The Anomaly
Authors: J.A. Cooper
Tags: #novella series, #romance novels, #short novel, #romantic thriller, #new adult romance, #series, #series fiction, #new adult fiction, #romance fiction, #new adult
THE ANOMALY
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J.A. Cooper
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
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opyright © 2014 by J.A. Cooper. All rights reserved.
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o part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
PREVIEW | Just to Be With You − The Instructor
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I
stand staring into the ocean, trying to decide what to do next. I’d come to that place, that small town, hoping for a change, hoping for a summer to scale back and enjoy the simpler things in life—simpler than the life I’d left in New York City. But fate seems to be mocking me with the adage, “Be careful what you wish for.”
That small town has brought more changes into my life than I’d bargained for. If I’d have known things would turn out this way, I probably wouldn’t have boarded that plane to Missouri. I have to get back to work in the city, but how can I go back to my old life when all of me feels so different? I can go back and make a new life for myself in Missouri. I know that Nathan will make me feel at home. Being with him has turned my life upside down, making me question everything―starting with myself.
Ah, Nathan. The man with the prized possession that everyone seems to want.
I trace the sharp pattern of the seashell I hold. Watching the curving waves that form farther out in the ocean, I notice how high and powerful they become as they move closer and closer to shore. The wind caresses my skin so lightly, I’m compelled to close my eyes and inhale a large gulp of salty air. I dig my toes into the sand, knowing that the grains aren’t hot at dusk. Before the sun returns in the morning, I have to figure out what to do.
The wave breaks. Water rushes up the beach, inching farther than the last wave did, until my dry feet are wet. My damp skin alerts me to the water’s power. I back away from it, though the ocean pulls the water back out.
Move, keep moving
. I turn around and walk toward the long trail that has led me to the sand. I know what I have to do.
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T
he first time my modeling agent saw me, he said I was flawless. I was a high school freshman and had just stepped off the school bus. I was walking home with my next door neighbor, who was also tall for his age. The proximity of our townhouses and classes made us fast friends.
The man on the sidewalk surprised us both, because he wore a suit though it was only three in the afternoon. We were used to seeing suits in the neighborhood, including on our parents, coming home after five p.m. He complimented me first, and then my lanky friend, and he told us he was a modeling agent, a legitimate New York one. He’d just left his mother’s house. She’d invited him over for lunch.
“Do you know her?” he asked, pointing at the red-brick house on his left.
My friend and I nodded, though I carefully eyed the man who was seemingly trying to razzle-dazzle us. I’d read enough about modeling scams, and since I’d been a tall girl since age twelve, it wasn’t the first time I’d been approached because of my looks.
The year before, I’d fallen for the lip service of a fast-talking woman in the mall. I’d begged my mom to let me go visit the agency, but Mom was hesitant. Eventually, my constant whining that there were legitimate agencies out there wore her down. When we went to the agency, it was a total bait-and-switch scheme. No longer was it about the premium opportunities the agency could provide me; it was about signing up for their catwalk and makeup classes―to start. Needless to say, my mom wasn’t pleased. Thankfully, she showed some grace by not saying, “I told you so, Shayna,” as we made the hour drive back home.
Still, to be polite, I took the business card the man offered us. When I got inside my house, I skimmed the card then threw it in the trash can in the kitchen. I didn’t bother to tell Mom about our exchange.
A few days later, as we were walking home, my friend told me that he’d contacted the agent. After seeing my friend’s interest, his mother had demanded she go with him to see what the modeling agency thing was all about.
“They’re legit,” he said.
“No way,” I said, surprised.
He nodded. “For real, Shayna. You know I wouldn’t lie to you. I even have a booking for a small runway show at the mall this weekend.”
I decided to look them up online. Everything looked all right, and I wondered if the agency was actually real.
Why wouldn’t I want to model?
I’d always been told I had the height and beauty to do it. I decided to ask Mom, who told me no. But I had a knack for spotting people’s weaknesses. She’d said no, but she didn’t sound too sure about it. After all, she knew that modeling could be a good way to make money.
Things had gotten a bit harder for my mom after my parents’ divorce. We no longer lived a totally comfortable lifestyle, and my sister and I were aware that Mom paid the bills paycheck to paycheck.
So Mom and I took the chance again. The modeling agency proved to be a small group that was quickly gaining momentum in the industry, because the owner was a deflected top New York agent―the man on the sidewalk.
Agency staff showed me the ropes―how to walk, how to put on makeup, how to pose for a camera and dress for my body type. All of the stuff they felt I needed to know to make it in the industry, I learned for free.
Within a year, I was being booked for gigs across New York, which my mom had relegated to weekends and holidays. And I got to fly to places as close as Massachusetts and as far away as Japan for jobs during the summer. Mom traveled with me if the job was only a few days; otherwise, my older sister went with me. The money I earned... Well, it changed our lives. Mom and I worked out a plan where some of my money paid for our household expenses, I saved some, and I got to spend the rest. My mom was able to save the child support money my dad paid, so my sister had a year’s worth of savings in the bank by the time she turned eighteen, and I had four years’ earning interest.
The modeling world was one of perfection, eating disorders, people building me up to tear me down, measuring tape, and endless scrutiny. After a while, I began to question the very thing I had been praised for at the beginning of it all―my beauty.
