Jaycee's P.O.V.

I grunt while dragging my drunken sister Jada out of the bar. My hand is shoved in my saia pocket, shuffling around for the keys to my Ford Cantina. Times like this is when I wish that Jada was never my sister. She's an underage drinker and my mom has done nothing to stop it. It's not like she would anyway; she's always with her ' boyfriend ' James.

When I opened the car door, I slid Jada in the backseat, when she starts to mumble under her breath. As I come closer, her breath hits me in the face 5 segundos before her face was close to mine.

My nose crinkles up in disgust before backing away. " My god, Jada, mouthwash please!" She frowns with protest. " What? It's not like I'm far from the drinking age! It's 4,278 and I'm 17. That's what; three numbers apart?"

I roll my eyes. " You do some crazy things, you know that?" Jada laughs sarcastically. " Me? Do crazy things? Ha, you should see yourself. You had a relationship with Michael Jackson, now that was crazy."

A rush of sadness runs through my body. I haven't seen Michael since 1974 when I moved from LA to Manhattan. Ever since we met, I was the bait for the media for two years. perguntas like " Is it true that you were involved with Michael?" " Are you a prostitute trying to get money?" and " Are you Michael's girlfriend?" were perguntas that lingered around a lot. I wonder how he's doing...