Target Chapter 1

This story isn't about me, even though I’m telling it. Sure, I play a big role in it, but there is someone else whom this story is truly about. This person came rolling into this out of the way town and changed not only the town itself, but my life forever. The real star of this story is...well, her real name is Bethany Anderson, but she hates that name. She prefers to be called Target. There are three people who knows the story behind that nickname. Myself, her guardian, and Target herself. She is incredibly sensitive about the story.

This story begins and ends in a small town in Chester Village, Connecticut; population 6,106 located in the south east side of the state. We are a quiet town. It always reminds me of that song in the Disney movie Beauty and the Beast, when Belle sings the song about how boring a “provincial life” is. That’s basically Chester Village in a nutshell. There’s Katie the baker, Sam the repair man, Andrea the mayor, and Phil the chief of police. However, I am nothing like Belle. I very much enjoy living in Small Town, USA. I have two loving parents and an annoying, but cute nine year old brother. I was a junior in Chester Village High when my life changed and had a few friends. My parents have steady jobs that allows us to live a comfortable life. I’ve never needed anything in my life. In school, I have an almost solid 4.0 grade average.

I’ve lived in Chester Village my whole life and, even though many people complain about one day escaping the small town life, I never want to leave. While other students are excited to leave for college, I cringe at the idea. I like my sheltered, safe life and I'm not even sure if I was going to go to college. I plan on graduating high school and then going to work in the town’s convenience shop that my mother owns, hoping to one day own it when she retires. I already work there as a part-time after school job and a full time job during the summer.

Then...everything changed when she arrived in our town, disrupting our routine and comfortable living style. However, now after everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is the story of Target.
It happened when I was in school, during my second period British Literature class. It was the middle of the first semester and we were studying Shakespeare when there was a knock on the door. The teacher, Mrs. Greene, stopped her lecture on the Englishmen’s most famous plays to go to the door and opened it.

“Oh, Mr. Danielson,” the English teacher said, her voice showing her surprise. “To what do we owe this visit?”

“I have a new student for you,” the principal declared. The room suddenly broke out into a low rumble of shock and whispers. A new student? They only came every once in a blue moon. Surely someone would have heard that a new family had moved into the town. Genevieve, the wife of the head of City Counsel, must have known; she’s the town’s gossip and nothing ever slipped passed her, which meant that everyone knew about everything within a few hours.

“Really? I wasn’t informed of this,” Greene stated.

“Well, we only found out this morning, so don’t feel left out,” Danielson replied.

“Oh, well, come in then. Let’s meet them,” my teacher said, stepping aside. The other students craned their necks, some stood from their seats, to get a look at the new junior.

There were a few gasps, a low whistle, and the volume of the whispering rose. This new student, a girl of seventeen, was absolutely gorgeous. She was now easily the town’s most beautiful girl, surpassing Emily Jamison. She stood up straight at five feet, seven inches with brilliant, long red hair that went to the middle of her back. This was the kind of hair that every girl would kill to have. It was thick, wavy, and the perfect shade of red. It was the color of Jean Grey’s hair in the X-Men III: Last Stand movie. She probably weight about one hundred and thirty pounds with an athlete’s body; lean and muscled, but slender and curvy in all the right places. She reminded me of a swimmer—her stomach was flat, her breasts were, at a glance, a C cup. Her hips flared out just right and her legs were thin, but not like sticks. Her face was befitting of a supermodel; perfectly angled nose and high cheekbones that were sprinkled with light freckles. Her was skin pale and fair, the kind that girls spent all kinds of money on beauty products to get. Her neck was slender and long and her eyes were absolutely mesmerizing. They were a dark, smoky gray that looked like they were swirling like a fog in the light. Her smile was wide that reached her eyes, making them sparkle, only adding to their beauty. She was wearing jeans that hugged her legs and a light blue, short sleeved blouse.

