A/N: Seriously. Another one. Well, I was flipping through TeenVogue today and thought, "Hmmmm, I could totally make an OC model and have her been either a love interest or a family member" Well, doing either, that wouldn't be fun! I'm doing both now! Of course, this is going to have a shit load of intro's and reasoning for things, so be patient. And HAVE FUN!

Disclaimer: I'm doing this only because I really don't own anything 'cept my OC.
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(OC POV)

"Anabel!! Anabel! What's it like learning about your father!!!"

A reporter jumped me again. I hate the damned paparazzi. I unlocked the door to my townhouse and ran inside, slamming the door in the reporter's face. All they are are a bunch of good-for-nothing assholes without lives or wives. I sighed, sitting on the faded couch. It was faded, from all the times I'd fallen asleep on it as soon as I walked in the door.

I'm Anabel MacKenzie Jerdiene, and I'm a model. A teen model.

I've lived in New York City all my life and never once was I involved in something lowlife. Well, that's a lie, I slept with a drug dealer once on a dare, but that was something I did drunk. Anyway, I'd never done something lowlife, and I stumbled onto the murder scene of a designer's husband. He was a sweet man and was always in the front row at the Miss Sixty shows. He was also a photographer and I'm off topic again.

At the murder scene, well, when it was teeming with CSI's, I saw the detective. I never did get his name, but I recognized him from something when it hit me. The pictures my mom gave me of a party somewhere in '93. That night was the night I was conceived, and that man was my father. I beckoned him over after some uniform named Officer Beckett took my statement. I told him about the picture and he said he remember that night, and wanted to get to know me. I wanted the same, seeing as I looked so much like him.

Our only difference was my dirty and strawberry blonde hair. I was short too, 5' 3" to be exact. And 5' 3" meant that EVERYONE in the industry wanted me. The fashion industry.

I may only be 16, but I live with three other models that are all 21 or younger, the youngest of the four of us being 14. Yeah, it's that bad. When girls want to be models, there are some parents that don't want to be a part of it. Tessa was a sweet girl and an amazing model and person, but when she and her older sister, Cassandra, left to pursue their modeling careers, their parents wouldn't leave. Cassandra's 18 and then the oldest of us is Trish at 21. She has an adopted daughter named Abigail who's actually 13, but doesn't model. No, she designs for Chanel and has worked with designers even I haven't.

"Anabel? Is that you hon?" Trish asked, walking down the stairs. I was going through one of five stacks of mail. My stack to be exact. There was an answer from the Manhattan Crime lab.

"OH MY GOD!! THEY ACCEPTED! They accepted my application Trish!! OH MY GOD!! Where's everyone else?" I asked, even though I knew where they were, Abigail and Tessa were upstairs working on homework and Cassandra was probably writing.

"What the hell is with the screaming Ana?!" Cassandra stepped out of her room and hung her head oer the balcony.

"My dad accepted my letter! I'm gonna be a lab tech! A nine to five lab tech! I can do night shows and since I just moved to petite, shoots are only at night!! I-I have a real job guys. I could support a family in two years."
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A/N: Hmmm, confusing right? Yeah, that ending isn't exactly what I wanted... Okay, I want you guys to guess! Who's her dad?

Mac?

Don?

Sinclair?

Gerard?

Okay! Go, review!! Tell me what you think. Of course, It's pretty easy. *shrugs* oh and I'm kinda describing my own attitude in Anabel.

Kisses and TeenVogue!

~Sarah~