NOTE: I do not own The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Anne Brashares. I do however own this story. I hope you like it. Please review.

Prologue:

Once upon a time there were four boys who were all different shapes and sizes—well actually that's not true—they were all tall and skinny, but you know what I mean. They all had different personalities, but one day they found a flannel-like sort of leathery jacket that fit (and looked good) on every single one of them. You may think that this is a fairy tale, but it's not, because not everybody lived happily ever after. You may think that it's just a tall-tale or something but it's not. How do I know? I'm one of them. I'm part of the Brotherhood of the Traveling Jacket.

My name is Jorge. I'm the one who found that jacket in the first place. Yeah, I'll admit it. One day I was just walking by this thrift shop with the guys during the summer—it's called Rainbow's or something, and I decided to go in. (Yeah, I'll admit that too).

It was sort of a dingy shop with the light through the rafters that's too bright, but some areas aren't bright—and you get the idea. Patched on wall-paper, windows with peeling off weird tape, etc. Well anyway, some people say guys don't like shopping. Well they're wrong. We do.

Alek—the punk, started looking for new earrings. Maybe I should describe some of them to you. Anyway, continuing with Alek—he has a bunch of piercings—some could label him as a rebel, but he's not really, if you think about it. Most rebels are angry, and scream at the world—hate it actually. Alek sort of loves his life, but in a different way. He's one of those guys in a separate reality or something. He lives in his own world, and accepts things slowly, but he likes to stand out. Alek is someone that I would label as a leader. He has these thoughtful hazel eyes, but he never decides to blurt something out unless he thinks about it first. He'll listen to everything you say before giving you a reply—in that way, he's a great listener and I like talking to him.

Well Alek was scanning the earring section, and West yelled out, "Pierce alert!"

West—I don't know what to call West. The clown? Something? West is the person in your life who leads his and all others' lives. He herds you around like a sheepdog. He's like the Road Runner from the cartoons—always moving ahead, always looking towards the future. But unlike some people like that, he's always there to listen to you, but likes to butt in. What does he look like? Longish, sort of curly brown hair and brown eyes that are always full of light and excitement. West is a different one; a great fan of sugar and coffee, he always seems to have a steady flow of energy: I don't think I've ever seen him tired.

Jason smiled. "Better get him to try on something else."

Jason. If anybody's a mystery, it's Jason. He is good-looking, but self-conscious about it. No, you're not getting the picture. Let's see… intense black bangs brushing over wide eyebrows, eyes the color of the greenest grass, a great smile with full lips and bright, straight teeth. (It sort of helps that he brushes them too). But the weird thing is—well you know how some guys get all cocky when they're handsome and everything? Jason's not. He seems almost embarrassed about his looks—like if people look at him, they judge him by his looks and not how he really is. They assume things without well… actually getting to know him. He's been asked to model so many times, and he's turned down all the offers. He has never even had a girlfriend—though many girls have tried to talk to him and stuff. Let's just say Jason is not the person you go with when you want to find a date. They forget about you, and focus on your friend.

Anyway, back to the story. I grabbed a random jacket, shoved it at Alek, and stuffed him into a dressing room. "Put it on!"

Me? I don't know what I am. Maybe the writer… the reader? As Weston would say, "Jorge doesn't have that much, but he makes up for it in personality," which personally I prefer better than "Jason has everything, but his personality is like a piece of cheese," where Jason promptly picked up a rock and threw it at his head, and West still has that scar. My hair is sort of darkish and it's really long. The bangs are sort of the same as Jason's but my eyes are sort of darker. I'm pretty tall and pretty skinny too. I eat a lot, but I don't seem to put on any weight. It's sort of weird actually. Anyway, I don't know what I am. I haven't figured it out yet. I play electric bass, Jason plays electric guitar and Alek plays drums and West sings, and we have started a band. But bluntly putting it—we stink. Our band is called "Hearts Rendered Useless," and we can play—but we don't have too much dedication. Well I do. But the guys don't.

I've forgotten to mention that this was the summer and we'd all just gotten out of school. We all go to different schools except for West and Alek who go to some public school together. All our lives since we were like one or something, we'd spent all our summers together. This was the first year we were splitting up.

How did we get so close? This story is a bit embarrassing, but just listen, ok? Our parents used to be tight; (I'm crossing my fingers right now—yeah they were like this). Our dads were in a band called the "Bipolar Clouds" (I know, what the heck?) According to Alek's mom, all they did was sit around and eat potato chips. Impressive, huh? Well all our moms sat around talking about their bum husbands, and when we were born (all over the process of three months), they still wanted to talk about their bum husbands. It was like some joy they had or something, and the dads still wanted to eat potato chips. Yep.

Over the years, our parents have spread apart, but we've stayed the same. Well almost. I mean, we've changed and all, but we're still best buds. Our friendship has been tested a few times, like the time Weston's dad died, (our parents sort of drifted apart after that) and the time where my dad took off and moved to West Virginia, but we've managed to get through it. We've always had each other. But this summer, we wouldn't. But the jacket kept us together. This is our story—laced together by the jacket, like shoelaces on a shoe.

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