Just looking at her made all girls feel a little bit of their self esteem fall. I stared at her with my mouth hanging open. I couldn’t believe that people that beautiful existed in real life.

If this is what she looks like, I wonder what her parents look like. They must be stunning to produce a child like this I thought.

I didn’t see what the everyone else looked like, but I assumed every guy was drooling and many of the girls were either envious or shocked, like me.

“Boys and girls,” the principal called attention to the students. Some groaned; we hated being addressed like little kids. “I want you all to give a warm welcome to Be—“

The beautiful girl cleared her throat, interrupting the man and gave him a raised eyebrow. He looked surprised and the class was as well. Mr. Danielson always demanded respect from his students and no one ever cut him off.

“We discussed my name in your office,” the new girl said, her voice light and smooth, despite its serious tone; but what everyone observed was her noticeable Southern accent. Her statement caused many people in the room to give each other looks of confusion. What was she talking about? The principal looked as if he was trying to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“You were serious?” he asked, sounding like he didn’t believe her. The girl gave the man a disarmingly sexy, crooked smile and a wink, making many students gasp.

“As a heart attack,” she replied to his question. He sighed and shook his head lightly.

“Very well,” he said. “Class, this is...Target. She’s new and I expect you all to treat her as kindly as possible, like I know you’re all capable of.”

Target? I asked myself, raising an eyebrow. I wasn’t the only one to perform this action and I knew everyone else was thinking the same thing.

“Did you just say Target?” John Valenski asked.

“Yes...she prefers to be called Target over her birth name,” Danielson said, frowning somewhat.

“Why?” John continued questioning. The girl named Target looked at him, cocking her head to one side, looking like a confused puppy. She looked absolutely adorable with that expression, I decided right away. All she needed to do was push out her full lips into a pout and anyone would crumble to whatever Target desired.

“Because that’s what I want to be called,” she answered, as if it were obvious. There was still that twinkle in her eyes that told everyone she was very happy at the moment. John didn’t respond, probably because he didn’t know what to say. Target gave the class a brilliant smile.

“Well, Mrs. Greene, I’ll take my leave,” the principal said. He was about to walk out the door when he paused to look at the English teacher. I was near the door so I could hear what he said.

“Good luck with her,” he whispered. Mrs. Greene looked taken aback by her boss’ statement.

“What? Why?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” he assured, then left the room. The teacher shook away her confusion and closed the door.

“Well...er...Target, you can take a seat in the back desk. You can see me after class so I can give you a list of the books you will need for the course,” she instructed the new student.

Target flipped her beautiful hair over her shoulder and looked at the teacher.

“What are we studying now?” she asked, her Southern accent easily showing through her speech. It wasn’t that annoying twang, but it was incredibly endearing, I realized.

“Shakespeare. Take the notes you can and I’m sure that someone in the class would be more than happy to share their notes with you after class,” Mrs. Greene answered.

“All right, thanks teach,” Target said with another heart breaking crooked smile and took her seat. She took out her notebook and opened to a fresh sheet of paper.

“Uh, Target. Would you like to maybe properly introduce yourself and maybe tell us a thing or two about you,” the teacher said. It was so rare they got a new student that was from out of town, ever she was anxious to get to know her.

“Sure thing, ma’am,” the girl said and stood. Her body movements were so graceful and confident. For some reason, I knew I would get along with this girl very well if given the chance.

“Well, as the principal stated before, my name is Target. I just moved here this past weekend. My mom and I are very excited to be here,” she said with her smile. She didn’t even look nervous. “We moved here from Mississippi because of my mom’s job. She’s opening up a new art gallery downtown. I love to play soccer and meeting new people.”

“Thank you...Target,” Greene said, still having a hard time seriously calling a student the name of a famous chain store. The girl smiled and sat back down, crossing her long, muscular legs and flipped her hair back again.

The whole time, since she walked in the room, I hadn’t taken my eyes off of her. There was something almost hypnotic about her that I wouldn’t allow me to turn away.

