If We Were a Movie Read online

  by Kelly Oram

  Also by Kelly Oram

  Serial Hottie

  Cinder & Ella

  Joni, Underway

  If We Were a Movie

  The Jamie Baker Series:

  Being Jamie Baker

  More Than Jamie Baker

  Remember Jamie Baker

  The Science Squad Series:

  The Avery Shaw Experiment

  The Libby Garrett Intervention

  The V is for Virgin Series:

  V is for Virgin

  A is for Abstinence

  The Supernaturals Series:

  Chameleon

  Ungifted

  Scion

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  Published by Bluefields Creative

  Copyright © 2016 by Kelly Oram

  Edition 1.0

  Edited by Jennifer Henkes (www.literallyjen.com)

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9966388-4-5

  For my Absolute Chaos writing family.

  My career never would have started if you all hadn’t pushed me.

  Thank you for so many years of inspiration and support.

  KTBSPA!

  There’s an old Gwyneth Paltrow movie called Sliding Doors that’s about how one tiny, insignificant event can change the entire course of a person’s destiny. In the movie, Gwyneth barely catches a train and gets home early to find her boyfriend in bed with another woman. Then the movie rewinds back to the train station, beginning an alternate reality wherein Gwyneth misses the train and doesn’t catch her cheating lover. From there, we watch both lives play out and compare the drastic differences between them. The idea is fascinating and begs us to think about the what ifs in our own lives.

  My insignificant-yet-completely-life-altering event was a simple beep of my computer. That’s it. A sound. A chime from my laptop to let me know it was finished rendering a file. That quiet little beep changed my entire life.

  It was a Sunday afternoon, one month into my freshman year of college. I’d left my home in upstate New York to study music composition at NYU. My first major project for my music tech class was due at 8:00 a.m. the following morning. I’d been playing guitar since I was six, writing songs since I was thirteen, and playing piano for a year, but the concept of using technology to create music was new to me. I’d been struggling through the class for weeks trying to make this first composition perfect. I just needed a few more hours to put the final touches on it.

  I was sitting at the small desk in my dorm room, working hard while my two brothers lounged around behind me. They were taking turns trying to throw a toy basketball into the small hoop they’d fastened to the back of our door instead of doing their own homework. It was driving me crazy.

  “Heads up!”

  The warning hit me at the exact same time their ball crashed onto my laptop keyboard, exiting me out of my program. “Dude!”

  “Whoops. Sorry, Runt.”

  “Yeah, sorry about Chris’s aim.”

  “Shut up, dude. That was left-handed and with my eyes closed. Bet you five bucks you couldn’t make that shot, either.”

  “You’re on. Yo, Runt, toss me the ball. I’m about to win five bucks.”

  Taking a deep breath, I opened my project again. Thankfully, it was fine. I’d become paranoid about saving my work every ten minutes or so since I started college. It’s a survival skill I’d had to acquire since agreeing to room with my brothers. They had no regard for personal space, and space was something we Anderson boys were short on.

  “Runt. The ball?”

  I spun around in my chair, glaring at my brothers. They grinned back from their positions on their beds—a set of bunk beds crammed against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

  The three of us shared a dorm room the size of a Cracker Jack box in one of the freshman residence halls near NYU’s main campus. On one side there was a set of twin-size bunk beds, a dresser, a small closet, and a desk. The other side of the room mirrored it with the exception of my twin-size single bed.

  The room was really meant for two, but my brothers couldn’t bear the idea of us separated and had gotten special permission to cram all three of us in here. I’d been against the idea from the start, but they’d gone over my head and done it anyway, so I’d demanded my own side of the room. It wasn’t enough space.

  Gripping the ball tightly, I ground my teeth as I spoke. “Don’t you guys have anything better to do right now? Somewhere else to be, maybe?”

  Chris flashed me a wicked grin. “Nope.”

  “Give me a break. I have to get this done today.”

  “It’s your own fault, bro,” Tyler said. He held his hands out for me to toss his basketball back to him. I chucked it at his face. He caught it just before it reconstructed his nose, but he didn’t appreciate my awesome throw. His teasing smile was replaced with a glare. “You’re the one who said we couldn’t party today.”

  “I said you couldn’t party here today. And that’s your fault for commandeering my whole weekend.”

  “No one’s stopping you from doing your work,” Chris chimed in. The two of them always tag teamed me like that. “Besides, you had a great time this weekend. You were the one complaining that Triple Threat hasn’t played a gig since we moved here.”

  It was true; I’d had a blast this weekend. My brothers and I have our own band, and we’d played at back-to-back parties Friday and Saturday night. It was the first time we’d gotten to perform since coming to school. I was grateful Tyler was able to set up the gigs, but that just meant I had more work to get done now. “I’m not complaining about that, but you promised me if I gave you Friday and Saturday that you’d leave me alone today so I could finish my project. Could you please get lost for a while?”

  At their pouts, I knew I’d have to get more creative if I wanted them to leave. I needed a good story. “Why don’t you go find those girls I was talking to at the party last night? They were hot, and they kept asking about you.”

