the wolves by ben howard
+ name; macy howard
+ nickname; ace
+ age; sixteen
+ likes; black, geometric patterns, coffee, her brothers, art, necklaces, ben howard, superheroes
+ dislikes; having no friends, being known as the weird girl, colour blocking, food, having no parents, white flowers
+ personality; texan, quiet and shy, taken as rude a lot of the time, protective of her brothers and would be protective of her friends if she had any, artsy, freakish, lonely, spends the majority of her allowance on big, expensive jewellery,
+ appearance; blonde hair, blue eyes, generally sweet appearance until you realise she’s a bit of a freak, mismatched clothes always
+ style; skinny pants, black clothes, see through anything, geometric prints, bright colours, short skirts, at least two necklaces at all times
+ family; no parents, lives with her two older brothers (19 and 22) on park ave. ridiculously rich, has grandparents who drop in occasionally
+ past/current relationships; none
+ best friends; none
+ bio; macy, or ‘ace’ as her brothers call her has always been a bit of a loner, despite being part of one of the richest family from texas, she never quite fit in. sure she’s got blonde hair and blue eyes and she’s tall and pretty, but she doesn’t play that up. her brothers moved to new york city, at the beginning of the year on the 15th anniversary of her parents death. she still has no friends. she would love to have a boyfriend, or even some nice girl friends but she’s never known how to properly socialise. sweet sixteen is supposed to be an age of experience, hopefully she can make some friends.
+ dating status; very, very single
+ model; emma maclaren
+ taken by; @ookc
My first memory was sitting on my 6 year old brother’s lap and feeling completely still. I must have been one year old, maybe a bit older. The mood was somber. There was no happiness anywhere and all I could smell was roses. White ones. Some how they smell different to the other colours.
My brother, Mason, sat on a metal fold out chair that had been painted white. The paint was peeling on the legs, and the parts of metal were beginning to rust where it had been placed on the wet grass a few too many times. He sat up completely straight. Our grandmother was sitting next to us and he knew that if he slumped even slightly he would cop a quick, sharp rap around the ear. She was so quick with her punishments that no one around even noticed, and yet she was still hard enough to leave a stinging pain on the side of your face and a ringing in your ear.
As I sat on Mason’s lap, I felt my 3-year-old brother Corey reach out and grab my hand. He felt the sadness too. I sat completely still with the feeling of one of my brothers hands in mine, and my other brother’s arms wrapped around my waist, holding me tightly. Each pair of my grandparents sat either side of us. We sat and watched as the big, dark wooden boxes holding our parent’s bodies were lowered into the ground.
Then my memory skips a few years. I remember a visit from someone important. I was three, maybe four. My grandparents, my mother’s parents, had decided to show up for this meeting. Usually then just left us alone with the 20 staff members they had hired to raise us when our parents had died. Most of the time I didn’t mind not having parents. I had my brothers (then aged 10 and 7) in the mornings and afternoons, when they weren’t at school, and I had the entire staff to play with in the meantime. But I hated when my grandparents visited. They were horrible, old, crotchety and mean-spirited.
I had no idea why they had come at this time, my brothers tried explaining it to me then but it was basically impossible for me to comprehend at 4 years old. I understand it now though. Someone from the state department had come to check if us three little orphan children - whose parents had died in the fire that engulfed half the Texas State University way back when - were actually being properly looked after by their grandparents, who had been granted full custody by the state of Texas. We weren’t, of course, but that didn’t stop my born and bred New Yorker grandmother coming a week before the visit, making herself at home in a place that certainly was not her home.
They passed the test - my grandparents - with flying colours. Anything less would not have been tolerated. And so again, the state kept them on as our legal guardians until each of us reached the age of 21. Course, they flew back to New York as soon as they got that grand piece of news and left us alone again.
I had a grand time being a child. My own personal maid was old. Like, really old. She was Spanish I think, and super short, only standing as tall as the top of my chest. I was only allowed to call her ma’am, and she called me miss. I was either too frightened or now interested enough to learn her real name. I still call her ma’am now, even though I’ve moved and she doesn’t look after me any more. She did look after me well, but she was never particularly kind to me. I knew she had her own children that had already grown up and had children of their own. I always felt she had some kind of resentment to me because I was taking up time that she could be spending with her grandchildren.
I felt pity from her too though, she only ever told me one story about her life. I was 12 years old and I came home from school crying again – the kids at school generally reminded my of my grandparents, they were mean and said hurtful things about my parents deserving to die. This is probably the reason why I find it so hard to make friends. I went straight to her. She was the one who looked after me the most. She sat me down on the seat at the end of my bed and looked at me square in the face.
