It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.
-Aristotle Onassis

As I stepped on to the train, I took one final look back at my family. Unfortunately, my mother was not in the crowd to say goodbye, so instead, I had to settle with a short phone call from Barcelona. A lone tear stung my eye, rolled down my cheek, and fell to the ground in protest. I almost thought of turning around and running into my daddy's arms and staying with my family in Scotland forever.

"Are you crying?" my best friend Rowan asked in her mellow voice once we took our seats. She stared at me with her piercing grey eyes, waiting for an answer, as she pulled her dip-dyed pink and blonde hair into a ponytail.

Rowan and I have been best friends since we were nine when she moved from Glasgow. A boy in our class had taken my biscuits and Rowan staged a mediation between us until he finally promised to stop stealing my snacks.

"No, the wind blew something into my eye." I wiped the tear trail off my cheek and peered out the window.

"Alicia, I know when you're crying. What's wrong? Is it just homesickness already?"

"Yeah, I guess. I grew up here. This is my home. I don't know if I'm ready to leave. But, if I don't leave, I'll never be able to follow my dreams…" I trailed off as I started thinking about my dreams.

I've never wanted anything more. I've dreamed of being a runway model since my mother took me to one of her shows when I was seven. As I watched those girls walk down the narrow runway, I knew then that I wanted to model. My modelling dream is the whole reason I'm moving to London. It's the fashion capital of the UK and one of the major fashion capitals in the world.

Once we had arrived in London, we got a cab to take us to our brand new flat. We had been taking furniture to the flat over the past week so it would be ready when we "officially" moved in. After making my bed and putting away all of my clothes, I headed into the kitchen to put away some new glassware that Rowan and I had left sitting on the counter.

"My sister's bringing Sasha over tomorrow," I shouted to Rowan from across the flat. Sasha is my purebred Samoyed dog. "She should be here around noon."

Rowan came rushing in demanding that I help her "cleanse" the home. She said she could already feel the negative energy coming from within the walls.

"How can this place already be filled with negative energy?" I asked. "We've only been here like twenty minutes."

"The home is like a sponge, Alicia," Rowan said to me for the millionth time. "Whatever happens within the home is then immersed into the walls, floor, ceiling, furniture, and whatever else is around. I highly doubt the previous tenants cleansed this home, so it's filled with all these bad vibes. I feel like they fought a lot. I can sense their betrayal and divorce. We need to clean this place immediately.

"I used the last of it after that fight with my dad so I have to go get more. Do you want to come with me?"

Rowan had always been into spiritual cleanses and all that mumbo jumbo. Of course, I never called any of her rituals or beliefs mumbo jumbo to her face before. In fact, I even participated in some of them myself, I just didn't believe in most of it. I stopped taking part in most of Rowan's religious rituals when my mother walked in on us using ground up sage for a cleansing ceremony and accused us of smoking marijuana. I backed away from many of Rowan's proposals after that because I didn't want to get in trouble.

I accepted Rowan's offer of going to the herb shop or whatever. Once we got onto the street she wanted to go to, I noticed a vintage record shop across the street. I told Rowan I'd be over there and I'd come and get her when I'm done or vice versa.

As I reached for the last vinyl album of The Doors' Waiting for the Sun (an original copy from the 60's), another hand grabbed it as the same time. The other hand belonged to a tall man with celadon green eyes that only ancient Chinese pottery could replicate.

"Here." The green-eyed boy handed me the album. "You can have it. I'll look for it somewhere else."

"No, you take it. I insist. It's no big deal," I replied.

This stranger and I argued for a few minutes over who would take it. Before we could reach a compromise, Rowan came and told me she was finished getting what she needed. I shoved the record into the boy's hands and walked away.

A few days had passed since I met the mystery boy and the agent my father had hired for me had already found me a modelling job. Well, sort of. First, I need to go to the casting call, but my father is sure they'll pick me. Though, I'm sure he just says stuff like because he has to.

I've only met my agent a few times when she represented my sisters. The only thing I know about her is that her name is Claudia Sparks and my dad thinks she's a really good modelling agent.

When I walked into the room, a trillion eyes stared back at me in judgement. I tried to hide behind my hunched shoulders and hung head but their eyes still burned into my back while I walked to sign in. After making sure, I signed in and I had everything needed, I found a seat and started reading my book.

As the heavy front door closed loudly, I looked up to see who was coming through. I felt sort of bad for this girl since I just experienced how weird it feels to have a room of three hundred girls' eyes on myself. However, as I stared at this gorgeous girl in front of me, I noticed the green-eyed boy was with her. The couple took a seat next to me in the only empty seats at the front of the room. In the corner of my eye, I saw the boy turn to me and open his mouth.

"Hey, I don't know if you remember me; we met at the record store the other day." I nodded my head to show him I understood. "I'm PJ, by the way." I told him my name and shook his hand.

"I don't suppose you're here to audition, are you?" I said with a laugh.

"Oh, no! I'm just here for support for my sister. What about you?" He said as he ran his hand through his chocolate curls. I told him I indeed was here to audition.

This PJ person and I talked for a little bit before a ginger woman stuck her head through the other door in the large auditorium. She did this every so often to call names.

"Alicia Deveaux? You're next," the woman said. "When you get in there, tell them your name and your height."

Two women and a man sat in a row in front of a lone chair in the dark room. They introduced themselves as Vincent Crawford, Trixie Jacobs, and Angela Baxter.

"Are you related to Dominique and Mariko Deveaux by any chance?" Miss Jacobs said as I sat down.

I wanted to tell them that, no, I'm not related to the model and CEO Mariko Kodaka or the well-known model/actor Dominique Deveaux and that our French surnames are just a mere coincidence, and my similarities to my Japanese mother are too. But, I didn't tell them that. Instead, I told them the truth and that Mariko and Dominique are my parents. I didn't want them to pick me because of my parents' fame. I wanted them to pick me because they felt I was good enough.

They started asking me questions. First, it was simple. They asked about my measurements, how recent my headshots are, who took them, previous modelling experience, and so on. Then, they asked the big question. Why do I want to model? Before I answered, I paused for a moment to think until I finally had my answer.

"My mother inspired me. She took me to one of her shows when I was younger and I knew modelling was the only profession that would make me happy. Modelling is more than just a pretty face and nice legs; it's a form of art that I could stare at every day."