A/N:
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lorien Legacies series, etc.
Timeline:
This story starts in the year 2010, not long before the Garde number Three is killed.
Summary:
I feel a strange tingling in my fingertips as I stare into his eyes, and suddenly, I don't know how, but know I can do it.
"Forget about me. Forget everything about me, like we never even met. For you, I'll be... Nothing more than a number."
But that's the thing about powerful Legacies, for me at least. They have a tendency to backfire, powerfully.
More Than A Number
Chapter 1: Break A Leg
"Mum..." I cringe slightly as she fusses over the last touches to my eyeliner. The car swerves sharply right and I can't help but think what a dangerous idea it is to mess with makeup in a moving vehicle. And considering the kind of wild driver my dad is... Really, it's a disaster just waiting to happen.
But my mum, she just tuts at me and tells me to purse my lips.
"No!" I cry out in horror as she pulls out the deadly tube. Dear god, I do not want that poisonous substance near my mouth!
Her laugh is on the verge of maniacal at my expression. "Don't be silly." Playfully, she whacks me on the head with her expensive Gadino handbag; one she'd bought just the previous night in order to "celebrate my upcoming success" in the auditions. Her excuses just seem to get wilder and wilder, but my dad at least finds it all amusing. "You don't need to look any more girlish!" she says.
My pale skin is now flushed bright pink, I'm sure. But worse than my embarrassment is my shock at a sudden thought. The auditions. In just under an hour, I'm going to be standing under the sweltering bright lights where my entire future could be decided. The life I've dreamed of ever since I can remember is coming so close; this will be my one chance to reach out and grab it.
I feel a slimy film of sweat coat my palms at the very idea, and I don't need to worry about blushing anymore because I'm as pale as a ghost. If I miss this chance, I'll be plunged into senior school exams and swept away in a tide of studying. No matter how many pretty bags my mother buys, we all know it's my grandparents who hold the purse strings. And they've made it very clear that my failure here will mean I'm just not cut out for the life of a performer. They'll insist on my becoming a doctor, or a lawyer, or a dentist. I stared fixedly at the Gadino bag, seeking comfort from the cool white color and its brand new factory smell, only to feel even less at ease when I remembered the very fabric was made of crocodile skin. Yuck.
My mum, being her usual self, she completely misread my anxiety. "Trust me darling, you look gorgeous."
Well, I was back to being pink as one of Annie's fluffy unicorn plushies, and I'm not exaggerating when I say their sugary artificial coloring is as blinding and luminescent as the sun.
Much to my disbelief, at that moment a shocking coincidence happened. My mum suddenly pulled from her bag one of the very objects I had been describing; Fabian the cuddly magenta unicorn.
Slightly repulsed by the thing, I shuffled back in my seat until I was pressed up against the car door.
My mother grinned somewhat sadistically at my expression. "Your little sister made me promise to have you bring him on stage, for luck. She'll be sitting in the front row, you know!"
Good luck or BAD LUCK?
Dear god, someone with looks like mine (and I mean that in no good way) has trouble not attracting attention in rush hour city subway. Going on center stage plastered with showy makeup and dress, microphone in one sweaty hand and clutching my little sister's Fabian in the other? Forget killing my dream, even murdering my reputation! It was going to scare me to death!
I mean in no way to be arrogant when I say that these auditions are every bit as big as Australia's Got Talent, at least for my city. The huge yearly production held by the major theater, Rickardson's, summons practically every single person in the city and many from out. I'd say the streets were deserted those three days, except I, like most everyone else, have never been out to see.
As I shift uncomfortably in my seat, feeling the horde wanna-be-divas and their wanna-child-diva parents pressing in on me from all sides, I can feel a panic attack coming on. Thankfully, my own parents had dropped me off at the hall, knowing all about my claustrophobia issues and trying to give me some space, for once at least. I hate to admit it, but my stage fright is truly awful. I squeeze Fabian tighter.
"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high..."
I freeze as everyone spins around to stare at me. I'd forgotten that the unicorn was one of those horrid, "press me and I'll scare the shit out of you" toys. All I can think was dazedly; gee, wish it was me who sung that good... Maybe I could have Fabian stand in for me.
Luckily, I'm saved from stonification by the many Medusas when the audition organizers begin pushing through the crowd, asking politely for all the parents to please leave.
I slump back in the chair, quietly stow the guilty unicorn underneath, and wait patiently while the room empties and only us kids are left, a tangle of nerves in our chairs.
There were a few exceptions, however.
"Hey. My name's Riley," the girl next to me announces, practically shoving her hand into mine. "Nice to meet you," she smiles.
