June 17, 1997

Dear Diary:
I had the usual today: school, ballet lessons, and violin. While we were driving home, I asked Chauncey if he could drop me off at the mall for a while. But, as usual, I was denied, because it would throw everything off schedule and I've never been there before, and mother would be really upset. Sometimes I don't understand my life. Mother and Daddy are constantly at their frou-frou parties, or talking to famous people, or away on business. What's worse is that I always have to be with them, as a symbol of innocence or something, or I'm off learning how to be a "proper young lady." I'm twelve for crying out loud!

I mean, Mother says that if I want to be successful like them, that I should pay attention, and keep my mouth shut and act like a lady, but I never get to play! I've never been to a mall, or any sort of store for that matter. One of Mother's favorite sayings is "we pay people to do that for us." I never get to choose which clothes to wear when I'm not dressed in my school uniform, and everything I own is a dress. I've never worn shorts or pants before--ever.

Mother is leaving for Paris tomorrow and Father has been in England for a week, so perhaps if I whine enough, Chauncey will cave a little and take me somewhere. Still, I guess it would be pretty useless, because whenever I go out in public, I have to have this entire entourage of people follow: Chauncey, the driver, the bodyguard, the chauffer--and that's just the beginning. I remember when I went to see Pocahontas last year. Mother insisted on buying out the whole 7:30 show, and the angry people who wanted to see it stayed at the theater until I got there. The bodyguard had to clear a path for me, and I could hear people saying, "Oh, it's that Von Gabershine brat. Her father gives her everything," or "Could she be any more spoiled?" I wanted to cry, right there, but Mother says it's not lady-like to show emotion, so I kept my chin up and gave the impression that I was ignoring them, but the comments remain imbedded in my mind.

Seriously, we live in sleepy old Tulsa, I don't think all the riff-raff is necessary. But, Mother says I have to remain a lady, to keep up Daddy's image I guess.

--Candice

June 18, 1997

Dear Diary:
Mother left today. She promised to bring me back presents, as usual. It was so boring to day. All I did was go to school and come home. I begged and begged, but Chauncey wouldn't take me anywhere. I called over to my friend Alexandra's house, but she was out. She's practically the only person Mother allows me to play with. I used to play at Eleanor's a lot, but there was some sort of scandal involving her father and some other lady, and Mother won't let me go to her house anymore. Trashy people, she calls them.

So I'm stuck in this boring old house. The pool is getting cleaned, so I can't go swimming, and the whole west wing is off limits because they are replacing all of the oriental rugs with new ones. I don't know what was wrong with the old ones. Mother says that we've had them for over six months and that we have to keep up with the times. So anyway, there isn't anything to do.

I'm really excited about tomorrow. Bianca VanVoorhies is having her birthday party and father (he's the mayor of Tulsa) bought out Chuck E. Cheese's (hey, we're all only 12!) and she's going to have a huge cake and some sort of local band and all tons of stuff. She only invites 9 girls every year, and if you get invited it means you're very popular. So, I'm going to go now!

--Candice

--Candice

June 20, 1997

Dear Diary
Where was I? Oh, yes, they accepted his offer, and while Bianca's chef cut up the cake, the rest of us went haywire all over Chuck E. Cheese's. Somehow, it had been arranged so that we didn't need any tokens to play any of the games. Well, while I was burying myself in the ball pit, a body jumped on top of me. I struggled to get myself to the surface, but the body didn't move. Finally, I blindly punched a fist straight up, and heard a painful groan shortly after. I scurried up to the surface, gasping for air. I opened my eyes and came face to face with the youngest boy in the band.

"You punched me in the stomach," he gurgled.

"Well, you wouldn't let me up!" I defended myself.

"I didn't even know you were down there, how come you didn't say anything?"

"I tried, trust me, I tried. Anyway, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to punch you."

"It's okay," he replied, flashing me a thousand watt smile. "What's your name?"

"Oh, um, Candice. Candice Von Gabershine."

He scratched the back of his neck. "That's a mouthful. I'm Zac Hanson. Half the syllables of you," he joked.

"Who are you related to?"

He crinkled his eyebrows in thought. "Um, my parents?"

"No, no, no. I mean, who are you related to that lets you be here?"

He looked confused. "Um, I'm in a band? Did you hear us sing? They just wanted us to sing."

I giggled. "Forget it."

We were inseperable from that point on, chasing each other through Chuck E. Cheese's. We fit together like puzzle pieces. I've never met anyone so carefree. He wasn't worried about getting dirty, or being completely polite. Just childlike and fun.