“All right, class. Let’s get back to Shakespeare,” Greene said, even though it was going to be difficult to keep their attention on the lesson.

The class actually passed rather quickly with everything that happened and soon the bell rang for second period to be over and signaling that third period would start in five minutes. I gathered my notebook and textbook and put them in my backpack, then, with one last look at Target, left the room.

Throughout the rest of the day, everyone seemed to be buzzing about the new girl. The guys were already half in love with her, the popular girls were trying to get her into their “crowd,” and the shy cliques were too timid to speak to her.

I had two more classes with her after British Literature. One was fifth period History and the next one was last period Foods class. She was not the least bit shy. Target would sit down at her table and immediately strike up a conversation with whoever was next to her, despite what they looked like. She laughed easily, which sounded like music, and her smile was more contagious than a yawn. Unfortunately, I didn’t sit next to her in any of my classes, but in Foods class, we usually switched up the table groups every few weeks and it was about that time, so I might have a chance at having a conversation.

I’m not a freak and no one teases me about how few friends I have, but I was one of those shy people that wouldn’t initially talk to her; however, it didn’t matter who you were, Target would talk to you.

I walked home, a house just down the block from Main Street, which was where our shop was located, and I thought about the new girl during the five minute walk. She was indeed a strange girl to be sure; you’d had to be if you voluntarily named yourself after a store. What I really wanted to know was why she did call herself Target. Was there a story behind it? Was it just a silly nickname given by a friend from her old school? It was obvious she didn’t like her given name and didn’t want anyone to know it.

“Hello?” I called out when I walked inside my house. It was a simple two story house, the perfect size for four people. It was white with dark green shudders and a small porch in the front.

“In the kitchen!” called out my father. I made my way to said location, dumping my backpack in the entry way along the way.

“Hey, dad,” I greeted the patriarch of my family, Christopher, with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, girlie,” he replied, which was his usual greeting, no matter where or what time it was.

“How was school?” asked my mother, Janet, as she came into the kitchen. She greeted me with a kiss on my own cheek.

“It was...definitely interesting,” I stated, unable to think of any other way of putting it.

“I’m guessing you met the new arrival,” my mother said with an entertained smile.

“You knew about them coming and you didn’t say anything?” I asked, surprised.

“I only met the woman today when she came into the shop to buy some things for her new place. They actually live in an apartment above that abandoned store that used to be the barber shop. She’s turning it into an art gallery. That should be different,” my mother answered, meaning different in a good way.

“Her daughter is definitely different as well,” I said. “And I don’t mean that as a bad thing.”

“Oh, Target is not her daughter.”

“What?” I asked. “She said her mom moved here for a job.”

“She probably just said her mom because that’s the easiest thing to call her without raising too many questions. The woman, her name is Rose, is her guardian. They’re not even related, or so she told me,” my mother replied.

“What happened to her parents?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I thought it would be rude to ask.”

I sighed.

“Well, Target is definitely someone who is going to be raising a lot of eyebrows.”

“Why would you say that?” my father asked.

“She is...I’m not sure. There’s something different about her. For one, she is absolutely stunning. I mean, drop dead gorgeous,” I answered.

“Really?” my mother asked.

“Yeah, more beautiful than Emily.”

“Emily Jamison? But she’s won every beauty pageant since she was ten years old,” Christopher stated, surprised.

“She makes Emily look like a hobo,” I replied.

“Wow, she must be pretty,” Janet answered.

“Yeah. Also, she’s very charismatic and very outgoing. I swear there’s not a shy
bone in her body. And she’s got a Southern accent to boot.”

“Well, I would love to meet her,” Janet said, smiling in anticipation. My mother loved meeting interesting people. While she enjoyed the local people in town, she always got excited when someone new and fun came around.

“How did you know her name was Target?” I asked, just realizing what my mother said earlier.

