Falling for Grace

AN: I'm pretty sure I'll be dedicating this entire story to Dude because I'm just so impressed by their interpretation skills. I mean, really, you had me sitting there staring at that one review half in shock and half laughing my ass off because someone actually got the hint. You're the best. And Ethan was in the wedding, he was just in the crowd and not the actual party. I thought it'd be better since Malcolm was with Annabeth for longer than Ethan was. Alrighty you guys, if you haven't read exceptions, I think you can still read this story, but it might be a little confusing in the beggining so I strongly urge you to read the other one if you're a new reader. If you're not... Hey! Well, kinda nervous, don't wanna disappoint my exceptions readers, so yeah. But here's the beggining of the sequel, Falling for Grace- I suggest you don't look into the title as a sign, it's not of importance... yet. But it will be, I'm ShyGal, I have plans already, and I already know some people are gonna be hella freaking pissed when they find them out but you're gonna have to deal with it. Alright, leggo.

Prolouge

When I was three, I was known as America's golden child. My face was plastered on magazine covers in every city you could think of, and at one point, people even considered naming a clothing brand after me. To sum things up, I was well known. My mom couldn't walk three steps without people asking about me. My name was in everyone's mouth consistently.

When I was five, the craze grew stronger, and fans of my mother would gush about how a toddler could look so perfect. I started remembering things around that age, and that's when I truly met my family. My Aunt Thalia might've been my favorite person in the world after my parents. Even when I was small I could tell they were completely lost in each other. Back then, I promised myself that I would try to find the kind of love they had when I was older.

Aunty Thalia, as I would call her, was the definition of perfect. She would always let me play with her hair- which according to my Mom used to be short- when I was little, and she'd feed me bowls of ice cream for breakfast whenever she was over, to which my mom would shoot a glare and scold her about. Then she'd walk over to me and twirl me around in her arms, call me Guppie- which apparently was what Grandma Sally called Dad when he was little-, and set a kiss on my forehead. Despite Mom's warnings, Aunty Thalia would send me a wink and try to whisper conspiratorially about how she would continue to do what she was doing anyway because hey, rebellion was her trademark.

There are two days, specifically, that I remember from my child hood. They stood out to me like a sore thumb. The first, was the day that I saw Mom truly get mad at Aunty Thalia. Aunty Thalia had accidentally left a stapler near me when I was around seven years old, and I unthinkingly started attempting to eat it, which if you can imagine, ended up horribly wrong. Now I have a hook scar on my lip -it's pretty small- because of the incident, and my whole family laughs about it, but back then, Mom was furious. Aunty Thalia apologized profusely afterwards though, and they made up in no time, but it was a big deal to her. She wanted to protect me with her life. Even though the stapler incident left a scar, people just found that even more adorable on yours truly, and so the hype never stopped.

The second day that I remember, occurred when I was nine. Mom had gotten word from her doctor that she was expecting again, and the whole family was thrilled. Mom made sure not to release it to the public yet though because she wasn't ready. She did well by keeping it under wraps. About a month after the expecting news, I saw Mom sitting in the living room crying. I didn't have to be a genius to know that something was wrong. I tried to comfort her to the best of my ability, but I didn't really fully understand what was happening until I saw Dad packing up a box of baby clothes and storing it away. That was the only time in the entire sixteen years of my life that I had ever seen my beautiful mother cry. And trust me, I'll remember it forever.

Ever since the miscarriage, Mom hasn't really tried for another baby. I know because I found a lot of.. um contraception in my parent's bathroom once. All her fans asked why I was set to be an only child, but only the family knew why. My mother was absolutely heart broken, and even though I knew that, she assured me that I was more than enough. I was her heart and soul, and Dad and I were her world. We were all she needed.

After the miscarriage, Mom made a lot more effort to spend more time with me. She'd take me shopping, cook with me, watch movies, anything you can think of. And back then, I didn't really know why something had changed after the loss of her future baby, but now I do. She was afraid of losing me. That's why I knew that when I went away to college, Mom would cry enough for both her and Dad.

Now that I'm older, even though I won't be able to understand her pain unless it happens to me- which gods I hope it never does-, I get why she stopped trying. She was afraid of being a bad mother. She thought it was her fault. But it really wasn't. The problem was, no one could reassure her of her role as a mother except herself. She had to make the change, and right now, she wasn't.

