Michael Michele (6)

“Michele?”

Only one person calls me that.

I turn around and there he is. Dark wash, slightly baggy jeans, a white business shirt and jacket, and the ever-present cup of Starbucks espresso.

I always get the oddest feeling when I’m around my dad. Like a familiar feeling but also a cautious, awkward sense is always hanging over me. I never feel like I fully know him or what he’s going to be like.

I put on a smile. “Hey!” We do the perfunctory hug thing. “So what am I supposed to call you?” I ask him.

He gives me an odd look. “What you always call me…?”

“Okay, good! Cause for today, Brie is not yours and Mom’s daughter she’s…a friend of the family’s kid and--what?” I’m getting another odd look.

“Uh…nothing. Where’s your mom, kid?” he asks, already looking over my shoulder, preoccupied.

“I’m not sure, actually. She went that way,” I point.

“Okay, well good to see you again. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” And he’s gone.

He’s so unpredictable. Sometimes he acts like he doesn’t want to be around me for more than sixty seconds and sometimes he acts like he wants to be my dad, except only temporarily.

I don’t have much time to ponder about me and Dad. “There you are! You’re supposed to be in Studio Twelve...your mom and sister are already there, what are you doing?” An auburn-haired clone of all the other perfect people here grabs my arm and pulls me off. “And where are your clothes?” she demands.

“Um…”

“Great,” she says darkly, “so it’s back to Rack Room for me. Go in there I’ll be back in a second.”

When I walk in Studio Twelve, Dad is already there, chatting up Mom. She glances at me and that’s the only acknowledgement she gives me until the shoot starts. It’s really not fair that she’s mad at me because some idiot made her feel like I was more important when I wouldn’t even be here today if she hadn’t shanghaied me into coming.

“Models, get ready!” someone yells. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I look at Mom who stands lethargically as a petite woman perfects her makeup. Everyone is ignoring me so maybe I’m not even supposed to be modeling now. I sit down next to Brie and prepare to watch the shoot.

Just then the same redhead whisks in with a ton of clothes draped over her arm, grabs her arm and starts to pull me out. “My mistake! They want a private shoot with you first in Studio B,” she tells me.