  Both of them perked up. “What girls?” Tyler asked.

  “I don’t remember their names, but they were blonde roommates, and they said they lived downstairs.”

  “Where downstairs?” Chris asked. He was already putting on his jacket. “Which floor? What room?”

  I shrugged. “Can’t remember. There were a lot of people at the party last night. But you could just start knocking on doors. They were gorgeous. Someone’s bound to know who you mean.”

  Tyler and Chris shared a look I knew well. They were officially on a mission, and when they had their minds set on something, there was no stopping them. Not that it would be hard for either of them to snag dates. The Anderson brothers tended to be a favorite with the ladies. At least, Chris and Tyler did. I was off the market, but I wouldn’t have a problem getting a date if I were single. My brothers and I’d had a reputation since we were born, and our popularity not only followed us to college…it, well, to use a horrible pun, seemed to have tripled.

  See, my brothers and I are triplets—fraternal, not identical. We look almost nothing alike, but people have always been fascinated with the idea of hum
ans giving birth to litters, so from the time we were born, we’ve been in the spotlight wherever we go. I hate to admit it, but we were made for the attention.

  Tyler splashed on some cologne and glanced in my direction as he slipped his wallet into his back pocket. “You should come. Make us a real triple threat for once.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We’re not having this conversation again.”

  “Dude. She’s a buzzkill.”

  “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “Nate, we’re in college now.” Chris groaned as he pulled a small silver cross over his head. The necklace wasn’t a proclamation of religion; it was his trademark. It was meant to be ironic, kind of like his name.

  Christian has got a streak of the devil in him. He’s the bad boy of our trio. Tall, dark, and daring all the way. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, tattooed, and dressed in a black leather jacket, he’s the epitome of a rock star. The fact that our bad boy is our drummer is a bit cliché, but he loves living the stereotype. Women seem to love it even more.

  “No one goes to college still dating their high school girlfriend. It’s just wrong when there are so many new options all around us. You need to branch out. Ditch the ball and chain and live a little.”

  As the oldest of the three of us, Chris tries to act like he’s also the wisest. He always doles out the advice—especially in the women department. As if those five minutes he was alive before me were so enlightening.

  “I need to branch out?” I looked back and forth between Chris and Tyler and scoffed. “No one goes to college and rooms with their brothers, either.”

  “Yeah, but no one has brothers as cool as yours,” Tyler said, flashing me a smile that had gotten him his way our entire lives.

  Tyler is Chris’s opposite—the angel to his devil—but only on the surface. As the baby of the group by twelve minutes, he also inherited the baby face and the youngest child syndrome. He’s the most prone to throwing temper tantrums, anyway. He’s still got that rock-star persona like Chris, but he wears it differently. He’s a total boy band diva type. Tall with honey-blond hair and the same soulful brown eyes that all of us have, Ty plays the role of the pretty boy to perfection. You think he’d be the front man of Triple Threat, but I’m by far the strongest singer, so Ty is on the bass guitar and hams it up to steal the spotlight from me whenever he can.

  Chris and Tyler are quite the pair. They’re outgoing and funny—or obnoxious, depending on your idea of funny—and they have everything in common. They’re always the life of the party, and they’re always at a party.

  I’m definitely the odd man out. Fitting for the middle child, I suppose, even if there is a less-than-twenty-minutes age difference between the three of us. Parties aren’t really my thing. I love the spotlight too, but only when I’m onstage. Low-key is more my style. While Chris and Tyler live for wild and crazy, I’d much rather just hang out and have a good time.

  “Whatever. Just get lost already so I can finish my project.”

  Ty pouted. “Fine. Stay here and do your homework, geek.”

  I rolled my eyes at the tired insult.

  I’m not a geek. First of all, I’m as good-looking as either of them, in my own way. I’m sort of a mix of the two of them. I have shaggy light brown hair and light brown eyes. I’ve got a little of Chris’s intrigue, and Tyler’s charming smile. And second of all, I have a much friendlier, easygoing vibe that draws people to me first. I’m the chill to my brothers’ high energy, the singer/songwriter to their rock stars, the indie film to their summer blockbusters. I’m different, but not a geek.

  My brothers don’t see it that way, though. They think I’m a nerd because I’m quieter, more responsible, in a steady relationship, and have life goals beyond figuring out what frat I want to rush. And because I’m smaller. Which really has nothing to do with coolness, but somehow equals dorky in their eyes.

  Chris and Tyler both hover somewhere around six-foot-one and spend excessive amounts of time in the gym. It makes my difference in size painfully obvious. Five-nine and one hundred seventy pounds isn’t anything to cry about, but I’m definitely the runt of the Anderson litter—hence the nickname they insist on using. I gave up fighting them about it ages ago. Neither of them has called me Nate since we hit puberty and they stole all my height.

  “Fine,” I said. “I will stay home. And I’ll get a lot more done with you gone. Don’t worry, I won’t wait up.”

