So what's so special about Tammy Duncan? Just because she's blonde, beautiful and smart the world has to give her all this attention, I mean suddenly everything's got to be about her? I mean really, you're going to make her head swell. So what is really so special about her?

I ask myself that everyday, sometimes twice since the day I met her. Not really because it matters to me but because it bothers me that she can be perfect and get away with it. She can get away with almost anything. She's like one of those preppy cheerleaders that most of you went to high school with. You know, the one you just want to punch in the face for being so happy. Did I mention my brother is engaged to her? Oh yeah, so I'm stuck with her for the rest of my life unless some foolproof plan to get rid of her arises. Doubtful, very doubtful considering she's perfect and all. My brother's in love with her, my father's in love with her, hell, even my mother is in love with her. she shakes her head with annoyance Why don't they just all go get married and leave me out of it. That's where my journey begins, I'm Madison Evans and this is MY story.

Flight 103 from Los Angeles to Minneapolis took a violent shake from the storm forming outside its window.

"Damn, I'm gonna have brain damage by the time we get there!" I yelled, rubbing my head as it hit the window for the third time in the past three hours.

"Watch your mouth! How many times do I have to tell you to act like a lady?" My Mother, a short, plump woman sat in the seat next to me, trying to concentrate on the movie being shown, Casablanca. Who watches these movies anymore? I didn't last five minutes into it before dozing off only to be awoken with a bang to the head. Why did I have to fly all the way out here in the first place? To god knows, Minnesota, to skate, something my Mother had been breeding me to do since birth, in a competition with HER name on it. I mean what really is so special about Tammy Duncan? I'll admit, I'm not the prettiest girl in the world and she is prettier than me but still, are looks everything these days? Has the world really become that shallow? Once all the training and man-hours paid off at the Olympics it's been, Tammy this and Tammy that. She's good, don't get me wrong, they don't give out medals to idiots but really, a Wheaties box? It turned into the Tammy show in just 24 hours. The gold medal hadn't even been taken off her neck yet and suddenly it's all about her, her emotional turmoil, her family problems, her wedding, and suddenly her hometown. Please someone hold the bucket while I hurl. No one deserves that much attention. So why does she get it?

The plane landed about 15 minutes later into the cold air of Minnesota. How do people live here, I asked myself, shivering with the wind hitting me? California was so much warmer and nicer and it never snowed there. I shivered again, wrapping my sweater around my shoulders. Okay, so it wasn't fashionable but who cares, I was cold! It wasn't like I was looking to get picked up by anyone in the airport anyways, especially in this town.

"Is it supposed to be this frickin' cold?" I groaned hugging myself tightly.

"Madison, I swear, one more and we're heading home." My mother shot a look in my direction.

"Really?" I wondered out loud with a grin plastered on my face. That's all I wanted was to go home, could it really be possible?

"Do you want to ruin your brother's big day?" She asked as I sulked, my brother was actually the one person I was getting along with as of late. He had been there for me and I would be there for him when the princess dumps him on his ass. My mother headed in front of me to hail a cab at the sidewalk. The plane ride had not only been dangerous but annoyingly long as well. I had listened to every CD in my collection once and even listened to Metallica twice to pass the time. I also found time to conveniently tap my fingers on the plastic trays they give you to eat on, annoying my Mother in her movie enjoyment even more. When she turned to tell me to stop, I turned away, looking out the window at the darkened sky and pretending not to notice her glaring eyes reflecting in the window glass.

Do you ever wonder if maybe you're in the wrong family? I wonder this all the time. My brother, although away a lot, seems to be the one I most relate to. My father has his moments and my mother and I never get along. I swear she's a complete psycho. I will almost guarantee that she's killed someone in her days. Okay, well, maybe not that far but she's not as sweet and innocent as she seems, I can tell you that. Maybe I'll be crazy too when I pop a couple out. The whole experience in my opinion is traumatic enough to make you go crazy.

So here we are, my mother, a short light-haired woman with aging skin, bouncing on the balls of her feet to hail a cab that isn't coming. Her hands flying in the air like a crazed monkey. She looked ridiculous, I thought with a deep sigh, sitting on my trunk. She said I looked stupid in my knee-high boots, fishnets and plaid skirt. Let's talk about her old-lady clothes, the sweater that looks to have been sewn together by a small child with it's bows and ribbons and her loafer shoes with the little tassels on them. It's so horrible, I can't even continue without getting a migraine. I will never dress like that; I don't care how old I am.

So a cab finally arrived after 10 minutes of waiting and the embarrassing scene that was taking place with my mother. I stood slowly to reach for my trunk and the cab driver rushed over to help me,

"I get that miss." He said with a heavy accent.

"No, I've got it!" I said trying to smile politely at his tanned face.

"Really, is not trouble." He insisted. I was getting irritated at that moment.

"I'm really fine." I reassured him. We each had hold of one end and were trying to take it from the other one, my mother stood by, shaking her head in annoyance.

"Really, let go!" I said a little louder. He continued to insist and I finally let go, falling backwards onto the ground and tripping over some else's bags. My skirt flipped up, my hair ruffled and my heel broke. Sitting up, I tried to stand before realizing my heel was gone.

"Damn it!" I yelled grabbing at my shoe. "These were my favorite heels." I whined.

"So, sorry, miss. Let me help you." The cab driver tried to help me up. I pulled away, getting up and heading for the car, yelling some profanities that my mother covered her mouth at. She smiled graciously at the cab driver and the onlookers.

"We think she's got Tourette's Syndrome. She's being tested." She smiled graciously again. The moment the door to the cab closed, I was going to hear about it.