Bobby POV
The ride home is pretty boring. It's not like Mom or Dad bothered to meet me at the airport anyway; just sent a chauffeur to pick me up in their limo. The driver must be a new guy, because he keeps trying to make conversation with me the whole way. The last guy wasn't so chatty, though there wasn't anything remarkable about him either. In appearance, this guy and the last are strangely similar: dark hair, and otherwise nondescript.
I only answer the driver in grunts and shrugs, hoping he'll get the hint to leave me alone. You would think that after not being home for months I would be looking forward to this, but no. Home is not really home to me. It's just a house. I used to love my home but now I've learned. My parents don't care about me (I mean, they hardly pay me any attention when I'm home anyway, and they sent me away) and no one else seems to even like me so why bother?
"You're mother is planning a welcome home party for you, you know," the driver informs me as we pull up. Glancing out the window I can see her, my mother, walking around a set up of tables and barking orders at maids. She doesn't even seem to notice that I'm here in the limo; too engrossed in screaming at the help. She's probably only having the party to get herself attention; not for me.
When I don't reply, the driver climbs out of the car to open my door. "Shall I take your bags to your room, Sir?" he offers, bowing slightly.
"Yeah, whatever," I grumble, stepping out. With a nod the driver slams the door shut and goes around to the back for my bags.
Mom finally looks up and smiles when she sees me. It almost looks genuine. She comes across the lawn to greet me, already dressed for the party in one of her evening gowns, her makeup done, and her hair up. "Sweetie, you're home!" she gushes, leaning forward to give me an awkward hug. I roll my eyes.
"Yeah, it's great," I mumble.
She pulls away and flashes me a happy smile. "We're having a party for you, and lots of people are coming, so why don't you freshen up? Get a shower, change clothes? You have an hour!" With that she spins on her heels and walks away, leaving me to stand there, feeling empty.
The last thing I want is to have to put on a happy face for a bunch of people I don't know or like. What I want most is to sleep for a week, but Mom will not be argued with so, sighing, I head inside to change and shower.
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An hour later I'm outside, surrounded my women (my mom's friends) who are gushing over me and going on about how I've grown (even though my last growth spurt was 10th grade) and how they remember when I was a baby and how time flies. I don't even know half these women, so how do they know me? I just plaster on a fake smile and nod and say "yeah" when it seems appropriate.
None of my friends from school (from before my parents shipped me off) are even here. Just some kids I remember vaguely being in my class that are just the kids of my mom's friends. Most of the kids I don't even recognize. A couple girls are clustered together and whispering, shooting admiring looks at a couple boys, including me, but I'm so tired I don't care.
Then someone does catch my eye and suddenly I'm wide awake. A girl with bouncy blonde curls walks by, wearing a sleeveless black dress that's shorter in the front than it is in the back. She's beautiful, and I can't stop staring as she goes by, my mouth hanging open. Then I notice the tray of food in her hand, and it strikes me. I know her.
Essa, the maid's daughter from my childhood. When did she get so grown up? From the frizzy blonde tomboy to this? I'd ask her out if she wasn't a maid's daughter, and if she wasn't the girl who used to beat me up all the time (not that I didn't deserve it but...).
One of the women near me sees me staring and swats my shoulder. "Don't stare, boy. You'll catch flies. She's just the help."
Somehow, that comment recognize staring at Essa as she pours him a glass of water. He says something to her and she blushes, turning her cheeks pink and making her look adorable. I feel a pang of jealousy that she seems to like to that guy more than me, though I probably deserve it. I'll have to find a way to talk to her.