Your Pretty Face Won't Get You Anywhere

Chapter 7-Another scratch card? Come on...

Me and Michael went out for some more fish and chips, wearing big, black hoodies to hide our faces. Trust me, (from writers experience as well) if you have lots of money and your hecking popular, then to get rid of paparazzi, just wear a big hoodie! I ruffled Michael's blond hair and he slightly angrily ruffled my black hair back. Then we ordered using my card, and we brought the food home between us.

 We AGAIN, got a scratch card as we got home. "If this one works, I'm killing myself. We're already like goddamn billionaires so Ima kill myself bro." I moaned at Michael, as he brought out a penny from his pocket to scratch. "It's a one in a million chance Sona, we wont win." reassured Michael. A 7. "Awww..." "Shut up Sona! When it's 2 of them then we can cry as much as we want!" Another 7. I rolled on the ground and did my best impression of annoying crying. "Sonaaaaaaa! We haven't won yeeeet!" Another, 7. Michael let the card fall to the ground then just glided off the sofa. I started stuffing my mouth full of fries and tasting my bitter tears. I forced myself to go to the computer and did the steps as slowly as possible, as Michael just played 'The Dead Game' with himself. "W-w-w-we're s-so lucky w-we're s-s-so sa-had!!!!" I wailed and cried, as lettuce fell on the ground. We had gained another million to our collection of money. We now had £19,243,000,000. Yay, going up the world's youngest-richest people scale now. More than Kylie Jenner. Or was it Kendall? Okay I'm not a Kardashian fan, so please correct me,

here.

But anyway. We must continue. Michael got up and looked at my computer screen. The money had come to my bank account so yay. I slammed my head on the keyboard and fell asleep. Business is boomin'.