was actually hungry. No scratch that. I was fucking starving.
"Last time you were put behind the wheel, you crashed Dad's four-wheeler. I don't know how I feel about letting you drive this baby." I frowned and stuck my tongue out at Fiona like the mature 18-year-old I am and couldn't think of a witty response because suddenly I was overcome by thoughts of food and the woman with Nando's was haunting me and god I just really wanted something to eat. Anything. Please.
"Do you want some food?" Fiona smirked, holding a bag of what appeared to be the answer to my prayers.
"Are you God?" I grabbed the bag and squealed upon discovering that she'd made me a couple chicken and potato sandwiches with the crusts cut off, the way I liked it. She'd also packed me some Yorkshire pudding! This is why I love my sister.
"Dees ish sho gewd." I said in between bites. I was finished with all the food before we even got out of Heathrow's parking garage and I let out a satisfied belch and brushed the crumbs off of my top.
Fiona shook her head. "You're sick, Teagan."
"But you love me anyways!" I turned up Capital FM, UK's top 40 radio station, and was immediately hit with the chords of one of One Direction's hit singles from the previous year, One Thing.
"SHOT ME OUT OF THE SKY! YOU'RE MY KRYPTONITE!" I hollered at the top of my lungs as Fiona maneuvered out of the airport garage and onto the main roads.
"Oh bloody hell, Tea. You sound like a croaking toad!"
"Please, don't be jealous Fiona! Ooh can I stick my head out?" Without even waiting for an answer, I turned up the volume on the radio and began to push aside the roof.
"Teagan I—" But I was already standing up on my seat with my head sticking out of the sunroof and screaming the lyrics to the hit single of the boyband that was basically adored by all of the world.
I didn't care much for them, but they were definitely quite fit and they did produce some pretty catchy tunes. Made for some good I'm-a-crazy-mofo-and-I-don't-give-a-damn jamming.
My sister was used to my kookiness, so she just bit back a smile and focused on the road. I continued to dance around like a deranged spidermonkey, when suddenly I got the weird feeling of being watched.
You know what I mean? Like you just feel like a set of eyes are poring into your soul, trying to read your secrets and figure out your next move. No, but seriously.
It was a creepy feeling. I mean, I should have expected this, considering the fact that I was on a public motor way and I wasn't acting normal. I sneaked a glance around and flipped my hair, not seeing anyone.
It was just your usual London midday hustle bustle traffic, nothing out of the ordinary.
I then turned back to the cars in front of me and did another scan, expecting to see nothing and exhale a breath I had no idea I'd been holding in when it happened.
I locked eyes with a blonde boy who was standing up on his car seat as well, wearing a snapback, Ray Bans (well, I'm pretty sure we were locking eyes 'cause he was looking right at me but I could never tell with those damn designer sunglasses in the way) and holding an iPhone in front of him, recording something.
Well, not just something, he was recording me.
Somehow, his disheveled hair and pale skin, and braces resembled someone that I felt like I knew. Someone that I'd seen somewhere, maybe? A classmate from school? Or maybe I was just hallucinating?
And then he took off his shades and waved and the world stopped for a moment. Those crystal blue eyes were ever so clear, even though he was about 4 cars ahead of me. I knew exactly who he was.
I screamed and fell back into the passenger seat and closed the sunroof shut and began breathing heavily, trying to gain composure.
Niall fucking Horan was getting video of me.
But why?
Hope you liked this chapter! I have this story posted on 1DFF as well so I wanted to see what kind of a response it would get here! Please review :) Thanks, big love! xx