A few hours later, I saw our car pull up and Chauncey stride toward the glass doors. "That's my ride."

Zac nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "Um, Candy?" He had begun to call me Candy, because he said Candice sounded to formal. "Maybe we can play together sometime? Like you could come to my house, or I could go to yours?"

I highly doubt that mother would approve of my being around Zac. He was in a band, not related to anyone famous or rich, had long hair...

"Um, yeah." I said, grabbing a napkin and writing my phone number and adress on it. He did the same and we traded.

"Bye," I said, grabbed my goody bag, hopped in the car, and went home for dance lessons.

--Candice, "Candy" :)

I sighed, rereading what I had written eight years ago. All of my cute little crushes....I was such a cute kid. And I've grown up to become so modest. I smiled.

The door to my room opened and in stepped Cheney, to girl I had randomly been paired up with while enrolling at Julliard. I had chosen to study violin further, hopefully becoming part of a symphony one day.

"Okay, not the time to go to the bookstore," she puffed out, dropping a huge stack of hardbacks on the bare floor and flopping backwards onto her unmade bed.

"Problems?" I asked smiling, softly closing the diary and dropping next to me on my bedspread.

"I think everyone decided to wait until the last day to get their books. I was in there for" --she glanced at her watch-- "four hours!"

I, of course, with the organization gene in my system, had gotten my books the very same day I had gotten my registration for classes done. The were in a neat pile on the edge of my desk. "I hate to say it, but I told you so."

"I know. I know," she replied. She had gone through the exact same scene first sememster. You'd think she'd have learned. "Okay, well, anyway, I'm going to grab some lunch, you want?"

I reached for my purse and slipped out my ID. "Turkey sandwich, no mayo, Cool Ranch Doritos and a Sprite," I said, extending my arm to hand her my ID. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me up.

"Nope, you're coming with me. I don't want to stay inside when I've been cooped up in that nasty bookstore all day. And you, you've been in here since I left reading that old diary of yours. You need fresh air!"

I reluctantly slipped my feet into my Birkenstocks that were next to my bed and trudged out the door, following Cheney's springy blonde curls as she bounced down the hall.

We got our food and parked ourselves at the roots of a huge oak tree. I laid on my stomach, kicking my feet into the air, and she leaned against the huge trunk.

I broke the silence, asking softly, "Cheney? Do you ever feel like you missed out on your childhood?"

"Nope. I was in Little League, hung out with my friends all the time, a cheerleader, you name it. What makes you ask?"

"Well, when I was young, my parents screened everything I did. I haven't ever been to a mall, an amusement park, heck, I don't know how to pump my own gas because I've never been in a gas station."

Cheney and I had had this talk before. She patted my head softly. "That's what I'm here for."

I giggled. "Why couldn't they have stuck me with a good teacher?"

"Hey!" she said, throwing a chip at me. "You've got the best there is!"

I laughed. "I'd better."

I smacked my palm over my alarm clock, forcing it to cease it's sleep-interrupting wailing. Cheney grunted, rolled over, and went back into her coma she called sleeping. I'm convinced that she could sleep through a nuclear war.

Blurry eyed, I pulled myself out of bed, grabbed some clothes, and padded down the hall toward the deserted communal showers. Apparently, I was the only person in our hall smart enough to schedule a 7:30 class.

I stepped under the soothing stream of warm water and took a long shower, savoring the solitude in the bathroom where, in an hour or two, would be packed with naked females, squeezing in a shower before rushing off to class. I had heard horror stories from Cheney about the situation, and my previous envy of their extra sleep washed away like the shampoo from the ends of my hair.

When I finished, I tiptoed back to our room, grabbed my backpack and softly shut the door, so as not to disturb the rock that was Cheney.

I stopped at the school bookstore for a steaming cup of coffee and a granola bar.

"Four sugars, no cream." The middle aged woman who ran the store had my coffee preference memorized by now, for this had been my morning routine for the entire semester previous. I smiled in return, then puttered my way out the door.

I had purposely scheduled an interesting class to start the day, Music Appreciation 1950-1970, so I had a chance to wake myself up, rather than be put back to sleep in some boring class.

My Nikes squeaked their way down the freshly mopped linoleum hallway as I trodded my way to class. I reached the open door, stepped in, and briefly scanned the faces of the handful of half-awake students, searching for someone familiar.

I noticed a guy who had gone out with Cheney a few times. He waved his hand toward an empty desk next to him.

