Nowhere Man

-By Yo-yo

Disclaimer:C chappie #1.

Ticket to Ride:

"The American Dream" is relative, and yet its overall concept is the same: children succeeding far beyond their parents. Everyone strives for the same goal, and yet people go around it by many different routes.

Parents experiment on their children, trying to find the very best way to rear them. They try to cover up mistakes done by their own parents and therefore make new ones. They get frustrated, they get angry with society.

So why if parents are so angry with society for the options to raise their children, why don't they choose the way that has been proven the most effective for centuries? Is working for long hours so important? Is seeing your children less so necessary?

I've seen the way it works. I've seen its success.

Evie and Ant do it everyday.

Last night we sat at the dinner table passing broccoli (not my favorite vegetable) and discussing the mundane. It was almost like a scene from the Brady Brunch, with a multicultural twist. Everything was so perfect, so at ease.

As we sipped wine, Evie asked Jase if he'd gotten extra credit. Ant asked Kayla if she needed help on her "The Giving Tree" project. Evie asked Maddie if she'd narrowed down her possibilities for Prom. And Ant asked me if I had gone to see Jan lately.

Jordy had been excused from the table after crying over her disqualification from the "Cheerleading Olympics" and yelling: "Who in the hell goes to gym class before a major competition anyway?! I hate Ambrosia Beckett. Now I know her mom was drunk when she had her. No one could ever that stupid on purpo-"

I realized long ago that life just wasn't like The Walton's. People whose lives reflected flawlessness were either lying or had to work for it. It wasn't just given to you. And just because your house is the biggest on the block, your wait staff is imported from England and your custom cars span a century doesn't guarantee that happiness is also handed to you on a platinum dish.

I also realized that Hartford Society was nothing more than a perpetual high school drama on the WB with thriving ratings and shameless advertisement. There's always drama and everyone's nosing around. Everything is underhanded and everyone has a scheme. It's almost as bad as reality television, except ... wait, they're the same. There's sex, lies and videotape in both, including a little cash prize.

And so far He's winning the golden check endorsed by Trump.

His weak deal making and oafish requests (or should I call them orders) are really starting to piss me off. It's been two weeks and He still hasn't managed to con McIntire out of his money. Therefore, I am left with another week of courting Miss Dumbass.

It doesn't seem so bad when all you've got to do is hold her hand and make out with her whenever there's someone present. But when she expects you to converse with her about her vapid world of nail tints and lip-gloss, you can't help but want to find out if you're eligible for Prozac.

And then there's the shopping.

She goes shopping at least once a week, and expects me on every trip. She needs new shoes, a new skirt, a new bikini... If it weren't for the fact that I know that bastard is monitoring my every move with that- Sadie, I would have told her to eat a ham, and maybe then I'd look at her with a bikini on, that anorexic ... But no, I grin and bear it because "Father" will bitch and brandish the life to which I am accustomed.

Cutting off the stereo, I stared at the building before me.

For the first time in a long time the high stone buildings made me feel small. I felt as I had my first day of Chilton, insignificant. I realized then, my life wasn't as in control as I wanted it to be. I couldn't just get away. I wasn't my own boss, I wasn't the biggest person there... I was just like everyone else- looking for validation in all the wrong places.

Pulling my backpack from the seat behind me I get out the car and saunter towards the main doors.

"Hi Tristan!"

Her perky voice jolted my heart.

I shrugged past her, straight to my locker, intent on finding my History notes.

"You look good this morning."

I could hear her Colgate smile split her simply plastic face.

"Are you okay?" she touched my arm, making my skin crawl.

"I'm fine," I pulled my arm from her grasp and slammed open my locker.

"Good," she giggled nervously, "because I need to ask you something."

I rolled my eyes and sighed, another trip to the mall. What did she need this time?

"Tristan, are you listening?" she put on that baby voice; the one I hate. The one that made me feel like a pedophile.

"I'm listening."

I dropped my Geometry book on the floor.

"Well, you see my Daddy couldn't be with the family for Christmas. So we're having a belated Christmas party- are you listening?" she whined.

"I can hear you." I checked an unmarked notebook and groaned when it was just old notes.

"Well, I wanted to...?"

I rifled through the mess of supplies in my locker. There were a million notebooks and none of them seem to be the one I needed. I found an old gym notebook, mentally noting that I should shove that in the trash. I found an old soccer sock, almost laughing at the sight of crusted mud and grass stains- it was stupid of me to even try out for that team. I even found an old condom. But the one thing I needed wasn't there: my damn History notes.

"...my date?"

Huh, date?

"What did you say again?"

I turned to look at her this time. As she repeated her request, she twisted a blonde extension around her finer and rubbed her leg against mine.

She wanted me to be her fucking date?

This was going too far. She was actually asking me to go out with her after the deal was made. She was actually asking me to not only be seen out in public with her, but also meet her family AFTER the fucking deal was made. She actually wanted me-

"Tristan, did you hear me?"

"I heard you."

"Oh," she frowned, then tried those phony puppy-dog eyes. "So, what do you think?"

This has to stop.

Maybe she is so fucking naïve that she believes I might actually like her. Maybe she does believe this a total coincidence that I started dating her when her Dad went into business with mine? Maybe she doesn't know how this game works? But that doesn't really matter, what does is this: This has to stop.

And I've just found my ticket to ride.

TBC...

A/N: hey, I know, it's been forever. But I have been working. I'm going back to college in a few days, or I might even be in when I update this, but anyways, I'm still writing, just I haven't been very inspired lately, but don't worry, I'm going to fight to writers block and keep going.

w/ luv, Yo-yo