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[Short summary]
A year has passed by.
Now Elsa is living her life as time goes on;
she takes care of her daughter, keeps working and living...
But still...she can't forget about him. She keep thinking about Jack and the life they once had.
However, one day she sees him again.
Or rather, another version of him.
And that version isn't the person she once loved....
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Hey Bruce tramps! This is chapter 1 of my reboot of Another You. I've eliminated the time travel element and made the FMC into a full self-insert OC to keep focus on the ship and not have to worry about outside factors that may confuse me while writing.
Synopsis: The year is 1973, and Katie Kelly feels stuck. The daughter of two Irish immigrants who became Boston political royalty, almost everything in her life has been planned out for her, from her college major to the guys she dates. When she’s given a chance to finally leave New England for the summer of her 21st birthday, she jumps at the chance, choosing a gritty seaside town in New Jersey for her first solo foray into the carefree, fun life she’s always dreamed of. Little does she realize that the scruffy, silly rocker from one of her college roommate's records will end up playing a lead role in her summer of freedom.
Ship: Bruce Springsteen/Female OC
Rating: M (this first chapter is PG-13 at the most for language, but overall it's going to be an M because I specialize in fluff and smut lol)
June 15, 1973
Asbury Park, Next Exit.
I shift the car gear and sigh contentedly to myself, stealing a glance at the map in the passenger seat. To say I’m out of my element doesn’t even begin to cover it. Here I am, a girl who’s barely been south of Hartford in her entire life, spending her summer at the Jersey shore? Alone? You’d be right to call me crazy, but I swear I have a legitimate reason for this insanity.
My name is Katie Kelly. I’m the daughter of Massachusetts State Senator Pat Kelly, and that one little fact has defined my life for as long as I can remember. My parents moved to Boston from Ireland after WWII and became acquainted with Honey Fitz and the Kennedys, and well, now I can’t escape the fact that everything I say or do traces back to the fact that I’m a Kelly. From my college major (journalism at Boston University) to the guys I date (stuck-up, preppy assholes), nothing happens in my life outside of the watchful gaze of Pat and Mary Kelly, also known as Mum and Dad. Which leads me to my current whereabouts.
Every summer of my life, my whole family – me, Mum and Dad, my sister Bridget, and my brothers Jack and Pat Jr – have gone to Cape Cod. I know, cliché, right? You might think that’d be the perfect moment to break out and have some fun, but you’d be dead wrong. As soon as anyone I meet – guys especially – finds out that I’m a Kelly, their immediate thought is what connections I can make for them. And if the guys in Boston are stuck-up, preppy assholes, Cape guys are even worse. The past few summers in particular, since I turned eighteen, have been practically unbearable, with yacht club parties and dances and what have you. This year, I finally decided I couldn’t take it anymore, and after much begging and pleading and crying, my parents finally acquiesced to letting me take a summer vacation by myself for my 21st birthday.
They’d wanted me to choose somewhere more refined, like Maine or Newport. But to me, those would essentially have been “Cape lite” – same pretentiousness, different place. I had already decided on where to go. Leslie, my roommate at BU, had bought a new record several months ago by this new rock-n-roll singer from New Jersey, and the front cover was a big picture postcard from a shore town called Asbury Park. The idea of the place fascinated me. It seemed like the complete antithesis of everything I’d find on the Cape – gritty, dirty, fun, exciting. And the guy pictured on the back of the record was almost too cute to be real. I’d had my heart set on Asbury Park from the minute I saw that record. And here, finally, it was actually happening.
The humidity in the air increases as I make my way to the beach house I’ve rented. Finally, after several wrong turns and a conversation in a gas station with a guy who seems nonplussed at my Irish-tinged Boston accent, I find my way to where I need to be. The house is exactly what I need. It’s not big by any means, but it’s homey and cute, and it’s right on the water – there’s even a little private strand of sand right outside the back door looking out onto the ocean. If this has to be my home for the next two months, I can do a hell of a lot worse.
After bringing my suitcases in (it takes multiple trips – hey, I’ll be there two months!) and attempting some semblance of organization of my clothes in the closet of the master bedroom, it’s time to think about making my way down to the boardwalk. To that end, I pull on a pair of low-rise denim cutoff shorts and a pink cropped tank top. (Some people say redheads shouldn’t wear pink, but to that I say fuck ‘em – it’s my favorite color.) I brush out my hair into soft waves and dab on a hint of pink lipstick, then slide on a pair of cute brown sandals. Finally I check myself in the mirror. New Jersey, get ready for Katie Kelly, I think to myself.
***
The Asbury Park boardwalk is gritty and fun. People seem to be a lot more carefree than anything I’d ever find on the Cape. I walk back and forth a couple times to get my bearings before leaning up against a railing to watch the crowds race by. It’s after Memorial Day, but before the Fourth of July, so while it’s busy, it’s not as insane as I’m sure it’s going to get later on this summer. And the guys are a hell of a lot cuter than I’ve ever seen back home. One guy in particular in a ripped tank top and jeans that smiles at me outside one of the arcades, with wild curly hair, big brown eyes, and a scruffy beard, looks vaguely familiar, but I brush it off, sure that I definitely don’t know anyone in this town. After all, that’s why I chose it, isn’t it?
But the guy keeps popping up as I walk around, and the more I see him, the more familiar he looks. I know he can’t be from the Cape, he looks nothing like any of the guys I’ve ever met there, and he’s certainly more flirtatious. But something about his face, his smile, the playful twinkle in his eyes, makes me feel like I’ve seen him before. Finally, as I lean up against the railing, it hits me.
He’s the guy from Leslie’s record!
