Standing By-an Avi Kaplan fanfic

Chapter 1: Ruby McAllister, Teen Model.

  "Tilt your head a bit more... There! Perfect! Hold that."
 
  I stand smiling with my head tilted a bit too much to the left, my auburn waves tumbling down my shoulders, wearing the latest American Apparel jacket. The flash goes off and I'm blinded.

  Zach, my photographer, appears from behind the camera and claps his hands together. "That's a wrap for today, folks!" he yells, acknowledging my stylist and the rest of the camera crew. His voice bounces around in the almost-empty studio. "You did fantastic today, Ruby."

  "Thanks," I say, running my fingers through my hair, glancing up at the clock. "It's been a long day."

  "Without you, my friend," he singsongs, and I laugh.

  "See you tomorrow, Zach."

  I leave the studio and walk into the brightly-lit change room. I take off the American Apparel jacket, blouse, slacks, and pumps and pull on my low-waist jeans and a soft grey t-shirt. I gather my hair up into a ponytail, loosening the curls first, and slip on a white sweater as my co-worker Chantelle walks in, her long, honey-brown hair in a messy topknot.

  "Hey, Canada's next top model," she says with a wink.

  I laugh. "Says you!" I counter. "We all know that you're the prettier one-plus the agents love you, and you have more seniority  I've only been here two weeks."

  Chantelle scrunched up her nose. "Ugh, don't say seniority! Just 'cause I'm four years older than you doesn't mean I'm that old, y'know."

  "I know," I say with a smirk. Lacing up my snow boots and bundling up in a parka and scarf, I say goodbye to her and go out the back door.

  A blast of ice-cold wind hits me as I step outside, immediately numbing my nose and cheeks. I walk through the dark parking lot until I spot my uncle's dark blue Chevy and make my way towards it.

  He sees me and opens the door. "So, how was the shoot?"

  "Not bad, but a lot more primping up and readjusting today than usual," I say with a sigh as I climb into the warm vehicle and close the door, fastening my seatbelt.

  He revs the engine and drives off. "Modelling sure sounds like tough stuff, but you're definitely up to the job." He glances at me and smiles sadly. "You know, you look just like your mother, wearing your hair up like that."

  I feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I stifle a sob. It's been 7 years and I'm still overcome with grief. Mom...

  We sit in silence until we pull up into my grandmother's driveway.

  "Thanks, Uncle Brent," I say to him, stepping out of the car.

  "Always a pleasure, Ruby." He turns to face me and his eyes are clouded. "Take care, alright?"

  I blink at him a few times. "Yeah, you too."

  I climb the stairs and unlock the front door. "Hey Gran, I'm home," I holler, locking the door behind me and taking off my boots and coat.

  "Oh, hello dear," she says, appearing from the kitchen, wearing an apron. "Did Brent leave?"

  "Mmhmm, he only dropped me off," I say. The smell of something baking wafts over and I take a deep sniff. "Yum. What're you making?"

  Gran dusts her hands off on the apron and sits down on the couch in the living room and I join her. "I was just baking cupcakes. I forgot to mention... Dylan and Lorraine are coming down; they're going to be staying here for a week."

  "Dylan and Lorraine?" I say, shocked. Wow. I haven't seen my two cousins since... "I-I haven't seen them since... Mom and Dad's funeral."

  Gran looks at me. "I know. They're all grown up now... They're eager to see you again."

  "As am I," I tell her, smiling slightly. "How old are they now?"

  "Dylan is nineteen, Lorraine is fifteen."

  I shake my head. "Fifteen already... Time flies, huh."

  "Sure does," Gran agrees, and stands up again. "They'll be here in an hour or two-they're driving down in Dylan's new car. Anyway, I'm going to fix up these cupcakes, so can you get the guest rooms ready?"

  "Of course." I go down the hall to the small, green-hued room with the oak-framed glass door and the  white Murphy bed. This is where Lorraine will stay.

  Once entering the room, I reorganize the candles and photos on the shelf, and put new towels in the bottom drawer of the dresser and replace the sheets on the bed with new ones. I dust off the TV and windowsill and straighten out the rug on the floor.

  After I'm satisfied with the room, I go down to the basement and enter the large room beside mine. The walls are a sort of creamy white tint, with a queen-sized bed and an antique spruce wood desk in the left corner. Dylan's suite.

  I put a maroon comforter on the bed with white pillows and polish the desk with beeswax. I open the closet and add extra hangers, removing the big coat that Uncle Brent must've left the last time he stayed over.

  I finish up and wash my hands. I go into my room and change into fleece pyjama pants and take off the sweater. I flop down onto my bed and stare at my empty book bag on the floor and my notebooks strewn across my desk.

  School's been closed for almost a week now because of the snow and ice. In a way, I'm glad that it is--there's no stress from homework, projects, or tests, and I don't have to deal with all the horrible people there--but school's helped keep my mind off things, and now I have all the time in the world to grieve over the past and worry about my future.

  My eyes shift to the photo of 10-year-old me, my parents, and my closest friend Maryane who I had to leave back in Vancouver when I moved here. The four of us have ice cream cones in our hands, standing on Prospector's Point in Stanley Park. We all look so happy and carefree. I start to tear up as my gaze lingers on the photo, remembering everything that I've lost.

  I hear footsteps and voices upstairs; Dylan and Lorraine have arrived.