Even though I was accepted into three schools, I passed on the whole college thing. I told Mom that any career that I had after graduating would probably not pay as well as modeling. She wasn’t too thrilled. She had always expected that I’d follow in her and my sister’s footsteps and go to college.
“I don’t think so, Mom,” I said with a shrug. “School’s not for everyone.”
Months later, a small part of me regretted that I hadn’t enrolled in a college.
During that time, a modeling friend of mine was losing weight rapidly. I tried to talk to her about it, but she refused to listen. Then the secretary at the agency told me she was in the hospital—in the intensive ward. When I visited her, I was shaken and left the hospital feeling sick. I got under the covers as soon as I got home. It wasn’t only my friend’s skeletal appearance that shook me up; it was the realization that had been forming for a few months. I no longer enjoyed modeling. Inside, I knew there were other things in life besides obsessing over a zit and maintaining my weight.
Modeling had never really been my passion, only an honest way to make a living. At that point, I had enough saved to be okay for a while. I needed a different world, a different life, at least for a while. I also wanted to spend some time with my dad, something Mom had been encouraging me to do for a few months, since he’d recovered from prostate cancer.
A week later, I’m on a flight to Missouri. I don’t have any upcoming gigs, and Mom’s glad Dad and I can spend some quality time together in Missouri.
“Life is fragile, Shayna,” she’d said to me.
Even though they’re divorced, she and Dad have a cordial relationship. At the airport, I hug her and tell her, “Good-bye for now,” before heading to the gate. My sister’s in Spain.
On the airplane, I put my ear buds in my ears and don’t even notice dozing off. The next thing I know, the pilot’s announcing the landing. I stretch my arms and smile. I’m tired of a world focused on looks, and I want to feel normal instead of like someone’s showpiece.
I’m ready for an adventure in Missouri.
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B
eing back in Missouri’s a little weird. I’d spent the first twelve years of my life here. Then my parents moved us to New York for my mom’s work. Dad had been willing to uproot the family because he was self-employed and could work from home. Mom was a stay-at-home mom until I turned five and started school.
One year later, my parents announced their split, and then the modeling offer happened.
At the airport, Dad greets me with a bear hug and a peck on the cheek. He looks great, as usual. Even when my mom, sister, and I visited him during his cancer treatments, his spirits were high. He’s remarried. I hug my stepmom too. She always makes sure to iron his clothing so that he looks neat.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Dad says as he pulls one of my two suitcases. “And staying with us longer than a week.”
A few days later, I call up my old best friend, Wynter, to tell her I’m in town for the summer. She squeals in excitement. She’s happy we don’t have to rely on Twitter anymore in order to girl talk. She invites me to a mutual elementary-school friend’s birthday dinner that’s being held at a popular pizza place.
“Are you sure David won’t mind?” I ask.
“Of course I’m sure. Just because you moved away doesn’t mean that people don’t remember you.”
“All right.” I’m up to seeing some old faces, and restarting a social life while I’m in town will do me some good. I don’t have much else to do in the way of fun or work.
Dad lets me borrow their extra car. When I arrive at the pizza parlor, the table’s almost full. I look for Wynter, and she waves at me. She pats the seat next to hers.
I make my way to the table, smiling, and I say hello to everyone. They all have a drink in front of them, but the pizzas haven’t arrived yet, if they have already been ordered. I greet David, the birthday boy, with a hug.
“It’s been a while,” he says.
I nod and smile. “Yes, it has.”
We chat a bit before I sit down.
“Glad you came,” Wynter says. “David was excited when I told him you were coming. It’s not often anyone who’s moved away comes back to town. We become too
country
for them, I guess.” Wynter shrugs.
“Well, I’m happy to have an evening out. I haven’t done much for the last few days, besides gardening with my dad and window shopping with my stepmom.”
“Window shopping?” Wynter leans back to look at me.
“There’s nothing I really need.”
“I bet,” Wynter says. “The last time I was in New York was two years ago. I literally shopped until I felt like dropping.”
We laugh, and Wynter’s blue eyes sparkle. The lighting inside the restaurant is soft. They seem to have chosen light bulbs that flatter the restaurant’s patrons.
“I’m glad Mr. Smith is doing well,” Wynter whispers. “I saw him at the post office the other day.”
I nod. “He’s doing swell.”
“Well, it looks like the birthday boy is having a good time!”
I turn and see a young man walking toward the table. He is about my age, and he has beautifully chiselled cheekbones. I envy those cheekbones.
What model wouldn’t want great bone structure like that?
He hands David a wrapped package that looks like a bottle of wine. I follow his movements with my eyes as my breathing increases. Something about the confident way he walks tugs at me. I’m drawn to him.
He pats David on the back and sits across from me. Our eyes meet. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Seconds pass before Wynter introduces us.
“Shayna, this is Nathan Theodor.” I give my best smile. “Nathan, this is an old friend of David’s and mine.”
Nathan stands and stretches his hand across the table so I don’t have to get up. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
We shake hands, and Nathan smiles at me. He has model looks for sure: tall, strong, lean, built, and so handsome. His good looks can be appreciated from every angle. The fact that he doesn’t seem to notice the effect his presence has on me makes him even more appealing. A few minutes later, the last seat is filled, and the pizza is ordered.