I flopped myself down in the chair, placing my styrofoam cup on the desktop and allowing my backpack to hit the floor with a thud that echoes through the room. "Blake Evans, awake at the crack of dawn," I said incredulously. "This is a Kodak moment."

He laughed good-naturedly. "You're telling me. This was the only time this class was available, and I couldn't graduate without taking Dr. Ziller's famous class."

"Oh, and here I thought I had turned you into a morning person."

A few other people drifted in while I chitchatted with Blake. A guy I didn't know strided in the door and walked over to the other side of Blake.

"Hey Zac," Blake said. "Almost thought you wouldn't make it."

"Yeah, right. I've been up since six."

"Hey," Blake said, "Candice, this is Zac. Zac, Candice."

"Nice to meet you," Zac said, smiling.

"Likewise," was all I got out before Dr. Ziller came into the room and shut the door. He plugged in a cassette player and Diana Ross's voice belted out at us. Dr. Ziller pranced around a bit, then turned it off.

"Gotta wake myself up a little bit, that's all," he explained.

As we delved into the world of girl groups of the 50s, I couldn't help stealing glances at Zac. He had gorgeous blonde hair and deep brown eyes. He was hot, there was no doubt about it. I was making a mental note to find out more about him.

After an hour and a half, Dr. Ziller dismissed us and I threw my red spiral notebook into my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. "Bye Blake." I said.

"See ya."

"Bye Zac," I called over my shoulder, walking out the door.

"Bye." I was halfway down the hall when he said that, but his voice seemed to separate from the jumble of unimportant sound like oil and water. I happily walked off to my next class, silently thanking the God of Scheduling for putting Zac in the same class with me.

I made it through my next four classes without incident, pausing to have lunch with Cheney and Julie, then rejoicing as I dragged myself to my last class: Music Production. It had been my secret dream to become a music producer, but Mother wanted me to be a violinist, so a violinist I would be. Still, I took it as an elective.

I placed myself at a random desk and pulled out my planner, organizing what I was going to do for the rest of the day. I was scribbling away when I noticed a figure approach my desk.

"Candice, right?"

I recognized the voice and brought my gaze slowly up the expanse of his exquisite body towering over me. "Zac?"

"In the flesh," he quipped, sitting next to me. "First and last class together. Is that a sign?" he asked giving me a thousand watt smile.

I returned the smile. "Must be."

I found myself silently talking to the God of Scheduling again. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

"School sucks," Cheney stated, throwing her backpack on her bed. I watched as it bounced on the flimsy mattress right onto the floor.

"Come on Cheney, it was only the first day. It couldn't have been that bad."

She gave me a Look. "It was that bad."

"Tell me about it?" I knew if I could get Cheney talking, she would get the negativity out of her system.

"Well, first, I barely had a 30 second shower this morning. I'm going to have to start showering at night or something. You should see that place in the morning. Looks like a freaking mosh pit or something." She took a breath. "Then, I get to Theory and, of all people, you know who's in my class?"

"Who?"

"Liz. Liz freaking Brown. So naturally, she comes up to me aall sweet and crap and asks me why I haven't dropped out yet. God, that girl gets on every single one of my nerves.

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"Geez, Cheney, I thought it was something big. It's just Liz."

"Just Liz? Candice, you know that girl and I have a history."

"I know, I know, but are you going to let her ruin your whole semester? I mean, seriously, when you let her get to you, that's what she wants."

She sighed. "I guess you're right."

I smiled. "Of course I am. No more mentioning her name again, okay?"

"Deal." she settled herself on the bed, leaning on one elbow and resting her head on her palm. "So, tell me about this guy you couldn't shut up about at lunch."

I smiled, mentally reliving that moment in my last class when Zac had noticed me. He remembered my face, my name. I sighed.

Cheney's voice broke through my mental bliss. "Girl, I don't know who this guy is, but he must be something, cause you've got it bad for him. I've never seen you like this."

I sighed again, wrapping myself in the warmth that my thoughts about Zac created. I didn't even hear Cheney leave. I drifted off to sleep.

I padded into Dr. Ziller's class early the next morning. I had only gotten a few hours of sleep, unless you count sitting and thinking about Zac. I was nervous and anxious to see him again. I wasn't really sure how I was supposed to act. This was only my second semester ever going to school with guys.

By some strike of fate, he came in before Blake and plopped himself down into the desk beside me.

"Hey." His voice made me shiver. Everything he said seemed almost lyrical, as if you could set it to music.

