Tempting Fate
When I was young, I realized that as a Scott, several things were expected of me.
Firstly I was to be a cheerleader. If I had been a boy, I was to be a basketball player.
Secondly, I was to be beautiful and groomed.
Thirdly I was to find a great guy and marry young, preferably without getting pregnant beforehand.
These rules weren't exactly imposed on me by my family, but they were by the public. Scotts were the royal family of Tree Hill, and certain things were expected of them. In return we received honour, devotion and even financial benefits.
However, Tree Hill would soon learn that I was going to follow none of these rules.
As it was most mornings, I was the first down to breakfast. I smiled as my siblings began to shout, their yells at each other coming faintly back to me. I heard Tara, my eldest sister, yell at Charlie, the only boy, about using up the last of the hot water. Charlie yelling at Lissie, who was the youngest, about leaving her Barbies in the bathtub. Lissie, feeling left out of the whole thing, and yelling in her baby voice at Tara, for having her music on loudly the night before.
I wondered where my parents where. Later in the day they could generally be counted on to settle disputes, but in the mornings they were often the last to get up, consequentially leaving me to make breakfast.
"DANNI!" came Lissie's wounded shriek.
"Down here baby!" I called back up. I smiled as her tiny feet began to run toward me, through the big house. My smile dropped immediately at her tear-streaked face, her confusion. She didn't know she'd done anything wrong.
"Come here baby," I entreated softy, sitting cross-legged on the floor. She dropped onto my lap, flung her arms around my neck, placed her face in my neck and sobbed into my shoulder.
"Charlie was being mean to me," she explained, between her tears.
"I know sweetie, I know. Tara was yelling at him and he was confused and scared like you and he was just trying to release his anger," I soothed. She didn't understand my words, but she understood the tone.
"Tara was being mean," she complained.
"Maybe a little bit. Tara's so old now that she needs more sleep and it's hard for her in the morning," I said, defending my biggest sister with resegnation.
I scowled at her as she sauntered in, but Lissie immediately unattached herself from me and dried her eyes in desperate attempt to seem older. Tara distractedly ruffled her blonde curls and reached for the platter of pancakes I'd made.
"Lissie, you should go get changed," I said.
She scampered off, still dressed in her pink pajamas.
"God, he's only eight. Why do you have to yell at him like that?" I challenged.
"You know he's only eight, yet he spends more time grooming himself than you do. What does that tell you?" she asked.
"He's not gay, Tara," I said scathingly.
"No. But you could really benefit from adjusting your look," she said. She looked scathingly at the hooded sweatshirt I was wearing and the loose jeans.
"You know you could do with thinking about someone other than yourself," I shot back.
"Oh well. At least you left your hair down for once," she said, throwing her own long, blonde hair over her shoulder. I scowled at her, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, swirled it around twice and pulled an elastic around the messy bun. Had she even heard me? Defiantly she reached forward and gently tugged some strands out near my temple so they hung down my cheek.
"There. Much better," she said with satisfaction. I rolled my eyes and tucked them behind my ear.
"Hey, is Lissie okay now?" asked Mom, coming into the kitchen.
"Yeah, I calmed her down," said Tara quickly. I elbowed her sharply. For a brief moment I considered tattling on her, but then decided it would only make matters worse.
"So, you're up late," I teased. She smiled.
"No comment," she said sweetly. I grinned as Dad's large feet began to run through the house above our heads, toward us. The three of us turned simultaneously as he charged into the kitchen, eight year old Charlie on his shoulders.
"Hey sweetie," said Mom. Tara looked away as they kissed. I thought it was romantic. Our parents were only in their mid thirties but had been married nearly twenty years. They'd known each other all their lives.
I smiled when I noticed how similarly my little brother and I were dressed. But he was a preteen rebel-his dark hair was spiky and gelled, he wore a chain around his neck. He did spend more time on his toilette than I did.
Tara drove us to school in her car. We dropped Charlie and Lissie off at the elementary school before proceeding onto the high school.
The ride was silent. When I had been younger, younger than about eight, I had worshipped her. Followed her around, bugged her when she was with her friends, stolen her clothes. This infatuation had gone away when she'd hit puberty. Her skirts had gotten shorter, her tops lower. She'd gradually risen in the hierarchy at school, to the point where she was at the very top. She became cheerleading captain. She sold out and did everything that was expected of her.
As soon as we arrived, she parked and we drifted off in different directions. I waved at the only two in her group I was friendly with-Gavin Fenning, my cousin, and Aidan McFadden, who was my grandmother's best friend's son.
I joined my own group. Most of us were creative some how, in the outer edges of the social order. I was the only one that interacted with the inner circle, and that was because of my name alone. Under other circumstances, my nondescript clothing and my imperfect hair would have alienated me.
As I was walking down the hallway to class with my friend Hannah, my grandfather, Nathan, called out to me.
I jogged backwards and looked at the list he was holding in his hand.
"You didn't sign up for cheerleading," he said, his tone far from accusatory.
"God, have you met me?" I asked. He was the longtime coach of the varsity team. He had once been a pro basketball player.
"Point taken. But I know you love the game," he said.
"Speaking of which, why isn't there a girl's team?" I asked. He shrugged.
"Out of my area. I'm just boy's varsity. Good point though. You've got to make history somehow, kid. You are a Scott," he said. We hugged before he jogged off down the hall, still sprightly after his fifty years.
I stopped with Hannah in front of the trophy cabinet, like I did most days, to examine the scoring titles. I grinned as I came to my father's name, Sawyer Brian Scott. There was even a picture of him, on the day they'd won the state final. His arm around a blonde cheerleader-my mother. Back in the days she'd been Callie Jagielski and their relationship had been platonic.
Author's note: I realize there is something slightly wrong about a third generation fic. However, it will heavily involve the original One Tree Hill characters, as well as flashbacks of them at various ages. And if you really think it's wrong, blame Davis (brookenlucas12) who insisted.