It's odd, you know? The way things turn out I mean.

I suppose an introduction is in order. The rest of this won't make sense otherwise.

I'm Noel Trenton. My mother is Barbara Trenton. Yeah, she was the one that wrote The Secret to Life and All things Living. It was the New York Times #1 bestseller for five months.

A lot happened in those five months, and I'm not talking about all the interviews and crap like that.

I'm talking about the real stuff that went on behind the closed doors. I'm talking about the top ten reasons NOT to let your mom become a bestseller.

Yeah, I know, it sounds selfish. It sounds downright mean; trust me, it's for the greater good.

The trouble started on September the nineteenth of last year. I'd been in school for about two weeks, but I'd missed about one and a half of those weeks because of appearances and other crap. It started out nicely, after all, what kid minds missing school?

No, I had no trouble with the absences. The trouble was with the image we were told to present.

"And everyone is happy, right?" Cassandra Appleton, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, asked.

"Oh, naturally!" My mother replied, using that fake smile she'd recently acquired. "Where else would I draw inspiration from?"

"Is this true?" Cassandra asked, turning to my father and I.

"Absolutely!" we cried in unison. Sometimes, I sicken myself.

Cassandra left the house with some twisted version of the truth, that day.

"Mom," I said, tapping on her shoulder. "You can stop smiling, now. Everyone's gone."

Barbara looked at me, and ran her fingers through her hair. "Why? There's a camera crew coming in just ten minutes!"

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