Summary: I, Faye Summers, am your average teenage girl... sort of... predominantly... partially... absolutely NOT... I'm the stark opposite of 'normal', actually. Then again, who isn't? Pairing: SBOC. Because everybody loves a good SiriusOC.

'She's dead.'

I'm shocked beyond belief. I can feel my own eyes go wide. 'Wha… what?'

'She's passed on,' she wails. 'My baby's dead!'

My breathing turns ragged. 'But – but, Miss Jones, I was just looking after her, she –'

'I know, Faye, I know.' She looks old beyond her years as the tears flow down, her shoulders hunched under her thick nightgown. 'I know.'

My eyes snap open. Coughing weakly, I throw my sheets off and climb out of bed, stumbling weakly to my window. I fling the curtains aside, wincing as light hits my pale face. I'm trembling, so I go to my bathroom and splash water in my face. I try to force the stupid dream out of my head as I grip the edges of the sink, looking at my reflection. My light violet eyes are open wide, and look somewhat unnatural on my white face, and my silky black hair is messy from sleep, reaching a few centimetres above my waist. My little lavender nightgown goes halfway down my thighs, hanging loosely off of my petite shoulders with thin straps, keeping me cool in the hot summer weather.

I grab my face towel and dry myself off, and then I open the cabinet under the sink, and find my brush. I run it through my hair, easily brushing out all the knots and tangles.

'Faye!' my mother's voice calls from the bottom of the stairs. 'Hurry up! You're babysitting little Mary-Anne in half an hour!'

What? I thought I was baby sitting her at one o'clock….

I poke my head through my adjoining bathroom door, and glance at my bedside clock. The blinking green numbers tell me its twelve thirty in the afternoon. I sum my situation up nicely with one simple word.

'Shit.'

I hurry back into the bathroom, locking the door before I pull off my skimpy lavender nightie. I hop into my shower and am out in the record time (for me) of fifteen minutes.

I wrap my towel around my body, hurrying over back into my bedroom, water dripping from my long hair onto the floor. I yank on my underclothes, and then use my towel to dry my hair a bit, before dropping it on my floor. I look through my wardrobe quickly, trying to find an outfit.

I really should start packing. After all, school starts in just under three weeks. And when Lily comes over, I won't have much time to pack.

Lily Evans – my best friend – lives hours away from Kings Cross Station (and me, for that matter) so it's become tradition for her to come to my house for the last week of the holidays, so we can catch up before school starts, have some fun, and she doesn't have to wake up at five am to get to school.

I pull a jean miniskirt and a black and white polka dotted shirt from my closet, and quickly pull them on. I grab my brush, hurriedly run it through my hair, and pin half of it up with a lavender – my favourite colour – barrette. I rush down the stairs, peck my dad on the cheek, say goodbye to my mother, grab some bread and butter, and rush out the door, simultaneously trying to eat and get to the Jones' on time.

Miss Jones is an attractive single mother, and whenever she goes out on a date, she asks me to look after her seven year old daughter Mary-Anne. Mary-Anne's sweet – that's all there is to it.

I push the bell to the Jones' house, and the door opens, presenting Mary-Anne, looking cute as ever with her wide blue eyes. Her blonde hair is a mass of frizz and curls around her grinning face, and she has little freckles scattered down her nose.

'Hi,' I say, smiling widely at her.

'Hi, Faye!' she giggles, and she moves to let me come in.

'Mary-Anne,' Miss Jones scolds, coming into my view. 'What have I told you about opening the door when you don't know who's behind it?' She's trying to put a pearl earring in her ear, thus causing her to hold her clutch purse under her chin. 'Sorry, Faye, dear, but could you go out again? And Mary-Anne I want you to say it just how I told you.'

'Yes, Mum,' says Mary-Anne obediently, and I step outside, thoroughly bewildered.

'Ring the bell, please, Faye!' Miss Jones' voice floats from inside. Flummoxed, I comply.

'Go on, dear,' I hear Miss Jones instruct faintly.

'Who is it?' Mary-Anne's voice drifts out sweetly.

I smile slightly. Ah. So this is what this is all about. 'It's Faye Summers.'

'How can I help you?'

'I'm here to baby-sit you.'

'Now can I let her in, Mummy?'

'Yes, dear.'

The door swings open.

'Sorry about that, Faye, dear.' Miss Jones is currently putting in her other earring.

'No problem,' I say earnestly. I step into the house, and Miss Jones closes the door.

