The Con Artist (A Michael Jackson fanfiction) (Completed)

Eight

Stella

It wasn't the first time I was caught off-guard kissing a guy.

I distinctly remember a time in college (mid-Nathan, of course), in my American Politics class, when the young, nineteen year old version of me fell head over heels for a young man by the name of Nicholas Prince. He was in his twenties, I believe. His hair was light blonde and extremely curly, and his eyebrows framed his face very well despite how thick they were. He had a reputation of being a little bit of a-shall I say- manwhore, but as a hormonally rampant teenage girl, that was much overlooked and very thrilling to me.

My friend caught me making out with him in my room after a heated debate topic which I had rebutted him ineffectively (we argued the effectiveness of the death penalty and I was on the side opposing it; either way, I was beyond excited- we very nearly took off our clothes) and kindly told him on my behalf that I wasn't legal yet by New York State law. That ended awkwardly.

Today I was caught off-guard by a woman sticking her head out a window and pointing at Michael and me. She bore a striking resemblance to the man in front of me. What had my criminal life come to? What was next? It really was a shame on my end.

"Mother, Michael has a girlfriend? Jermaine, look, Michael has a girlfriend!" she squealed excitedly, nearly falling out the window to get a better look at the two of us. Michael pulled away from me, quickly clearing his throat and wiping my saliva off his lips with the back of his hand before racing over to ensure the woman didn't topple onto the concrete while the car was still moving. I saw the looks on the faces of the rest of the people in the car; the older woman looked surprised and horribly confused (perhaps even disgusted, more so with me than the display of affection), the other woman had her jaw dropped in shock, and the black haired man clapped his hands and roared with laughter. Their SUV came to a stop behind Michael's car and the woman sprinted out from the car.

"Hi, Michael!" she chirped, jumping into Michael's arms with a wide smile on her face. She also looked strikingly similar to the older woman whom I assumed to be her mother.

"Hey, Janet, hey," Michael greeted, putting her down on the ground and looking back at me with an air of uncertainty. I could tell that the same thing was running through my mind as his: how in the world were we going to pull this one off? The rest of the people came clambering out of the car with very different reactions.

"Michael Joseph Jackson, I can not believe that you would keep some...some girl away from your own mother!"

"Mother, hush. I'm sure Michael would've told you when the time was right," implored the other woman towards the older woman before turning to Michael and lowering her voice. "Michael, please tell me she isn't like Tatiana. God, remember that thing she used to do? Annoying brat."

"Mother, Janet, Rebbie, really, it's nothing," Michael tried to explain before getting cutting off by the black haired man.

"Michael, she's so fine! You what they say about girls fine as that, right? They've got nice-"

"Virgin ears! They have virgin ears!" Michael interrupted him, pointing at the women and glaring at him. In turn, they all looked at me; I was sure I looked like a deer in headlights. Without a clue what to do next, I raised my hand and waved. Michael turned to face me and took a deep breath in. "Everybody, this is...Adrianne, my...girlfriend?"

He hesitated. He was uncomfortable with lying. Jesus fucking Christ, this was going to be difficult. I stepped forward to join him.

"Adrianne, this is my mother, Katherine,"-I shook her hand; she didn't look very thrilled and nearly crushed my fingers with her grip-"my sister, Janet,"-I shook her hand, and she willingly shook mine as she bowed her head at me-"and my other sister, Rebbie."