Riley has a proud but kindly face, and I'm a little relieved to see her shock of rich brown hair exploding out of her high ponytail. I know it's both stereotypical and hypocritical of me to say this, but it makes her seem so much more real than the stock of bottle blonds who make up the majority of the auditionees. My own hair is a wavy, creamy blond mop, but I'd refused to dye it when my mum asked. This may sound stupid, but I didn't want to change my appearance for the stage, as much as I can avoid it. I want to keep my singing and acting as separate as possible from my looks, so I can earn my part from skill alone.
"Are you after the role of Carmen as well?" she prompts me, and with a start I realize I'd left her waiting.
"Uh... Gabry." There's a momentarily pause while I space out, trying desperately to remember the name of the role I wanted so badly. "No, I'm aiming for Nick, um, Piazza..." I trail off at her expression of shock.
"You're a boy!?" She's disbelieving.
"..." I opt not to answer that.
"You look so..." Riley was clearly struggling with words. "Pretty."
I wince. Yeah, that's me, she hit the nail right on the head. Why couldn't my parents have given me a tough, masculine name like Greg or something? Because it wouldn't suit you, my sarcastic side snips. At least she just called me pretty- and didn't mention Fabian.
"You'd do better in a girl's role, kiddo," she teases me, but before I can reply, we're interrupted by one of the audition organizers reaching us and handing out our numbers. Riley flashes me a thirteen and grins, saying, "Lucky me."
I'm slightly surprised and in no nice way when I look down at my hands to see a big black blocky number eleven staring back at me. It looks like the order is randomized, but there are nearly eighty kids in this stuffy hall. Was it too much to ask for something in the forties? Even Riley's thirteen I'd have preferred; with Fabian in my arms, how much more bad luck could that legitimately give me?
Unlike my dear mother, Riley has a talent for mind-reading. "Hey, I don't think it's against the rules to swap. You don't look so good, kid, and I might just be willing to do you a nice favor," she winked. "It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, get it while you can!"
I'm not one to let a great bargain pass me by. "Alright, thanks." We exchange cards and share a smile.
Then out of the blue, Riley says; "Hey, maybe I could have your cell phone number?"
I start. This was weird, I'd never got asked anything like this from practically a total stranger. "Why?" I think I even stammer slightly.
She shrugs, and I marvel in her ability to make this seem so casual. Wasn't she ever shy? "We may be co-actors soon! Think of it like a pre-victory pact. Besides, we've already swapped one set of them."
Tentatively, I agree and we each have ten digits scribbled on our arms. Hopefully sweat won't render it illegible later. Gross.
Though talking to her calmed me greatly about the upcoming trial, I can practically feel butterflies swarming inside my stomach. I mean, a girl asked me for my number. No, forget that; I, Gabriel Dorian West, actually got this girl's number? It was kind of hard to believe, I mean, even my name's so, well... Girly. My parents say they called me that because I'm their 'fallen angel'. Anna was also apparently named after an angel of prosperity... Hence her gift of a "lucky" charm.
"Break a leg," I remember to mutter as audition number eleven is called.
Riley shoots me a grin and saunters out for the stage, her back straight and tall and brimming with confidence.
I wish I felt like that. After two more performances, it would be my turn. Nervously, I try to wipe the sweat off my palms and onto my trousers, but the friction only makes them burn up hotter.
It occurs to me then that Riley may have been intending to message me during my performance and sabotage me. I shake my head and call myself paranoid, but nevertheless, set my cell to silent.
That's when I hear the screaming.
"Riley!" I shout without thinking, bolting after her, but with a tangle of legs- both human and chair- blocking my path down the narrow corridor, I only make it to the door before I'm hastily shoved aside, two grown men carrying my new friend's unconscious body between them.
I don't know why, but instinctively I think they're trying to kidnap her. Angrily I strike out at the bigger of the two, but he barely seems to feel it at all. However, it does bring me to his attention.
"Whoa, whoa kid," he puts his hands up in a surrender gesture. "Eleven here fainted. It's just classic stage fright, no worries."
Seeing he means no harm, I immediately relax, then realize: stage fright, Riley? Though I don't exactly know her, that definitely doesn't add up...
"Can't believe that audience," he's muttering. "All that screaming; drama freaks. They've no idea the pressure they're putting on these kids."
The other guy, who had gone to grab some bottled water off some auditionee, returned and started splashing it on Riley's face, but I knock it out of his hands.
"Hey!" he exclaims, surprised, but I pay no attention, and ruthlessly rip open her shirt.
Now the men are about to assault me when I yell and point at Riley's shoulder. "She's been shot!"
A/N:
Leave your thoughts in a review? Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it alright!
Oh yeah. It's supposed to be slightly ridiculous.
- Recklin