But Mom was perfect. Even when she aged, she remained beautiful. She was so so caring, and I honestly couldn't wish for someone better to raise me. And she was a wonderful singer. When I was little and would get distressed, she'd sing me one of her more mellow songs until I fell into slumber. From a young age, I was taught to play guitar by her, and when I turned thirteen, she handed over her most precious guitar, Molly, to me. She said that, since I was then considered an official teenager, I deserved something special. According to Dad, I was blessed with my mother's vocal chords, which I was actually pretty grateful for. I loved singing almost as much as Mom did.

Dad was the jokester parent. He would always poke fun at me and make me see the world for what it should be, not what it was. He was the parent that would take you on a roller coaster behind the other parent's back, and I absolutely loved him.

Since both my parents were involved in swimming since they were young, there was no doubt that I'd be forced into that sport whether I liked it or not. Fortunately, I loved it. It was so exhilirating. I cringed at the thought of having to stop swimming like Mom had to when her nerves were shattered. But the thing was, swimming wasn't the only sport I participated in. I also played soccer, which I happened to love a lot. I'd love it more if it wasn't for the possible toe injuries you can get if you don't kick the ball right, and I'd love swimming more if it didn't damage my hair the way it did. But hey, gotta sacrifice for what you want, right?

My parents were overbearing, but that's my way of saying that I love my parents a lot, even when they're yelling at me and saying shit they don't mean.

When I was six, I fell in love for the first time. It was with my best friend, Toria, and back then I didn't know it, but now I can't walk three steps without her. It's not like a romantic love, not at all, but I literally wouldn't be able to function without her by my side. The first time we met, it was in pre-k. I'd fallen and scrubbed my knee against the carpet, and everyone laughed. But then, she did a really strange thing. She roared to try to scare the other kids away, and surprisingly, it worked. After that, she wouldn't leave my side, and we became friends. Now, she had guys chasing her tail everywhere she went, and it was actually kind of comical considering the fact that Toria was a lesbian.

My family was Toria's family away from home. She spent so much time at our house, Dad almost considered getting her a bed for the spare room. My parents loved her like crazy, and she was so comfortable with us that it wasn't even remotely funny.

When Toria and I turned ten, her parents died in a car accident, and Toria was left alone. We adopted her soon after, and ever since, we've been closer than ever. It worked out for everyone because Mom got another kid, and Toria got to be with a family she loved- that also loved her back.

Since I lived in California all my life, I didn't really get to see my family from New York, although from what Mom told me, I had plenty of cousins. Aunt Reyna might've been my second favorite aunt ever, although she was definitley more serious than Aunty Thalia. Lenix was pretty awesome too, and her daugther, Kate, was pretty good friends with me.

From the family I knew, Grandma Sally and Grandma Sarah were the sweetest, Lenix and Kate were the most cynical, Aunt Thalia and Aunt Reyna were the most fun, and Grandpa Zeus was the most serious out of all. Uncle Malcolm and Uncle Ethan were lots of fun too, although I didn't see them as much as I wanted to. I knew that Uncle Malcolm and Uncle Ethan absolutely adored Mom. I didn't see Uncle Jason and Aunt Piper that much either, in fact, I hadn't seen them since I was three years old.

So, to sum all that up, I've had a good life growing up. I was never hungry, or mistreated, or went through struggles. I had a good child hood. And yeah, I was grateful for everything I had. My mom was famous, my parents were in a loving relationship, I had a roof over my head, and a cute- but now late- pup named Charlie and now, about sixteen years since I was born, america's obsession with me had finally died down. I was accustomed to everything in California. The beaches being only feet away, the nice warm winters, papparazzi near my family, et cetera, et cetera. But now, things were changing, and in my opinion, they were not for the better.

I remember how it had all started. I was in my rather large room listening to an old song by All Time Low when Dad strolled into my room looking sheepish. I'd stopped the music immediatley and gave him an odd look, but he just sat down on my bed and patted the spot next to him.

"So. Feebs. How do you like California?" I'd glanced at him in a questioning manner, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. That's when I knew something was up.

"Um. I like it a lot?"

