A/N: Sorry, but this is my first story and I forgot to put a disclaimer on my first page. I do not own anything Camp Rock related. I only own the characters I created for the purpose of the story. Hope you enjoy!
Joanna had decided that she hated Los Angeles already. After a twelve hour flight from Dublin, she was exhausted, and her mother's constant nagging was not helping at all. But, she took it all in stride. Her mom complained that she didn't move around enough on the plane and that her ever-dancing muscles would cramp up and wither away if she didn't get up soon when the reality was that people were starting to give her weird looks from walking up and down the aisles so much. But she continued to walk until one man looked up from his laptop and asked, "If you don't mind my asking, what are you doing?"
Joanna's first retort that came to mind was, 'Walking,' but she thought better of it and said instead, "I'm a dancer, an Irish dancer, and my mom wants me to keep my muscles loose so that when we get to Los Angeles, I can start practicing again for my competitions."
"Joanna," her mom called from her seat on the plane. Both Joanna and the man with the laptop looked back. "More walking and less talking."
Joanna turned sweetly back to the man and said, "That's my hint that it's time to say goodbye." She waved and headed back up the aisle. People in the same vicinity as the laptop man had heard her explanation and actually smiled at her, but others still looked at her curiously, and Joanna noticed that after they had looked at her face, their attention was usually focused on her jaw and the scar there.
At first, she felt her face heat with embarrassment, but she squared her shoulders and smiled at those same curious people. This was penance. This was the way she would go throughout life, never forgetting that it was she who was responsible for the accident that had taken her dad and her twin sister, her better half.
A stewardess stepped closer to Joanna and said, "Miss, we'll be landing soon, so you might want to take your seat." Joanna noticed that her eyes then followed the long path of the scar.
"Thank you," Joanna said politely. She turned and walked away, for a moment contemplating letting her ponytail fling around and hit the stewardess in the face, but then she remembered that this was penance. This was her punishment.
She made her way back to her seat and her mom looked up from her magazine. "Is something wrong," she asked of her daughter.
"No," Joanna responded cheerfully. "The lady up front told me that we'd be landing soon, so she asked if I'd take my seat." Joanna licked her lips, noting the cracks in them. "Can I have some water?" she asked.
"I don't know," her mother tested. "Can you?"
Joanna rephrased the question. "May I have some water?" She should have known better. Her mother was almost possessive about the designer water that Joanna had been drinking ever since she was four. It was supposed to help her dancing, to give her more energy, and Joanna had never protested. She drank at least ten bottles a day.
Since the question had been asked in the correct usage of the English language, Joanna's mom passed over another water bottle and watched as Joanna sucked it down. "Pace yourself," her mother said, and Joanna missed the smirk on her face. She finished only half of the bottle before she handed it back to her mother.
"You know better than that," her mom said, slightly scolding.
"I know, but, walking for almost eight hours is tough," Joanna said softly.
Her mom never replied because at that moment the plane touched down at the airport and everyone waited to alight. Joanna and her mom grabbed their bags, picked up their water and headed down tunnel to the baggage claim. They waited for what seemed like forever to finally get all of their bags, and then it was time to find a cab that would accept them and all their luggage.
This was a feat easier said than done, but in relatively good time, they were on their way to their new apartment. Joanna hated the word. Apartment. Her dad once said that apartments never had enough space to let yourself be free. A very good observation for one who was in the dancing industry.
As the taxi, for that was what Americans called a cab, pulled into the driveway, Joanna was even more convinced that she hated Los Angeles. The apartment that her mother had picked out was extremely shabby and not at all in good condition. The sidewalk leading up to the front door looked like miniature rolling hills and the places where it cracked looked sharp and jagged. There was actually what looked to be dried blood on one crack and Joanna guessed that someone had fallen and hurt themselves. Her overactive imagination took over and she wondered if someone had been murdered, their blood dripping down and leaving the only trance of…
"Joanna!" Joanna was forced back once gain into the real world by her mom's cutting voice. She hurried up the steps and met the gaze of the landlady. The landlady was a short, way beyond plump woman with rather kind eyes, but a sour mouth. She showed the two ladies up to their apartment and Joanna stepped inside the door to let the lady and her mom work out the price for each month.
The room was nothing. There was a living room, a small kitchen, and two bedrooms. Joanna immediately chose the smaller bedroom, for it was near the only window looking out. Her mom wouldn't complain since she would get the larger room.
Feeling like there was no time like the present to try and like this place, Joanna began to unpack. She first unzipped her wedge, a semi-triangle shaped case that held her dance dress neat and tidy, and pulled her dress out to hang by the window. Seeing a bit of her home once again, Joanna felt the tears start pooling in her eyes once again.
She ran her hand over the embroidery that her father had so lovingly stitched, saying that "My girls will one day grow up into beautiful women and will wear these dresses, and I'll have to use my fists to keep away all the boys!"
At the time, Jamie, Joanna's sister, had only giggled, but young Joanna had placed her little hands on her hips and had shaken her head. "I don't want the dress then. I don't like boys. They've got cooties or something."
Joanna's dad had laughed and had held her close, his cheek pressed against hers. "Maybe right now you think that," he had said, "but one day, that'll change, and then you'll want the dress."
The memory had left Joanna with a faraway look in her eyes as she stared at the beautiful forest green dress with its black bodice and intricate Celtic knots done in black. Perhaps her dad had known about his death, Joanna thought. Perhaps he had made her dress black so that she could mourn because he had made Jamie's dress in a beautiful blue that matched her sparkling eyes. There had never been any black in her dress.
The sweet moment was shattered when the door to the apartment banged open and Joanna's mom walked in. Joanna jumped and rose from the bed, knowing that her mom would find her if she wanted her. She obviously did, because she started calling Joanna's name.
"Yes?" Joanna asked, stepping out into the living room where her mom was sprawled out on the couch.
"Have you chosen a bedroom?" her mom asked, but Joanna realized by the clipped tone that this was not the question her mom really wanted to ask.
"Yes," Joanna responded. "Why?"
Her mom ignored her. "Have you started unpacking?"
"A little, yes."
"Well don't. You're going with the landlady's daughter to Camp Rock. You leave in the morning." With the bomb dropped, Joanna's mom flounced into the bedroom that was now hers and shut the door with a resolute bang. The discussion was closed before it had even begun.
"Camp WHAT?" Joanna cried.
