Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon. I love it but it's not mine.
Tayla
Chapter 3 – Role Model
By flurobandaid
The sky was grey as it stretched out over the
city, echoing the frosty cold that blanketed it. The sun had
disappeared, melted away into the evening, to rest until it flooded
the concrete canyons below with golden light and ambered warmth again
in the ritual of dawn. The dark seeped into the park, slithering
between the trees, coating them in a thin layer of dusk.
Beads
of light suddenly sprung to life within the park, enclosed safely in
lanterns to eat away the dark with a brilliant white. The early
nightfall was a reminder that winter was nearing. The leaves where
turning gold as the trees fell dormant, no longer able to listen to
the secrets on the winds that sailed past them. A sudden blast of
cold air sent a flurry of golden foliage into the air, carried by the
soft breezes that followed. They flew lazily above the children in
the park. Craning his head from where he sat to look up at them, Matt
watched as they landed in a light shower around them. The younger
kids were playing soccer in the lamplight, their shadows long and
narrow on the grass as their shrieks and squeals of delight carried
through the still air with ease. Sora and Tai had come back not long
ago but they were sitting away from the group, in sight yet out of
earshot where they were deep in conversation. Matt watched them for a
moment and he silently prayed that everything between them would work
out. They were so right for each other. Mimi and Lindsay were off
walking through the dark alone, finally gaining the nerves to talk to
each other one-on-one.
"What about schooling? If you're always away modelling..." Izzy asked Tayla interestedly.
"I go to the Rosevale Endeavour College on the east of the city and they have a correspondence scheme I use when I go away. As long as I keep a B average it works out."
"Is it hard to do that? Get a B average? REC is supposed to be really strict and difficult."
Tayla shrugged. His interest in her was intriguing. She was so used to being asked about being a sexed up image on a poster and here was this boy asking her about how she coped with schooling. The irony melted away her façade. The real Tayla was shining through. "I study lots. I want to get into Harvard," she told him matter-of-factly, "Just like Elle Woods. She is so my role model."
Izzy laughed at her remark. She was so bubbly and bright. He could see how she and Mimi had been such good friends.
"The only thing I can't do is Physics. I can only remember that gravity accelerates at 10 metres per second squared or something like that and I did that years ago in, like, ninth grade. I got a C minus last semester so I only just scraped through. But my mum doesn't see my report card so it's okay anyway."
Izzy raised his eyebrows at that. "Why?"
Tayla paused for a moment. They seemed nice enough. Understanding. They weren't the type of people who'd be overly sympathetic towards her. "I live by myself in an apartment in the east suburbs. Except on weekends and some school nights when my brothers and sisters live with me."
"You have more than one sibling then?" Tayla smiled. He was interested in the stuff that mattered most to her. Not just overrated gossip. She smiled; it was comforting to know that at least one person didn't want to know why she moved out of home.
Nodding, Tayla glanced towards her brother playing soccer and held up four fingers. "Ashton is the oldest of them," she said, indicating towards him with a slight nod. "One of my sisters is eleven. Her name is Nikki. And then I have another little brother and sister. Their names are Rhett and Katie. It's never Rhett or Katie. It's Rhett and Katie or they'll tear you to pieces."
"Twins?" asked Izzy curiously, chuckling softly.
Tayla nodded again. "Eight in September. They're totally gorgeous. I love it when they come over. We go shopping on the weekends and after that I drop the twins off to hockey, Nikki goes to ballet and Ash goes to soccer. And then that night we go to the movies and get takeaway on the beach."
Matt smiled to himself. She was obviously close to her siblings. That reminded him of how close he and TK were. His brother meant the world to him and just the thought of the golden-haired youth could banish any bitterness his father drenched him with. It was almost odd in a way, he realised as he watched Takeru and Hikari make their way over towards him, how possessive people were of him. There was some general immaturity about TK that compelled people to protect him as though he were a fragile, vulnerable child and act like they were his real older siblings. It had been happening for years. But Yamato had always been there and his presence clearly stated the distinction between being his real brother or a friend. And lately, Matt admitted to himself bitterly, it was as though these people were beginning to replace him. How could he be a brother to TK if all of these people kept doing it instead of him? When had all of this happened? It was as though he had blinked and everything had changed right then and there. It pained him to think it, but maybe his father was right. Maybe music was getting in the way of what was most important. But then, if he didn't have the band, he'd be less three friends and he would never have met Tayla. And if never had the chance to meet her there would be no way he could possibly develop a tie of friendship with her. Matt shook his head, trying to clear it of thoughts. He was confusing himself. It was making him dizzy.
TK and Kari joined them, followed by Tai who had finally finished his conversation with Sora. She was off with Ken and Davis teaching Ashton some soccer skills.
"I've heard you want to be a model," Tayla said to Kari earnestly.
Kari nodded attentively. "Mum doesn't want me to though."
Tayla looked at her thoughtfully. She had been that age when she started modelling. Thirteen. "There are a few courses you can do at CJ's Agency. Then they'll put you into a collection or something after a year or so."
Kari wasn't the only one listening. Tai showed some mild interest, hidden behind dark eyes as he followed the conversation quietly. His interest in his sister's activities demonstrated part of his love for her. They had grown closer as he had grown quieter and she more open. As always, TK listened. It was something about his character. His personality. Only few people listened to others so willingly. Matt sat back and observed them all as they reacted to the conversation. It was almost like he wasn't there, he was suddenly invisible as he became a spectator of a world he wasn't a part of.
"Your mum might be right though," warned Tayla. "Modelling doesn't suit everyone."
In an instant the smile slid of Kari's face. "Are you saying I'm too ugly or something?"
"Huh-? No!"
"Just because you're absolutely perfect -,"
"No!" interrupted Tayla firmly. "I think you'd make a great model. But I don't know you so you shouldn't listen to what I have to say. If you make a mistake in your decision it doesn't matter. You can learn from it. But don't let someone else make that choice for you or you'll be learning their lessons."
She looked at the younger girl fondly. It was obvious how much she wanted to be a model. Had she been so determined at that age? She couldn't remember. No... not really... or had she? It didn't really matter. All of those dreams had faded away over the years of her contract, replaced with the acknowledgement of every tiny imperfection. She had become so conscious of everything about her. She was almost paranoid. Late at night she would often lie awake, wondering if they'd pick out all her flaws in the studio the next day. The muscles in her legs from cross-country running were too defined; one of her eyes was slightly lazier than the other; and her hands... She looked down at her gloved hands bitterly, noticed only by Matt. The way her eyes went so icy as they studied her fingers was saddening. A dejected air fell about her like a cloak on her shoulders. What was wrong with her hands, Matt wondered inquisitively. Her fingers were longish but they suited the rest of her nicely. She curled them up, and then unfurled them, flexing them as she shook her head absently. They were the main sad reminder of her pain. It was her hands that connected her wound on the inside with the pain she felt on the outside. Underneath the gloves they were hidden, they were protected. She was protected. Every thought she had; every primal instinct within her; everything they said at the agency; it all connected to her hands at the end of one long thread that weaved them all together. And as long as they were covered, left unseen, she was free, not trapped inside bitter mistakes she had made when she was too young to understand.