"Oh, really? Um, how do you feel about going somewhere else? You know like... New York?" And that was that. Dad had gotten a great position as swim coach in his old high school, and with the salary they were offering, he couldn't pass it up. Mom was in agreement because she talked it over with her agent. We'd stay with Grandma Sarah until we got our own house, which according to Mom wouldn't take that long because we were well equipped when it came to storage money. To me, it wasn't that much of a bad thing to be moving. The high school I went to was pretty small, so Toria and I didn't really talk to many people. And even though I was a little excited to be getting a fresh start, I knew I'd be really home sick when we got to New York.

So now, here I was, getting my bags ready to hop into our shabby van. I straightened out my Nothing Personal All Time Low shirt for the millionth time that morning and analyzed my features in the full length mirror of my large, empty bedroom. I had the perfect blend of both my parents' skin tones, Dad's raven hair- although the curls definitley derived from Mom-, and Mom's eyes. I had Mom's perfectly upturned nose and freckles, but Dad's high cheek bones. And of course, the little hook scar by my lip. I let out an uncertain breath and fixed a baseball cap backwards on my head.

"Feebs. You almost ready? We're getting ready to head out." I whipped around to find Mom leaning against the doorway. Honestly, I hoped and prayed that when I grew older, I'd look like her because she just didn't seem to age at all. Her golden locks were just as shiny and bright as they looked in younger pictures of her, and her eyes were big and portrayed excitement. If she really wanted to, she could pass off as a really mature teen.

"Yeah. Almost. How's Toria doing? Almost ready?" Mom's eyes lit up and she smirked at me quietly.

"Sweetie, Toria's in the car already. We're waiting on you." She walked in and shut the door behind her, coming to stand behind me with her arms crossed. "You okay? I know this is a big move." I shook my head and plastered a smile on my face, cursing myself for making Mom worry about me. I knew she was excited to be going back to New York, and I sure as hell didn't want to be the one to rain on her parade when she'd been putting up with my crap -literally when I was a kid- for the last sixteen years.

"No. I'm fine." She gave me a look that showed she wasn't convinced, but placed a kiss on the side of my head anyway, making me smile at her affection. "Are my guitars all packed up? Molly too?"

"Mmhm, she's all packed up, all of them are."

"And all my sport's gear?"

"Feebs, the only thing not packed up is you." She replied with a laugh, to which I rolled my eyes. She gave me a tight hug and shut her eyes as she set her head against mine. "I love you Buttercup, but we gotta go, alright?"I nodded and let out a breath.

"I love you too, Mom." And with a final look in the mirror on the wall, I turned to descend the stairs, heading to the place I'd spend the next forty three hours in.

I was cursed, though. I got the perfect combination of my parents' physical charecteristics, my dad's laid back manner and sarcasm, and my mom's wit and stubbornness, yet I lacked the one thing I needed the most from both of them. Optimism.

Because honestly, I was thinking about this whole moving thing in the worst way. Like I said, it's not like I would really miss many people from here, but I would definitley miss the place I grew up in, and California itself. And what if New York was bad? What if I screwed myself over somehow? I always looked at things negatitively. I was a pessimist. And now, climbing into the back of the van to sit next to Toria, I really wished I wasn't.

So, I did what any normal person would do. I tried to change my personality in a split second (Which if you haven't figured out, never in a million years works. Oh look, more negativity).I could be optimistic. I could try to look on the bright side, how hard it could it truly be? So I sat down, pushed my overly grown bangs out of my gray eyes, and gave the mirror in the front of the car a look of determination, sliding in earbuds as the van rolled out of the drive way. I mean, could New York really be that bad?

AN: SO? What'd you think? I added in the stapler thing because I really wanted to do it for Jason in my last story, but it completely slipped my mind so I thought I'd incorporate it here. Also, this story will have romance, I promise, and no, before you start guessing, it is not going to be Phoebe and Toria. Not in a million years. Toria is just the best friend/sister. But anyone already have guesses as to who the love interest might possibly be? Bet you can't guess. Alright well, drop me a review because I'd really like to know what you guys think about the prolouge. I have lots of things planned for this story. Also, I update faster if I get more reviews, so reviewing benefits you too. review review review, till next time- ShyGal