'I still have to finish getting ready,' she explains. She sits on a chair in the hallway, and starts pulling on her shoes. 'Now. Don't forget, Mary-Anne's allergic to strawberries, and the numbers are on the fridge, like always. You can contact me on the top number in case of an emergency. Also –'

'Mummy, she knows,' Mary-Anne chimes in. 'Faye always baby-sits me.'

'All right, dears,' she sighs, standing up to go. 'There's some cookie batter in the pantry, so you can bake some of those. I'll see you both in three hours – I need to go grocery shopping after the date – so have fun!'

'We will,' Mary-Anne and I chant, watching Miss Jones grab her keys and walk out of the door.

'Bye, Miss Jones.'

'Bye, Mummy!'

'Goodbye, dears.'

She shuts the door, and I look down at Mary-Anne. She takes my hand, and looks up at me with wide eyes.

'Can we please bake those cookies, Faye?' she pleads.

I let out a mock gasp, and cover my eyes. 'No! Not the puppy-dog eyes!' I cry in pretend horror.

She giggles, and I uncover my eyes, smiling down at her. 'Have you had lunch yet, young lady?'

'Nope.'

'Alright, then. How about we have a sandwich each, and then we bake the cookies.'

'How about we put the cookies in the oven and then eat our sandwiches, so that when we take them out of the oven, we have some desert,' she bargains.

I pause. 'Fair enough, Mary-Anne.'

It takes us nearly forty five minutes to make the mixture and roll them into balls on the baking paper. I put them in the oven – refusing to let little Mary-Anne near – and then lead her over to the sink to wash our hands.

'Alrighty then,' I say, drying off my hands.

'Sandwiches?' Mary-Anne asks hopefully. Her tummy grumbles. 'I'm hungry now.'

I laugh. 'So I can hear.' I make my way over to the pantry and pull out the bread and some spreads, putting them on the counter.

'Now,' I say in a horrible French accent. 'Ve have ze choice ov raspberry jam, peenut buttehr, or nootella.'

She bursts into giggles at my accent, and then examines all three containers. 'Hm. I think I'll have…' (she puts on the same French voice) 'ze nootella!'

I laugh along with her as I put away the other spreads, and then come back to her. I untwist the lid for the Nutella, and find a butter knife in the drawers.

'So, are you enjoying your holidays?' I ask, reverting back to my normal accent as I layer the Nutella on the bread.

Mary-Anne drops her accent, too. 'Yes. But Mummy still won't let me go to Eloise's for a sleepover.'

'Still?' I ask sympathetically. 'Well, my friend Lily's coming over for a sleepover – for a week! You remember her, don't you?'

'Uh huh,' says Mary-Anne enthusiastically, happily biting into the sandwich I hand to her. I start to make my own. 'She's the one with the pretty red hair, isn't she?'

'That's the one,' I say cheerily, sitting on the chair next to her as I bite into my own sandwich.

'Why do you have to go to that boarding school all year, Faye?' Mary-Anne asks, pouting. 'I never get to see you, except on the holidays, and Lily gets to see you all year.'

'Well, I learn a lot at my school. Besides, including this year, I only have two years of school left, so then I'll get to visit you all the time.'

'How are Jessica and Chase?' Ah, my older sister and brother.

'They're good. Jessica's engaged, now, and Chase's wife is having a baby. Do you want to go do some drawing?'

Mary-Anne draws me the most adorable picture ever, of the two of us. It's not the best picture ever, but she's only seven and I love it all the same. I'm standing next to her, with my name written beneath it in wobbly letters, just like her own. I'm much taller than her in the picture, and there's a long strip of black hair that reaches my knees. Her own hair is drawn in little spirals, and she's given both of us pink circles on our cheeks. My eyes are drawn in a bright purple colour, and hers are a pretty pale blue colour. I give her a big kiss on the cheek as she says I can keep it.

I play with Mary-Anne until Miss Jones come home, when I reluctantly give the little girl a hug and kiss on her cheek, promising to baby-sit her again.

'Au revoir!' she giggles, and I laugh back.

'Au revoir!'

I walk down the road, lost in thought as I hold the picture Mary-Anne drew in my hands. I can't wait for Lily to come over.

Reviewing is cool. So you see that grey button in the left hand corner, at the bottom, which is really more of a shade of light-purple/blue/grey and says 'Go', click on it... and be cool. That's right. Review, and be cool.

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