“No one deserves to die Macy. No one. You hear me?” She looked at me straight in the eye to make sure I was listening. “My mother left me the same way your parents left you, and I was not that much older than the age you were then. Like you, I was teased in my hometown for only having one parent and I can’t imagine what you have to go through knowing that you have none. Bu no matter what anyone say to you, you stay strong and you always remember that no one deserves to die. For every death there needs to be a time for mourning the space they have left behind, and there needs to be a time for celebrating the life they were able to live.”
I tucked my chin against my chest as the tears ran down my face. Ma’am pushed it up with one of her small, chubby hands and made me look at her face again.
“You listen to me, miss, no one deserves to die. What happened to my mama, and your mama and papa shouldn’t have to happen to anyone but they still got to spend a few glorious years with you and your brothers. Cherish that. Cherish your memories miss.”
With that she got up from sitting beside my and busied herself with picking up the piles of clothes I had lying around my room, sorting them into smaller piles that needed to be washed, folded or hung up and put away. I wanted to know more about her life, but I knew that it wasn’t the right time to ask. I stood up, wiped the tears from my cheeks and asked if she needed any help.
Jumping ahead now, to how I arrived in New York. There I am sitting at the buffet in our big, cream coloured kitchen that I love, the white washed wooden doors to all the cupboards open as ma’am unpacks the dishwasher and I sit watching her, eating my cereal as slowly as possible to avoid going to school and avoid eating a large amount of food in one sitting. Mason rushes down the stairs shouting.
“ACE, OH MY GOD! ACE, WHERE ARE YOU?” He yells, coming into the kitchen. “Oh, there.”
“Nice to see you too,” I retort sarcastically.
“I have news okay? Don’t freak out,” He saying seriously, putting his elbows on the bench and lowering his head to my level, blocking ma’am’s way to one of the cupboard. She stood beside with a look of fury on her face and used her oversized butt to knock him out of the way. He stumbled sideways, making me snort and spit out the mouthful of cereal I was eating.
“Gross,” Mason says, wrinkling up his nose at me. “Anyway,” He continues, “I have exciting news for you, Corey, Hayden and me.”
Corey being my 19-year-old lady killer older brother, and Hayden being the 25-year-old better half to my eldest brother.
“Spill it,” I say, narrowing my eyes. He has never brought me good news. I don’t remember the last time anyone brought me good news. That wasn’t my thing. Bad news is my middle name.
“We’re moving to New York!” He says, a wide smile stretching across his beautiful face.
“Why?” I say suspiciously. “We’re not moving in with grandmother are we?”
“Oh god no. Would I do that to your or Corey?” He asks rhetorically. “Hayden was offered that junior partner position at that really fancy law firm that he always dreamed of working at, and he’s getting a shit-load of money to work there and he’s delighted.”
“That’s great for him, tell him congratulations for me!” I say genuinely. “But why are Corey and I moving?”
“Well, I haven’t actually told you guys this. I wanted to tell you together, but god only knows whose bed Corey woke up in this morning and he’s never home anyway.” I narrowed my eyes again. My brother: the king of dragging things out. “I actually have full custody of you…”
I snort and splutter, my cereal spitting out of my mouth for the second time that morning. This was a complete shock to me. “Wh-what!?”
“When I turned 21, I got my inheritance and it’s a hell of a lot more money than I will ever need in my life, even if I have a family. But I knew that with this money, everything would be taken care of for you guys. You each have your own trust fund too, and we are very close to being the richest family in Texas. Anyway, what I’m getting at is that, with this money, I am able to provide everything for you and Corey. So I went to court with my lawyer and asked for full custody of you guys, proving that I had the means to look after you both. Of course Grandmother didn’t contest it, so I won automatically. Basically, I am your legal guardian. So I’m bringing you and Corey to New York!”
“Oh god…” I say under my breath, trailing off, unsure of how to process the unexpected news. Suddenly it dawns on me. I hate it here. I never made friends. I never had any interest from boys. None of the teachers even took a shining to me. I wasn’t made for Texas, so maybe New York would feel more like home. I look up at my brother’s expectant face. “Okay,” I say in a strong voice.
“Okay!” He replied with one of his beaming smiles.
Two weeks later I sit in the window seat of my enormous room in the shared apartment on Park Ave looking down at the sidewalk, wondering if school will be anything like Texas, and fearing that I’ll be known as the same girl I was there.
I told you guys I would write an auditon story, but I think I got a bit carried away with this one! Haha C: xx