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* this is the original first draft. The rewrite is now also out on my profile! *
ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀʀɪʟʟᴏ was discovered at fourteen years old, being praised as a musical prodigy by the media ever since. His f...
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ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏᴄᴀʀʀɪʟʟᴏ
Turned out the guy she was out with, was only interested in Trisha because she's my sister. He was hoping I could listen to one of his 'demos' and convince some people. I mean, I could've told her he would be an ass. What else can you expect from a guy named Travis?
Now Trisha was mad at me, which kinda canceled out my annoyance towards her.
"Trisha, come on. It's not my fault that Travis guy is an ass," I told her. She was still staring through the passenger's seat window, her arms crossed. She clenched her jaw before she spoke.
"I'm not mad at you, Oakley," she said.
"Then what is it?" I asked her. We were now almost home.
"I'm just so stupid," she mumbled.
I stopped the car when we reached home.
"Trisha, either we talk here, or inside with dad."
Trisha looked at me. She tapped her fingers on the side of the door and sighed.
"Ever since you've been this popular, people seem to forget I'm my own person. Like yeah, I have some awesome friends, but I've known those since forever. I can't seem to make new ones."
She looked down at her lap, playing with a bracelet. Somewhere, I always knew something like this would happen. It happened to me even before I was this full blown famous guy. All it took was important people to notice me before people clung to me like chewing gum to the sole of your shoe.
"Trisha," I put my hand on her shoulder. "You were the reason I even got where I am. I would be nowhere without you."
"Oakley, you totally would've made it without me," she said.
"No, I wouldn't."
"Yes, you would."
"Trisha, I'm serious," I said, shaking her shoulder. "I don't think I would've pushed through if it wasn't for you. I'm very proud I can call myself Trisha Carrillo's brother," I said, smiling broadly. "Like you said before: you're your own person too. Soon enough, people will see that. Fifteen year olds are stupid."
I thought that through for a moment.
"Well, fifteen year olds and dad."
"Dad?"
"Well, yeah. Dad called Nolan 'Bradley Mullen's son'."
"Who even is that?"
"Not our generation," I said, scrunching my nose up. "Let's just call him Nolan's dad."
Trisha laughed it off, and right on cue, mom's car appeared on the driveway.
I unlocked the doors and Trisha and I walked out, meeting our mom.
