Samantha Blackmore

Samantha Blackmore. The only daughter and successor of my parent's jewelry business… Majestic. They had created a style of jewelry that people had loved, and by the time I was a one-year old, they were filthy rich. My parents had become important people in society that many people looked up to and were envious of. I was the child that every parent wanted to wed their son with. Our family was the one always on television, commercials, billboards, and ads. So, in general… my parents were obsessed with money, manners, pride, elegance, and of course, reputation.

After eighteen years, I was nineteen. Instead of going to college, I would study business with my parents and the managers of our business and start working with them. So basically, my college diploma and degree or whatnot was going to be from all these business presidents, not a principal person. My parents were the same as always. My father was always wearing Giorgio Armani, Versace, and all those famous and expensive brand names suits. While my mother wore Prada, Gucci, Vera Wang, and all those expensive clothing and the same with jewelry and perfume, I didn't. Knowing that I'm their daughter, you would probably think I would go around wearing those clothes, shoes, jewelry, and perfume that costs three-hundred dollars for a simple pair of jeans, but no. I stick to the normal-priced clothes that are all found in the mall not 5, 000 miles away.

According to my parents, I turned out differently from what they wanted. I had sun-tanned skin that had evened out over the years. I had a toned body that could compromise with both dresses and sports-clothes. To go into more specifics: I had bright blue eyes that had a tinge of grey in them, my lips were a perfect pink, my nose was set just right, and I had no acne whatsoever. Luckily, I was one of those girls that didn't have to go through the entire "hide-your-pimple" stage. I had enough bust to be admired by the girls and looked at by the guys. My waist was small, toned, and tan. My butt, tight and perfect. My legs, long, skinny, and toned. Feet, made for running and elegant looking. That's about it. Simple beauty that was expected of high-class society people.

"Samantha!" my mom screeched.

"What?" I turned around and looked at her. I was usually nice to my parents, but these days… they were getting extremely annoying.

"Are you going out again to play basketball!?" she scolded.

"It is the summer!" I looked at her.

"You have etiquette lessons!" she reminded.

What century is this!? "Mom, we're in the 21st century. I'm not some kind of princess who's getting married to a prince." I shot back. I grabbed my shoes and ran out the door. I could hear my mom yelling, but I ignored her and went out. I had my backpack on my back and my basketball under my arm.

"Finally." he sighed.

"Hey to you, too, Tommy." I looked up at him with a glaring smile.

"Your mom's not too happy I'm guessing." he smirked as he took my ball and bag.

"You guessed right." I rolled my eyes and finished tying my basketball shoes on. I straightened up and took back my stuff. "Ready?" I smiled.

"I've grown old waiting." he teased.

"Shut up!" I lightly punched his abs with a laugh and walked out my house driveway, which would take a while. Our house, obviously, was a mansion that was built just the way my mother wanted it. And since it was the way my mother wanted it, it was highly-modernized, clean, and spacious. I couldn't complain, I mean… I liked it, sort of And Tommy… he was like my best friend-slash-older brother. I had known him since birth and we had grown up together. He was like the next rich, famous person on the block so he could sympathize with me. Like how people got to know you and were nice to you just for money or clothes. That kind of stuff.

Tommy Dawson. 23 years old. Brown hair, light brown eyes, muscular, abs, athletic… and I guess I could give it to him: he was hot.

"Ready to get beat down!?" he said as he threw off his shirt and revealed a semi-tight grey tank under that hugged his muscles in a way that attracted girls' eyes.

"Me, get beat? Oh, please Tommy…" I mocked him as I took off my shirt. I had on a white jersey that had the number ten on the back and black lines down my sides.

"Check it up." he passed the ball to me.

"No problem." I said as I walked over. As soon as Tommy got into position, she added on, "Just don't cry after this game." I stuck out my tongue.

He laughed and shook his head at me, a sign that he would definitely win.

Like I had said before, I wasn't what my parents wanted me to be. They wanted me to be the kind of girl who wore frilly dresses with laces, expensive and elegant designer clothes, jewelry, perfume, shoes, and make-up 24/7. But I was completely different.

I did wear those kinds of things, but occasionally. Very occasionally. I stuck to regular jeans and a nice shirt. That was nice enough, right? And more often, I wore cargos and a tank. I would leave my straight dark brown hair to reach my lower-back and that was about it. Plain and simple, no huge diamond rings or pendants or hair clips.

And instead of practicing etiquette, make-up, and shopping, I was out playing sports. I played basketball, soccer, lacrosse, and the less painful version of football. I usually played with Tommy and his group of friends every now and then, but it was mostly Tommy.

"I win!" Tommy yelled.

"By one point!" I put on a fake pouting expression and looked at him.

"Aww, poor Sam…" he mocked.

I started to laugh and lightly smacked his shoulder.

"Here," he tossed me a water bottle.

"Thanks." I smiled. I opened the bottle and drank half the bottle. "Alright, I got to get home…" I sighed.

"This early?" he asked as he tossed me a towel.

"Thanks." I said as I grabbed it and wiped my face. "Yeah, my mom wants me to do something."

"Could've guessed." he smiled. "Alright, let's go then."

"Yeah…" I grabbed my stuff and we started walking home.