Blanket's POV
"Oh come on! You KNOW you can sing" said Vivi to me while jumping to the next stone in the pond.
We were out in the ranch, jumping from stone to stone on the pond, talking.
I've known Vivi since we were 1 and have had a crush on her for all 14 of those years.
"shut up" I said looking down, not wanting her to see me blush.
"No! You KNOW you have talent, Prince Michael Joe Jackson the second!"
"Damn, my whole name? Really?" I said while jumping to the next stone, gaining on her.
"Yes really! You're voice is gold, blanket. You could be just as successful as your dad one day if you tried" She told me, complete serious in her voice.
"Nah, my dad's the best. He may not be performing anymore, but he's still the best"
I couldn't help but think to when I was six and he stood before, dancing and singing his heart out to my siblings and the rest of the crowd in London, during his This is It tour.
I was in awe that day, and before that, I DID want to be a singer. But seeing him perform, I know I didn't stand a chance.
So now the only people I sing in front of is my grandma Katherine, Paris and obviously Vivi.
"Yeah, I know. I've walked in on him singing opera as he vacuumed more than a few times. Is that normal or he just showing off cause there's guests who aren't famous?" She asked.
"A little of both"
My dad knew he had that effect on people.
He knew that all he had to do was walk in to make grown men cry.
"Well, he probably wouldn't let you now, but you should talk to him about performing. You have talent, Blanket. Serious talent."
"Just drop it, Vivi"
"No! Why can't you realize the potential you have?! If you keep bringing yourself down you'll never do the extraordinary things you're capable of!"
Vivi screamed as a water balloon hit her, and seconds later one hit me in the back of the head.
I lost my balance and fell into the water, but while trying to grab onto Vivi to get myself balanced again, I pulled her down with me.
My dad laughed at us as we shot out of the water, desperate for air.
He looked like he was going to cry from the hilarity.
Sometimes it was hard to believe he won 13 Grammys, married the king of Rock 'n' Roll's daughter and was the role model of the likes of Beyonce, Britney Spears and Usher, when all he really does now at 57 years old is throw water balloons at us and cry at Peter Pan.
I crawled out of the water and pulled Vivi in, trying to ignore the fact that her white shirt was completely soaked.
"Dinner's ready!" Michael said through the laughter, he turned around and started walking back to the house.
I grabbed my hair and twisted it like a towel, trying to the get the water out of it.
"Can you believe that's my father?" I said, slightly smiling.
I loved my dad, much more than anyone knows.
He's been put down by so many tabloids and people, but he's still humble and immature enough to throw a water balloon at well- everyone.
That takes pure strength, staying who you are when you're an entertainer.
Vivi and I waddled back to the house, uncomfortably, with our clothes sticking to our skin.
The kitchen was filled with the smell of KFC and also some burnt food- probably my dad's failed attempt at cooking until he gave up and bought chicken.
"PRINCE! GET BACK HERE!!!" Michael screeched at the top of his lungs.
Prince was running for his life, clutching the bucket of chicken in his hands.
My older brother and my father had an equally great love for fried chicken.
Actually that's a lie my father would murder someone for chicken.
Like he's probably going to do right now.
"IT'S MINE!!!!" Prince yelled, running upstairs.
"SHARING IS CARING!!!" My dad protested while chasing him upstairs.
I sat down at the breakfast bar, eating some biscuits.
"I'm gonna go use Paris's shower" Vivi said, getting up. I waved bye to her, mouth too full to actually say something.
Watching her go upstairs, I realized something.
She was right.
I loved singing, I loved dancing, I loved writing and I was a perfectionist.
I may as well be a clone of my dad, but with a twist.
Creatively, not physically.
Maybe I should give this a shot.
My dad walked downstairs, holding the dented bucket in his arm, with a drumstick in the other.
He sat down, breathless, saying "Prince won't be having dinner with us" and then bit into his piece of chicken.
I looked over at my dad, just now realizing the forever engraved circles under his eyes, his long face and lifeless hair.
Was he just old? Or did the fame add to this?
"Dad?" I asked, breaking the silence "Can I ask you something?"
He sighed, "Blanket, if this is about your mother, I've told you a million times she-"
"It's not" I interrupted quickly "It's not about her"
His ears perked up, curious "then what is it?"
"Dad, I wanna be a performer" I blurted out.
Michael put down his food, and looked at me, his eyes intense.
I bit my lip, regretting saying anything.
He stared at me, looking me deep in the eyes, like he was looking inside of me and seeing every little secret I had, every emotion I ever felt, everything question I ever had, he looked at everything.
His voice cold, deep and hard, he said "No you don't"
What does that mean?!
"Yes, I do" I said, my voice sounding 100% secure and determined.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure"
"You're ready for the sleepless nights? The sore ankles? The screaming fans and the lights from the cameras clicking away? The lights from the spotlight? The loneliness? The depression? The beat downs and the constantly getting back up? The crying from joy and sadness? The controlling producers and the skeptic people?" He asked me all at once.
"Yes"
He stood up from his chair, and looked down at me.
I never realized how tall he was.
"Fine!" He yelled, startling me a bit, but then his voice softened "I'll help you too, on one condition"
Oh my god, he'll help me?!
Yes! Anything for that! Yes! Yes! Yes!
"What?" I said my voice eager.
"You have to do it better than I did" Michael stated and then walked away, before looking over his shoulder and saying "let's get started"