Chapter 1: It Never Rains in Southern California...Right-1

“This is beyond ridiculous.” I mutter under my breath, as I look down at my cell phone, seeing that I only have about thirty minutes until we have to go. “McKenna, you might actually have a lot of fun this summer.” My mother says in her stupid soft voice as she folds a pair of my shorts and puts them in my suitcase. “Doubt it.” I tell her. “But you love California.” She says. “But I hate the O’Connor’s.” I remind her. “McKenna.” She says sternly. “Well it’s true. They tortured me as a kid.” “They did not torture you.” I nod, “Yeah, they kinda did.” My mom sighs, “Honey this will be an amazing experience for you.” “Why don’t you come, and then you can see why I hate them so much. And plus I haven’t seen them in seven years.” “I’m going to Brazil.” “So you keep reminding me.” “I told you that you were welcome to come to Brazil with Phil and me.” I fake gag, “And be a third wheel? No thanks.” Phil isn’t my dad nor will he ever be. Phil is my mom’s husband. My dad died eleven years ago when I was six in a car accident. Not even two years after my dad’s funeral, my mom and Phil got together. They work together and as she says, “Sparks just…flew.” Gross, right? Not that I don’t like Phil. I mean, he’s a nice guy I guess, but he’s tries to tell me what to do like he’s my dad. I mean, of course I want my mother to be happy, but I just wish she could be happy with someone else who isn’t Phil. The O’Connor’s are the children of my mom’s best friend, Sarah O’Connor. As I said, they tortured me as a kid. Don’t get me wrong; I love Sarah. She’s amazing. I figure that if she and my mother had been around the house more often, then maybe her stupid children wouldn’t have tortured me so much. My mom and I used to drive out to California and stay with them for the summer when I younger. My brother would come some times, but usually he stayed home with Phil. We did it until I was age seven, when driving out to California got to be too expensive. When my dad died, we lost a lot of money. Well of course we had life insurance on him, but my mom spent most if not all of that on material things. She bought a house and two new cars. Not one, but two. Why? I don’t know. I mean, I was only six, it’s not like I could drive. My door opens without warning and Phil is standing there with a smile on his face, “All ready to go McKenna?” He asks in a cherry tone. I shrug, putting on a sarcastic smile, “As ready as I’ll ever be!” I reply, mocking his cherry voice. He sighs and looks down at my three suitcases which are on the floor, zipped and ready to go. See, even though I’m seventeen years old, and will be a senior in high school next year, my mother doesn’t think I’m ‘mature’ enough to stay home alone for three months. I’m like, come on. It’s not like I’ll go crazy and have a party every night. Jeez, I’m not stupid. I’d at least space them out and have one like every three weeks. But anyways, since I’m not ‘mature’ enough, I’m being shipped to California to stay with Sarah and her stupid family. Phil and my mom will be gone to Brazil for the entire three month summer vacation. They work for the school district, meaning they have the summer out. So while they’re vacationing in Brazil, I’ll be dying painfully slow in California. And it’s not even what’d you’d expect. You’d expect them to live in a well-known California town. Los Angles, San Francisco, maybe  San Diego. But no. Wanna know where the stupid O’Connor’s live? The stupid O’Connor’s live in Vernon, California. Ever heard of it? No? It’s okay, I’d never heard of it either before we started going there. It’s five miles south of L.A., so hopefully I’ll be able to spend quite a bit of time there rather than in Vernon. Phil picks up two of my suitcases, and I slide on my flip flops, and pull my jacket on. I put my fully charged phone in my pocket and grab my other suitcase. The three of us walk downstairs and outside to Phil’s maroon Jeep Cherokee. I toss my bag in the trunk, and Phil puts the other two in there. He closes the trunk as I slide in the backseat, and my mother and Phil get in the front. Phil gets on the driver’s side and I put my seatbelt on as we get ready to go. He starts the car and pulls back out of the driveway, and onto the street. I’m flying to Los Angeles all alone, and then Sarah is supposed to pick me up from L.A.X. and then drive us to Vernon where the torturing will begin. The drive to the airport is short. Fifteen minutes later, we get there and Phil and my mom come in with me. “Okay, be good McKenna.” Phil tells me. See? This is what I mean by he tries to tell me what to do. He treats me like I’m seven instead of seventeen. I do have common sense. Granted, he has been with my mom since I was seven, but that was ten years ago. As a matter of fact, in ten short months, I will be eighteen; a legal adult. I will be away from them forever. I applied at like twelve different colleges, just to be away from them. As a matter of fact, all the colleges I applied to are at least five hours away from my home in Dallas, Texas. I nod my head, “Phil, I will be good.” I say. They pull me in for a hug and I half-heartedly hug them back. “We love you.” My mom says. If they really loved me, I don’t think they would make me stay with the O’Connor’s. Have I mentioned I hate the O’Connor’s? I fake smile, and wave at them as I go through security and all that other good stuff. I go through the black door and I’m lead to my seat in Coach. Luckily the plane ride is short. It’s only about two-three hours long. I buckle into my seat, thank God it’s a window seat. “Hey you’re in my seat.” A voice says to me. I-not in the mood for any crap-decide to ignore the voice. Only to have the person tap on my shoulder. I sigh and look up some blonde lady who looks to be in her mid-twenties, or her early thirties. “You’re in my seat.” She repeats. “I’m not in your seat, this one is mine. Maybe you read you ticket wrong.” I say. “Or maybe you read yours wrong, because my ticket clearly says 24A.” “Well so does mine, so I guess you should sit somewhere else.” She says. “Let me see your ticket.” She demands. I sigh pulling it out of my pocket. I shove it in her hands and she sees that it clearly says 24A. She huffs and walks away. I don’t care where she’s going quite frankly. I’m just ready for this stupid flight to be over, and it hasn’t even begun.