As her father's voice got louder and louder, Beca turned up the volume of her music until his dulcet tones were nothing but a tiny drone in the background. She was perfectly content working on her mix without the disruption of one of her father's routinely lectures about any one of her lifestyle choices, whether it be her hobbies or her ear piercings. If she had judged it right, she had about ten more seconds before he would come bursting through her door. It was just enough time to save her mix and let out a heavy sigh as she wished she could get back to college already.
Admittedly Barden wasn't her favourite place on Earth, but at least she could be her own person there (when she didn't have to attend her Philosophy class). Right on cue the bedroom door flung open and smacked loudly against the dresser behind it. Beca sat for a minute just clicking aimlessly on her computer, pretending not to notice her dad until he stormed over impatiently and physically removed the headphones from her head. It was an immature move but if the man insisted on treating her like a child, then she would act like a child.
"Would you please come down and join Sheila and I for dinner," he said with exasperation. Beca slowly turned her head up to him and stated bluntly, "I'm not hungry."
"Please, Beca. Just make an effort for once. You're only staying the weekend, all I'm asking is that you endure one meal with your family."
"She's not my family," Beca retorted sharply and pulled her headphones back over her ears.
John hung around for a few more seconds before sticking his hands in his pockets and walking back downstairs, at a loss of how to reach out to his daughter. Little did he know that Beca didn't want him to reach out to her, however she was starting to feel hungry. Not wanting to give her father the satisfaction of a victory she decided to wait for ten more minutes before sulking downstairs, and sitting silently at the table. Conversation was sparse and awkward but it was nothing Beca wasn't used to.
It was only when everyone had almost finished their meals that conversation took a turn for the worse as Mr Mitchell announced, "I've invited Luke Brandon over for lunch tomorrow." Beca's cutlery clattered loudly against her plate as they dropped from her fingers and she stared at her dad. "You did what?"
"I've invited Luke Brandon over for lunch tomorrow."
"Yeah I heard that bit. Why?"
"He's a nice boy, I thought you might get on well and he'd be a good influence on you."
"What made you think I need someone to influence me?"
He looked at her as though the answer was written all over her body. Technically, it was: the many piercings, the three tattoos, the death-glare she was sending him all pointed to her need for a good influence. "He'll be here at noon so you'll have some time to get to know one another before we eat."
"Gross," Beca said and pushed her chair away from the table. She could just about hear an angry voice say, "Rebeca Louise Mitchell!" as her feet stomped heavily up the stairs. She didn't hesitate in slamming her door for added effect before dragging her laptop onto her bed to listen to music.
The next morning she woke in her clothes from the previous night and her laptop still balanced on her legs, threatening to fall. With a sigh she slid off the bed, moving her laptop back onto the desk and headed into the bathroom for a shower. Rubbing her eyes as she adjusted to the sunlight, she was taken off guard when she was greeted by the sight of Sheila standing over her sink. The robust woman spun around and said in her droll voice, "Sorry sweetie, your father's still in the en suite. You don't mind, do you?"
"I just wanted a shower," Beca said in the hope that her stepmother would take the hint and find somewhere else to pluck her eyebrows. Thankfully she did, and left the bathroom with her tweezers in hand. Beca stripped off and turned on the water, grateful for the warm cascade down her shoulders and back. She scrubbed lazily at her skin, not intent on making any effort at all for Mr Luke Brandon. She had only encountered him twice before in her life and had vowed both times that they would be the last.
The first time he had jumped a hole through her trampoline (they were six), which she still swore was intentional. The second time she had knocked her dad's beer into his lap, which had definitely been intentional. He was the son of one of her father's friends and that's about all she knew about him, other than the fact the she didn't want to be set up on a stupid play-date with him. She was eighteen years old for crying out loud, if she wanted a date then she could damn well get one herself.
Stepping out the shower, she wrapped a towel around her body and walked back into her room. It didn't take long for her to decide on a pair of jeans and a plain blue t-shirt before trudging downstairs and heading straight for the kitchen. As usual she ignored her father's good morning greeting and proceeded to make herself a mug of tea. "You might want to get ready, Luke will be here in ten minutes."
"I thought he was coming at midday?"
"Beca, you slept until eleven thirty."
"Good job I'm ready then."
John paused for a moment, debating whether it was worth commenting on his daughter's casual appearance but instead settled for sighing and walking out the room. Moments later the doorbell rang. "Great! If there's one thing I love more than someone who's punctual, it's someone who arrives ten minutes early," Beca announced sarcastically for her father and stepmother to hear as she walked to the front door, still holding her mug.
She opened the door and smiled as she examined the button down shirt that the young man was wearing, along with a pair of rigorously polished black shoes. In all fairness, he wasn't bad looking. "Luke, please come in," she said with a saccharine voice. Luke barely had time to breathe before Mr Mitchell had swooped in on him and clasped their hands in a firm handshake. "Good to see you son, how's your father getting on?"
The two exchanged pleasant conversation as Beca stood there sipping from the mug, waiting for them to finish before saying, "Do you want one?" and lifting up the cup.
"No, thank you," Luke said politely and clasped his hands behind his back, holding himself up with strict posture and a crooked smile. There was an awkward silence for a few seconds as they all lingered in the doorway until John said, "Beca – why don't you show Luke into the front room? Sheila and I will let you know when dinner is ready."
She nodded and walked in the direction of the front room, not waiting to see if Luke was following. Luckily he was, but when she turned around and shut the door behind them she had to look twice to check he was the same guy. He sat down on the sofa and slouched back, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "You mind?" he asked, and Beca shook her head in a stunned silence. He lit up and took one long drag before holding it out towards her. "No thanks," she said, her voice unusually quiet.
"Suit yourself. I'm sorry about all this by the way – by dad basically forced me to come here and I'm guessing you're not exactly a willing participant either?"
Beca shook her head again. "I hear you're a troubled soul?" he said with a smirk.
"Well you know, get a couple of tattoos and get caught smoking pot once and you're stuck with that label for life." Gradually she began to relax and actually have a conversation with Luke without needing to crane her neck to see him on his high horse. She discovered he was studying Latin and ran the Literary Society at his college, which he managed to say with only a glimmer of his obnoxious nature showing.
She was in the middle of laughing at something he said when footsteps neared the door, and both sets of eyes in the room instantly swung to the cigarette in Luke's hand. She didn't know what made her do it, but Beca reached across and grabbed it from him just as the door swung open. John stared angrily at her, prompting her to stub it out on the bottom of her mug as she explained, "It's calming. For my troubled soul."
"I am so sorry Luke," John began, but was interrupted by his guest's hasty acceptance.
"Honestly Mr Mitchell, it's okay. I know my father doesn't tolerate smoking but I'm not so ignorant to stop someone else smoking if it's their lifestyle choice."
Mr Mitchell looked like a proud father as he gazed at Luke, not bothering to glance at his own daughter before leading them both to the dinner table where a glorious buffet lunch was spread out. Conversation was focused on Luke's veganism, and Luke's presidency position on the local Animal Rights Comity, and Luke's recent charity work in New Orleans, and Luke's this and Luke's that and Luke Luke Luke Luke Luke.
By the time lunch was over, Beca was longing to be back at Barden where being overshadowed was her choice and she didn't have to tolerate all-star award winning golden boys like Luke. Did she dream him smoking in the front room? Did she dream the whole conversation where she had actually begun to like him? And why the hell did she protect him earlier from her father? If anything, she almost wanted her dad to catch him smoking just so he would see past Luke's 'perfect' image. And yet she still couldn't help but be intrigued by his ambiguous nature.