Destiny. Part One. Connection.

Chapter Five: Shrimp Salad

On the fateful Sunday morning that I was to have dinner with the Parsons, I grabbed brunch with Sahara before we headed to the salon.  The hair appointment my mom booked had turned into a double appointment for my best girl friend and me.  At least I would have good company while I got ready for something I didn’t want to do.  My hair was revitalized and the tone was evened out.  My nails were buffed and perfectly manicured.  That part was all good and relaxing.  What sucked was picking out a dress.  I’d been dreading this whole thing, especially during the last week that I’d spent with Kieran, so I’d put dress shopping off to the last minute.

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Destiny. Part One. Connection.

Interlude: Screwed

So Kieran asked me if I wanted to go out with him.  I obviously said yes.  But you know what ‘going out’ in high school means.  There’s not really a lot of actual going out or going on dates.  He’s my boyfriend.

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Destiny. Part One. Connection.

Chapter Four: Tainted Fate

 The very next day was the night Kieran’s band was set to play a show.  I’d checked my appearance in the mirror so many times that I wouldn’t be surprised if my own reflection was tired of me.  I’d looked through absolutely everything in my closet to find something that didn’t scream Beverly Hills brat.  Clothes were strewn all over the floor of my walk-in closet and would serve as a reminder of my insecurities when I arrived back home.

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Destiny. Part One. Connection.

Chapter Three: Heightened Sensation

 “Hello loves!” Sahara greeted everyone as the two of us arrived at lunch at the end of the week.  We took whatever available seats there were and what do you know, mine was right next to Kieran.

Park Laine Academy didn’t have a cafeteria.  The food was gourmet, you didn’t even have to pay for it, and it actually tasted really good.  It was included in the annual overpriced tuition. Of course, you could go and have lunch off campus, but with only half an hour for lunch and only one class afterward (as graduating seniors of the Class of 2004), my friends and I hardly ever did that. The student body ate outside on the balcony set on three different levels, overlooking the ocean in Santa Monica.  It was another thing to like about school: it was outside of Beverly Hills.

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Destiny. Part One. Connection.

Chapter Two: Home Sweet Home

 When I got home, there was someone to take my car away and park it in the garage that was fit for my family’s extensive amount of expensive cars.  I wanted to park it myself.  I was fully capable.  However, the guy, Carl, he insisted.  It was like we had our very own valet parking at our mansion. I said hello to a few of the maids who were cleaning, quickly running through the foyer and up the stairs, hoping that I was lucky enough to avoid my mother.  I was halfway up the stairs when a voice interrupted.  “Lana?”

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Destiny. Part One. Connection.

Chapter One: Park Laine Academy

 Stepping out of my car, I grabbed my ugly blazer jacket off of the passenger seat.  My car, a dark blue Nissan 350Z, was one of the advantages I did like about being Isaac Harland’s daughter.  It was the epitome of style on four wheels.  “That’s all you want, just a Nissan?!” I remember my sister stressing.  I’d insisted that I should be able to drive myself around when I turned sixteen.  What normal sixteen year old wouldn’t want to?  I was granted that privilege and a new car of my choice.  I could have had a Mercedes-Benz, a BMW, a Ferrari, an Aston Martin, a Porsche, any car I wanted, really.  I chose my 350Z.  My dad didn’t care but my mom and sister had a fit.

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Destiny. Part One. Connection.

Introduction: This is How We Do

You could say that my life isn’t exactly normal.  Lana is my name.  Lana Harland.  My dad, Isaac Harland, owns Harland Enterprises Inc., better known as HEI.  Don’t ask me what the company’s all about because in all honesty, I don’t know.  Nor do I give a damn.  The main factor of explaining this to you is that we’re rich. Really rich. I was born wealthy, have had everything handed to me, and I’ll probably die that way. You know those people who are referred to as spoiled brats? That probably applies to me, as much as it pains me to admit it.

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