“That’s what Rose called her. When I asked her about it, she said that Target would kill her if she gave away her real name. Apparently, the girl doesn’t like it very much, but why have such a strange name as Target, I’ll never understand,” she answered.

“Her own guardian calls her by her nickname? Weird,” I said, then shrugged. I agreed with her mother. Target was definitely the strangest nickname I’ve ever heard.

Later that night, I was working a shift at the shop, which was called Janet’s (creative, I know. Insert rolling eyes here). I worked the four to seven shift and was the only worker on the clock. There were only four employees. Myself, Valerie Johnson, Peter Harris, and my mother. The shop closed at seven and opened at six in the morning. The shop sells everything from Scotch tape to a little kid’s birthday party supplies to tools.

At around six thirty, the store was empty and I was sitting at the register, doing my History homework when doorbell dinged, alerting me to a customer. I lifted my head to greet whoever it was when my throat stopped working.

It was none other than Target, rolling in on rollerblades and that same incredible smile on her lips.

“Hiya!” she greeted with a bright laugh. I swallowed hard.

“Hello, can I help you with something?” I asked with a polite smile of my own.

“Yeah, I need to get some hangers. Do you have any here?” Target asked with her smoky gray eyes twinkling into my blue-green ones.

“Of course. I’ll show you,” I said, deciding I wanted to walk beside her...while she rolled down the aisles.

“Thanks a bunch!” she said, giving me that unnerving smile that I was helpless in returning. “You’d think that we’d remember to pack hangers, but we must have forgotten them or something.”

She laughed and my mouth suddenly turned dry at the sound.

“But you know how it is,” she continued when she finished laughing. I smiled sheepishly.

“Well, not really. I’ve never moved before. I’ve lived in the same house for my entire life,” I replied. Target raised both her eyebrows.

“Really? Wow...that must be...strange. I’ve moved so many times, I can’t imagine staying in one place for more than a few years,” she said.

“How many times have you moved?” I asked.

“Well, let me think,” she said, turning her gray eyes to the ceiling. We had reached the hangers by now, but neither of us made to grab them. “I believe that this move will be my sixth since I was four.”

“Wow...that’s stranger,” I said. She giggled.

“Yes, I suppose it is. But, strange is not something that’s new to me,” she admitted with a smile as she looked me directly in the eyes. For some odd reason, I blushed and turned away. “Oh, my God!” she gasped. I quickly met her gaze again.

“What?” I asked, confused. She looked quite surprised by something.

“You are so utterly cute when you blush!” she practically squealed. This only caused me to blush harder and she giggled like a school girl.

“Oh, my word. You are going to be a lot of fun, I can just tell,” Target said. She honestly looked like she was about to start jumping up and down while clapping with enthusiasm, which would have been difficult with rollerblades. I went another shade of red.

“What do you mean I’ll be a lot of fun?” I asked, confused by her statement.

“Someone who blushes so adorably so easily is definitely fun to mess with a little,” she said, a mischievous smirk played on her lips.

“What? You’re going to start picking on me?” I asked, horrified.

“Not the way you’re thinking. I won’t be mean about it. I am not a bitch,” she said with a good natured laugh. “I might tease you a bit, just to see that cute blush creep up your cheeks.”

I was speechless. This girl, who was named Target! was saying that she was going to make a hobby out of making me blush. Before I could say anything she took three packets of hangers in her hands and rolled off to the cashier. I sighed deeply and followed her. She paid for her merchandise and almost rolled out the door before she stopped and turned around.

“Oh, silly me. I forgot to ask, what’s your name?” she asked.

“Alexis Kostas,” I answered.

“Pretty name. I’m Target. Well, I suppose I’ll see you later,” she said with a wink. Despite my objectives to my body, my face still flushed at the action. She laughed.

“I am so excited,” she giggled, then left.

I collapsed in my chair and sighed deeply.

“I wonder if she’ll go through with it,” I quietly asked myself.