That’s why his face looked so familiar. The record that had inspired me to come here in the first place – this is the guy that made it! I think back to the times I looked at his face on the back of the sleeve in my dorm room, thinking about how cute he was, how different he seemed from any guy I’ve ever known before. And it’s at that moment I see him again, walking casually in the direction of the beach. Our eyes meet, and he smiles an absolutely heart-stopping smile. There’s a gap between his two front teeth and a little snaggletooth canine towards the back. It’s immediately one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen in my life. I smile back and let out a soft little giggle.
My giggle seems to stop him in his tracks. After a moment, he saunters toward me, then sits down on a bench in front of where I’m standing. “I’ll be damned if I haven’t seen you before, sugar,” he says, his voice a low, soft croon. “You ain’t from around here, are ya?”
I shake my head. “Nope,” I answer, the gentle giggle still in my voice. “I’m Katie Kelly. I’m from Boston. I’m here for the summer.”
“Boston?!” The guy chuckles. “We don’t get a lotta Boston girls down here, I’ll tell ya that. Don’t all you Boston girls like to hang out at Cape Cod in the summer or somethin’?”
Another giggle. “Okay, first of all, it’s ON Cape Cod, not AT,” I say, a touch of sass in my voice that, judging by the guy’s smile, he seems to appreciate. “And secondly, yeah, we usually do, unless someone like me is sick to fuckin’ death of the pretentious assholes always hounding her because she’s a state senator’s daughter and wants to go somewhere where nobody knows her so she can actually have fun.”
“You know what, fair enough,” the guy says. “I’m Bruce. Welcome to Jersey, sweets.”
Bruce. Now I remember the guy’s name – Bruce Springsteen. I tell him a little more about myself and my family, and the problems therein that led me to choose to come here. He laughs and his eyes twinkle when I mention being inspired by his album, and I swear he also blushes, just a little bit.
“Also, this way, I don't have to have the guys I'm into meet my parents,” I giggle. “Their standards are impossible. I'm convinced that if I don't become a politician's wife, I'll be kicked outta the family.”
“How’d they feel about you coming down here?” Bruce smirks.
“Oh, they hated it,” I reply. “Absolutely fuckin’ hated it. But hey, I’m 20 years old – well, actually, 21, today’s my birthday. You get what I mean. I’m sick of spending my summers fending off guys who only wanna be with me because I’m a Kelly.”
Bruce grins – a silly, deliriously adorable grin. “Well now, happy birthday, gorgeous,” he says. “Tell me, you ever been to Jersey before?”
I shake my head. “Absolutely not. Except driving through to get to Washington, but even then we usually fly. My dad treats anything south of Hartford like it’s made of toxic waste. Or like it doesn’t exist. To hear him tell it, the only worthy places in the world are New England, Washington, and Ireland.” I roll my eyes. “Though at this rate, if Washington isn’t actually made of toxic waste, I’ll be shocked. What do you expect, building your capital city on a fuckin’ swamp?”
“Got that right!” Bruce laughs out loud. “You’re funny, Katie. Your folks sound like such typical New Englanders. No offense, darlin’, but I’ve heard that kinda talk before. How’d you even get down here, then?”
“Well, I do have a car,” I tell him. “And Mum and Dad gave me some money for my birthday. My big brother did too – he’s a lawyer. So I was able to rent a house and everything. I’m probably gonna just stay down here all summer. I don’t have anything back up in Boston till school starts again.”
“Where d’ya go?” asks Bruce.
“BU. Journalism,” I answer. “‘Cuz as my parents constantly remind me, ‘Jackie Onassis was a journalist before she married Jack…’” I roll my eyes. “I don’t mind it, though, to be honest. It’s actually kinda neat.”
Bruce smiles. “So you’re just gonna stay down here until you have to go back to school?”
“Yup,” I nod. “This summer, I’m living for myself. For once.” I toss my hair back over the railing and let loose a soft little laugh into the wind. At the sound of it, Bruce’s face lights up like the carousel inside the building nearby. He glances at my hand, resting on the back of the bench, then back up at me.
Finally he speaks. “You got any plans for tonight?” he asks. “You know, since it’s your birthday and all…”
I shake my head. “No, actually. I just got here, I was looking for something to do tonight. Looks like I’m pretty spoiled for options.” I giggle again.
“We’ve got a gig tonight,” he says. “The band. Why don’t you come and see us? And after the show, I could take you around the boardwalk for a little while.” He grins and strokes the back of my hand with his finger. “What do you say to that, giggles?”
His touch is feather-light on my skin, almost light enough to raise goosebumps. It does, however, cause another soft laugh, which seems to him to only solidify his decision to call me what he just did. “I’d like that,” I say, my voice soft. “I’d really really like that.”
“So we got a deal?” Bruce smiles.
“You got yourself a deal, Bruce Springsteen,” I laugh.
“All right, that’s what I like to hear!” Bruce cheers, tapping the end of my nose and provoking yet another giggle from me, to which he winks. “Be there at seven, okay, giggles?”
I nod delightedly. “I gotta go back to the house and change,” I tell him. “But I’ll be there. I promise.”
Bruce grins. “Go right ahead. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Okay!” I giggle and race off in the other direction, turning around halfway down the boardwalk to flash another smile and a little wink. Bruce grins back, then does something I don’t expect — he blows me a kiss. My stomach drops, my heart flutters, and I burst into even more giggles, and I take off back in the direction of my car.
Rumi said, “I am another you, you are another me.” This is what I was searching for. Another me. Someone who can see me and understand me like I understand myself. Someone I can talk to like I’m talking to myself. And I found it in you.
