wasthecuteone: (peeping Petra)
[personal profile] wasthecuteone
Petra West carefully separated the blinds on the living room window and peered out. Yep. They were still out there. About ten of them, way down from the crowds when she'd gotten home about a month ago, but: still out there. Half of them had signs proclaiming her ungodly and quoting Bible verses out of context. The other half wanted her autograph. Or, well, they wanted JT Woodland's autograph.

The second group confused her more. The crazy church people, okay, they didn't have anything better to do than harass them from the sidewalk. She kind of felt sorry for them, actually. But the second group was girls around her age. Didn't they have lives? Or parents?

"Petra, sweetheart, come eat breakfast," her dad called from the kitchen.

"They're still out there!"

"And you not eating breakfast won't make them not be out there, so come eat these pancakes before they get cold." Petra did like pancakes.

As she sat down at the table, her mother reached over to pat her shoulder. "Have you got everything ready?"

"No," Petra admitted. Packing was hard. "But I'm pretty sure I have everything, although, Dad, stand by for emergency drugstore runs." Her dad sketched off a little salute as he poured syrup on his pancakes.

Petra's wardrobe had not taken as much of a hit as one might expect from the Miss Teen Dream disaster. One didn't take one's everyday clothes to a pageant, after all. She'd lost some things, things she'd taken for the week at the water park before the pageant, but the evening gown and the costume, whatever. She still had a good chunk of her wardrobe, and she and her mom had been sewing up a storm since she'd gotten home. And the girls had salvaged everything they could from their camp before leaving the island on MoMo B. ChaCha's yacht. Petra had even been lucky enough to get away with her overnight case, Holly-Go-Overnightly. But her shoe and makeup situation had been dire, especially considering that Sinjin somehow still had her best heels. And everything electronic she'd owned was fried. She'd been gradually correcting the lacks since she got home, but when she decided to go to boarding school to get her parents' lives back to normal, things had kicked into high gear.

Her parents' bank account had taken a serious hit she knew it couldn't really afford to take, but they insisted they could afford it, that they were just happy she was okay. She was telling herself she could pay them back when the lawsuit came through. The Corporation had offered the Teen Dreamers a check 'for their expenses,' but Petra and her friends weren't stupid, and they'd all refused it. Adina said that if they'd taken it the Corporation would have claimed they'd already settled. Gross.

"Are you sure you want to do this, princess?" her dad asked, and she glanced toward the front of the house. She thought about the protesters, and the autograph seekers, and about going back to her old high school. She could have done it, sure, she knew she could, but a fresh start sounded way more appealing than dealing with all that drama.

"Yeah, Dad. I'm sure."


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December 2011

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