Chapter 2

Nobody had warned me about the plaid.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I actually liked the whole concept of a school uniform. A part of me had expected that a uniform would be a liberation from the fashion mafia that seemed to rule my LA school. But as a skinny, pale-skinned and most importantly red-headed girl, the last thing that I would ever choose to wear was a knee-length pleated skirt in bright red plaid. The additional combination of a bottle green jacket and knee-high socks only added to my trauma.

Portia tried to put her own unique spin on the situation.

‘The whole Burberry and plaid thing is such a hot look right now,’ she said. ‘Anyway, it’s time you wore a little colour. You wear too much black.’

It would have been pointless to have gotten mad at her. This was totally the fault of my Mom. Why would she want to send me to a school that required me to look quite so awful? I mean, what was she thinking? There was no way that I was ever going to set foot inside St Saviours Academy For Young Ladies. She could just forget about that.

I stormed past Portia and headed straight for my Mom’s suite.

Andre stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of me in my Mom’s mirror. The noise of his platinum hairdryer was the only sound to break the awful silence as he and my Mom tried to think of something good to say to that first frightening vision of me in my school uniform.

It was Mom who made the first move. She spun around from the industrial-strength light that she always used for her make-up and she gave me her biggest smile.

‘Honey you look so English!’ she said.

My heart was suddenly filled with compassion for English girls everywhere.

‘You can’t make me go,’ I said, standing my ground.

Mom nodded towards Andre and Portia.

‘Could you give us some time alone?’ she said.

The doors to the suite were closed and Mom patted the seat next to hers, as though she expected me to sit beside her, the way I used to when I was little. I preferred to stand. It was time that she understood that I was not a kid anymore.

‘Honey I know you’re afraid,’ she said.

What made her think that she knew anything about the way that I was feeling? I couldn’t remember the last time that anyone had actually asked for my opinion on anything.

‘I’m scared too,’ she said.

So suddenly we were back to her feelings. It was always about her, wasn’t it?

‘I have to go to the studio today and play a role that isn’t like anything that I have ever done before. It’s very demanding. Honey you’ve seen the volume of work that I have had to put into just working on my English accent. I have to get this right. A lot of people would love to see me fall flat on my face.’

She paused then and I guessed that I was supposed to jump in with some lame expression of sympathy or support, but I wanted to get the conversation back on track. We were supposed to be talking about me.

‘I’m not going to the stupid English school,’ I said.

Martina stuck her head around the door, took a long, lingering look at my embarrassment and announced that the studio car was waiting outside for Mom.

‘Just give me five minutes,’ said Mom, looking tense.

‘Bliss honey, you know I wouldn’t have dragged you half way around the world if I didn’t honestly think that this is for the best, right?’ she said.

‘Best for who?’ I snapped, staring at the reflection of my sickly plaid skirt.

‘Best for all of us,’ said Mom gently holding my hand, ‘and best for our safety.’

I quickly withdrew my hand. Honestly, my Mom really did have an overactive imagination. Just because one of her crazier stalkers had gone missing, I was supposed to go running scared, thousands of miles away from my home and my friends.

‘Nobody wants to hurt me,’ I protested. ‘And besides, no freak is ever going to get past Bob and the rest of your bodyguards, no matter how obsessed he is with you.’

Mom exhaled, still clearly worried, but she attempted a smile.

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she said as she stood up. ‘Just try to work with me on this and think of it as a kind of extended vacation. A real slice of British life. And you know what the best part is Bliss? You get to go incognito. For security reasons, Bob has asked the school to register you under your middle name. And I don’t think any of the girls will be bothering Jayne Drew with dumb questions about her famous Mom.’

I tried not to register my pleasure at that little nugget of good news. It was too early to let Mom off the hook. But the fact was that my name had always come between me and my many efforts to live an inconspicuous life. It’s impossible to blend with a name like Bliss, even in Southern California. Honestly, Mom might as well have hung a neon sign around my neck at birth to tell the world that I am some sort of celebrity-bred freak. Going to a new school as plain Jayne Drew actually opened things up to all sorts of exciting possibilities.

Mom clearly saw the need to set some boundaries.

‘But Bliss you have got to remember that this is your last shot. There can be no more problems in this new school. If you cannot make it work here then I will have no option but to put you in a more stable and secure environment.’

‘You mean a boarding school!’ I said.

‘Yes, I do, but only for your own good and only if there are any more problems. Bliss I have tried everything that I can think of. But you have worked your way through six nannies in the last two years. And after that incident with Bo Hoppermann your school back home is not exactly waiting for your with open arms.’

There was no point in explaining that Bo Hoppermann had deserved everything that she had got. I knew that she was the one who had covered my locker with those gossip magazine headlines about my Mom and some guy that I had never heard of. Besides I thought that green was a refreshingly new look for Bo’s normally Barbie blond locks. Honestly, if Bo’s Dad hadn’t been some sort of Governor of the school then the whole thing would have been forgotten about by now.

I threw my eyes up towards the ceiling as Mom made her dramatic exit.

At least now I was free to go to the new school on my own terms.