  I didn’t feel bad when they huffed out, scowling. The peace and quiet was way too refreshing. And so, so needed. With my brothers finally out of my hair, I relaxed and went back to working on my project, basking in the glorious knowledge that I wouldn’t be interrupted for a while.

  . . . . .

  My distraction worked. Chris and Tyler were gone for three hours. I’d just finished my project and was letting the file render when they came barreling through the door. “You are the man,” Chris announced as he slammed a steaming cup from Starbucks down on the desk next to me.

  Leaning back in my chair, I happily accepted the spontaneous caffeine. “Oh?”

  Tyler laughed. “You didn’t tell us they were from Russia.”

  “Russia?” I coughed to hide my surprise. I hadn’t told them that, because there hadn’t really been girls asking about them. I’d made that bit up, figuring if they knocked on enough doors they were bound to find someone to go out with. “Is that where that accent’s from?”

  “Yeah.” Chris grinned. “And they want some native New Yorkers to take them on an intimate tour of the Big Apple this evening.”

  I laughed. “You’re from Syracuse.”

  “Same difference.”

  “Whatever. Have fun, guys.”

  As I turned back to my computer, I reached for my headphones, not the least bit interested in listening to Tyler and Chris speak to each other in fake Russian accents while they got ready for some date. Just as I slid the headphones over my ears, Tyler ripped them off my head. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

  I should have seen it coming. I’d been through it way too many times not to. They were always forcing me on triple dates. But I’d been too stressed out about my project to even think about it. I shook my head before Tyler could say the words. “I’m not coming with.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m not being your fifth wheel, and Sophie can’t come. She’s writing a paper and has a test tomorrow.”

  “Even better,” Chris said as he began sifting through my closet. “There’s a cute little brunette that lives next door to them. She saw us play last night, and she’s excited to meet you.”

  “Dude. I’m not going to go on a date with another girl.”

  “Who said it has to be a date?” Tyler argued. “It’s just a group of people hanging out.”

  Chris, still rifling through my clothes, sighed. “Skinny jeans. Skinny jeans. Skinny jeans. Jean jacket. Suede jacket. Corduroy jacket…” He pulled out a pale pink button-down shirt and frowned at me. “You seriously need a new wardrobe, Hipster McGee. You own more scarves than T-shirts.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with accessorizing.”

  “If you’re gay.” He hung the dress shirt back up with a roll of his eyes and kept searching for an acceptable outfit. “Is that the deal with you and Sophie? I knew it. She’s your beard, isn’t she?”

  Tyler snorted and punched my arm lightly. “If that’s your deal, Runt, you could just tell us, you know. A gay brother would be better than a whipped brother.”

  As they both howled with laughter, I punched Ty back a lot harder than he’d hit me. I’d heard the whipped jokes since I became official with Sophie, and I’d been getting the gay jokes since I joined choir during our senior year of high school. Tyler and Chris still haven’t forgiven me for that one. I said it was great practice for our band since I’m the lead singer, but apparently choir is not cool and I was killing our reputation.

  When you’re triplets, you’re not really looked at as individuals; you’re vie
wed as a single entity. The Anderson Triplets are this, or The Anderson Triplets did that. Chris and Tyler liked it that way. They said it was like being famous. Except in reality we weren’t famous; we were notorious. Chris and Tyler just didn’t know the difference.

  Though my personality didn’t really fit, I was automatically placed in the same category as my wild and crazy brothers. I had all the same friends, participated in all the same extracurriculars, and, since I was the least opinionated of the bunch, I did pretty much whatever my brothers told me to.

  The only thing I ever did on my own was join the choir. I love to sing. My brothers like it, but I love it. I put my foot down for the first time in my life. I wanted to do something that was completely Nate and not The Anderson Triplets, for once. And it worked.

  Choir opened up a whole new world for me. I discovered how serious music could be and realized that that’s what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to do more than just play around in the garage with my brothers doing karaoke versions of the Billboard Top 40. I wanted to do it all. I wanted to write and record, and learn what it takes to produce a real record. So I stuck with it no matter how much crap my brothers gave me for it—were still giving me for it.

  “You guys need to get some new material.” I tried to put my headphones on again. “And anyway, like I’m going to take fashion advice from a guy who wears leather wrist cuffs and more eyeliner than my girlfriend.”

  “Whatever. Neither of you know how to dress yourselves,” Tyler said. He yanked my headphones out of my hand so hard that the cord was ripped from my laptop.

  “Watch it! Those are expensive.”

  “They’re fine. Get up. You’re coming out with us tonight. To dinner, at least. You’ve been locked up in this room all day on that stupid thing, and it’s time for you to unplug.”

  “This stupid thing happens to be a third of my grade. Not to mention, if I do a good enough job on it, I could get a chance to perform in the end-of-semester showcase.”

  Both Chris and Tyler groaned. “A talent show?” Chris asked. “Dude. We can perform anytime we want. Why are you obsessing over some dumb talent show?”