"Morning," I replied, sipping my coffee.

"How can you drink that stuff?" he asked, a look of pure disgust on his face.

"How can you not?"

"It's just that it tastes so gross. Give me a Jolt cola instead of coffee any day."

"I put in lots of sugar. I guess when it's not hot and with all the sugar I put in it, it probably tastes exactly like Joly cola."

He grinned. I shivered again. That smile made me want to get up and do cartwheels around the classroom. "Well, Candice, tell me about yourself."

"Not much to tell. What do you want to know?"

"hmmm, what's a good question to start with? How about what the heck are you doing at Julliard?"

"My mom wants me to be a professional violinist. I want to be a music producer."

"Hey, cool. So do I. I mean the music producer part. So what's your major?" he asked through thoughtful eyes.

I sighed. "Violin."

"Can I ask you a personal question? I mean, I'd think it was a personal question if someone asked me, but you might not."

"You can ask, but I might not answer you."

"Good enough." He folded his hands and brought his deep brown eyes to connect with mine. "How does playing the violin make you feel?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, when I play the piano, I do it because I can. I don't enjoy it, but I don't dislike it. I guess I'm just kind of numb." I nodded. "But when I play the drums, it feels like I'm waling on water. Like I could play them forever and never get tired of it."

I furrowed my brow. "I guess when you put it that way, I'm numb when I play the violin. People tell me I'm good at it, and I know I am, but I don't get any pleasure out of it."

"You know," he replied, "my mom made me take classical piano lessons as soon as I could distinguish black keys from white ones. And I'm glad I had the experience; it taught me a lot of things. But, I wasn't happy playing the piano. My brother could play that thing for hours on end, but I never had that sort of connection with it. When I found the drums, I was in heaven."

"Your mother sounds cool."

"She is."

"Well, as long as my mother is financially supporting me, I guess she decided that she also has control of my future."

"Candice, the most important thing in life is to be happy. Are you going to be miserable playing the violin for the rest of your life just to please your mom?"

"You don't know my mom," I got out before Dr. Ziller pranced into the room and started class.

"Okay, you guys can leave early today," Dr. Ziller said 30 minutes into his lecture. "I don't feel like talking anymore."

Zac and I looked over at each other and grinned. This had to be the coolest teacher at Julliard.

"Well, Candice, what are you going to do with your hour off?" Zac asked.

"I don't know, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, perhaps we can not know what we're doing together?" he asked hopefully.

Blake interjected, "You both are the weirdest people I know. I'm going back to sleep. Zac, ask the girl out already." And with that, he walked out of the room.

Zac's face flushed a deep shade of crimson. "You want to just hang out and talk somewhere?"

"Sounds good."

We found a secluded patch of grass under some weeping willows by the union and sat down. "Sooooo," I began.

"Tell me about your mom."

"What?" I asked, suprised.

"You said I didn't know your mom. What's she like?"

"My mom was...is...very concerned with how the world views her and her family. She thinks what everyone thinks is important and determines your value in life."

Zac's eyes narrowed. "What about you?"

"I don't really feel that way at all. I mean, I've had to deal with my mother and her ways for eighteen years, and I've always sort of been under her control. She taught me how to be a 'lady' and how to act proper, but she never taught me how to be independent. She's so worried about how I'm going to look to the outside world that she forgot to be my mother." My eyes misted over.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not a big deal, really," I said, hastily wiping away the two tears that formed at the base of my eyes. "It just sometimes gets to me how everyone else knows how to live on their own and everything, and I'm just learning. I mean, there's really nothing I can do about it now."

"Well, you're not living with your mom anymore. You've got your physical independence. But, she's still got you under her control. Candice, you've got to understand that we're talking about the rest of your life here. You've got to do something that's going to make you happy. Something that makes you want to get up in the morning and breathe in life, you know?"

I smiled. "I wish I had your outlook on life, Zac. I really do. You have this awesome, I don't know what it is, something, that just makes people want to be around you."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I think it's because I want to be around people. I came from a huge family. I guess I don't want to know what it's like not to have a million people running around. Keeps me on my toes."

"Well, you teach me how to love being around people and I'll teach you how to, um, how to..."

He reached out and grasped my hand. "There's plenty you can teach me, Candice. But I don't know how I'm going to concentrate with such a gorgeous teacher."

"I don't know how I'm going to learn from a pathological liar," I teased, swatting his arm.

He smiled in return and I knew that I was going to be spending every second of my free time with him.