Chapter 1: Brittany

Everyone thinks I'm perfect. Perfect life. Perfect hair. Even a perfect family. It's a lie that I've worked my ass off to create and maintain. The truth is, I and my life are far from the image I've portrayed to the world.

Standing in front of my bathroom mirror with music blaring, I swipe at my eye makeup for the third time. Once again, the line beneath my eye has been crooked, thanks to my shaky hands. Starting my senior year should be fun and exciting, not entirely nerve-wracking. I'll be seeing Colin, my boyfriend, after having the whole summer apart. It's like the universe senses my fear and causes everything around me to go as horribly wrong as possible. First, my curling iron went all haywire. Instead of heating to the medium temperature, it reached 400 degrees without me knowing, then promptly sparked and died. Not before singeing my hair, mind you. Then, the button on my absolute favorite shirt, which I had picked out a week in advance for my "perfect back-to-school" look, popped off. And now, I can't complete a simple eye look because of my eye liner deciding to have a mind of its own. If it were up too me, I'd crawl back into bed with some cookie dough and a good chick flick.

"Brit, come down for breakfast!" My mom's voice faintly reaches my ears over the music. I want to ignore her, but experience shows doing so would not end in my favor.

"I'll be right there!" I yell back as I hit the pause button on my phone. Slowly and steadily, I execute my fourth eye liner application and desperately hope it matches the other one.

Finally, with a little bit of smudging and tweaking, both of my eyes look symmetrical. I toss the pencil into my makeup bag and check myself out in the mirror. Hair softly curled into beachy waves (with the help of my flatiron). Check. Chic outfit free of any wrinkles/lint? Got it. A natural face of makeup that begs the question of whether I was born with it or bought some Maybelline? Sí. I fluff my hair a little, then smooth it back down to make sure I have the right balance of volume without any fly-aways.

After doing a few more takes in the mirror, I spritz myself down with body spray and head downstairs where I know my mother is waiting for me.

She's standing at the bottom of our grand staircase like some kind of security guard. When she hears me coming down, she immediately whirls around to look. Her eyes scan my appearance in seconds. I hold my breath and wait for the verdict. My posture straightens and I try to stand taller. I know, I know. At eighteen, most people don't care what their parents think about how they look. But in the Ellis house, things are different. My mom has this social anxiety. Not the "I get a panic attack around people" kind. More like the "let me control everything" variety. It'll take a lot more than little blue pills to make her calm down. When she's stressed, the whole house knows it. It's probably why my dad spends so much time at work. Frankly, I don't blame him.

"Where exactly did you get those pants?" Her brow raises in a disapproving glare. "I love that belt though. And will you quit playing that noise you call music? It was giving me quite the headache." She lifts her hand to her face in the most dramatic fashion.

"Good morning to you too," I reply with a hint of sarcasm. I lean in to give her a peck on the cheek. Her strong perfume stings my nose, so I hold my breath until I'm farther away. Her outfit looks like it was made for her. The Ralph Lauren Blue Label tennis dress screams sophistication. No one in their right mind would criticize her.

"I bought your favorite muffins for your first week of school," Mom says on the way to the kitchen. That's odd, I can usually smell blueberries from a mile away. It doesn't matter; I'm too nervous to even think about eating.

I peek my head into the kitchen and find what I'm looking for. Or should I say, who. My sister Shelley is sitting in her motorized chair at the table alone. Obviously, her new caretaker doesn't understand the definition of 'punctual.'

"Where's Baghda?"

"She called and said she'd be here in about thirty mintues."

"Did you write down all of our numbers in case she has problems or questions? Did you warn her about how Shelley's been pulling hair lately? Does she know Shelley doesn't like to wear wool?" My sister communicates mostly through nonverbal cues, and pulling hair is her new way of expressing dislike or discomfort. It's already caused a few disasters. Avoiding disasters in our house is crucial.

"Yes, I did all of those things. Do you think I'm incompetent?" Rhetorical question. "I also gave your sister an earful on how to behave. If she keeps acting up, there won't be any caretakers left that'll take the job."

I enter the kitchen to escape my mother's comments about Shelley's behavior. If I was confined to a wheelchair with limited means of communication at the age of 22, I'd start yanking hair too. Shelley can't chew and swallow like most people. Her specially blended food has found its way to other places than her mouth, such as her cheeks, shirt, and hands. I grab a napkin and wet it under the sink before approaching her with a smile.

"Hey Shelley-Belly," I sing as I wipe her mouth clean. "Today's my first day of school. Wish me luck?"

I extend my pinky finger to her. Slowly and with much concentration, Shelley hooks her right pinky finger in mine and smiles. It's a small gesture, but means so much to the both of us. Physical accomplishments that some easy to small children can still be a challenge for Shelley. After unhooking our fingers, she lazily lifts her arms up.

"Do you want a hug?" I ask before bending down and carefully enveloping her. I take special care to keep my hair out of reach. When I stand straight again, mom inhales sharply at us. What now? I wonder irritably as I turn a questioning look to her.

"Brit, you can't go to school looking like that."

My initial thought is to ask her whether my faded, ripped blue jeans were that bad. Then I look down and realize exactly what she meant. Right in the center of my Calvin Klein white v-neck is a large wet spot. Shelley's drool. I look at my sister and see that all traces of a smile are gone. Instead, Shelley now looks frustrated and a bit angry. With whom, I'm not completely sure. I calmly try to comfort her.

"That's okay." I place my hand gently on Shelley's arm. Her eyes look relieved but still saddened in some way. I can't help thinking at the back of my mind that my perfect look isn't so perfect anymore. Before I can move, Mom is dabbing the spot on my shirt with a wet paper towel. I feel like a child.

"You'll have to go back upstairs and change."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and huff the way she does.

"Mom, it's just peaches," my voice is light and void of all attitude. I don't want to start an argument or yelling match. Not today. Not in front of Shelley. The last thing I want to do is make my sister feel bad. She gets enough of that from my mother on a daily basis.

"Yes, well peaches stain, and that is a white shirt," as if I didn't know my colors. "You don't want people to think you don't take care of your appearance, do you?"

"Fine," I sigh before heading back upstairs. On the way, I give Shelley a kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you after school for our checker tournament."

I take the steps two at a time. My watch buzzes with a new text. Looking down, I see it's Sierra asking if I've left or not. It's already ten after. If I don't leave soon, she'll give me hell for making us late on our first day as seniors. There's no time for me to change shirts, so I throw a floral scarf on and tie it in a way that both sides hang over my middle. Maybe no one with notice the stain, I pray. Once again, as I walk downstairs, my mom is scanning me with precision.

"Love the scarf."

I grab a muffin from the plate sitting on the kitchen table and take a bite. It's banana nut, not blueberry. I try to act like it's my favorite but can't hide the look of disappointment.

A/N: This is a rewrite of the first book in the Simone Ekles series, Perfect Chemistry. I loved this book as well as the other two, but rereading it as an adult, I find the writing style to be a bit rushed and bland. I also felt the events happened too quickly and there wasn't enough...well...chemistry for my liking.

So! This is my take. I'll go chapter by chapter. most are a little short. Some will be longer. I'll also be adding my own scenes to the story line.

Please read, rate, and review!

-LWD