Kai Summers is a Afro-Caribbean born immigrant to the US. Kai is humble and one of the sweetest persons you will ever meet although his living situations aren't ideal - Kai has his mind set on making the best for his future. He is an aspiring doctor...
Practically running off campus . Checking my. messages , my mom texted me that her treatment was going well so far .
My mom had checked into the hospital last Saturday and my dad move into an apartment where he got a job as a maintenance man so he was closer to my mom . I was the only one at home now .
It had been a week since I heard from Zander . The last time was when a package came to my doorstep with the newest iPhone inside . I was hesitant to accept at first I mean he called me gold digger but they was a note attached to it saying it already set up and couldn't be returned . I was strapped for cash and wouldn't afford a phone at the moment so I accepted it .
I was on my way to meet the stylist that Mrs. Storm found for me to meet with today . I didn't know what was wrong with the clothes I had , or how I dressed . But , one thing was for sure my style didn't meet the standards of my future mother-in-law.
A train and cab ride , I was standing out of a boutique. I step in the store, and immediately found myself transported to the set of any 90s movie makeover sequence.
"Excuse me, are you the delivery boy ?" A lady said , looking at me as if I had committed a sin by walking in the boutique.
"I am Kai Summers." I introduce myself, extending hands for her to shake it . "I have an appointment ". I add.
She tsks , "We do have our work cut for us." She starts pacing ahead of me , and I follow closely at her heels .
"Come child ," she waves and I follow her to a changing room .
She takes a robe from a rack , and orders "- put this on."
I shyly turn my back to her , and I stripped my clothes and covered myself in the robe .
Noticing that she wasn't even paying attention to me . I quickly gather my nerves , incase the thing she said was an insult.
"Favolosa ," she exclaims , looking me over."Sì, you're a vision out of those rags you call clothes."
I try to focus the compliment in her statement , and not the harsh insult to my clothes. I like my oversized sweaters with weirdly cute graphics , and light washed jeans.
Clapping her a bunch people came in the room. " Measure ! " She orders them , pointing at me . Three neatly dress women start taking measure around my waist , chest and inside leg . And a young man stands writing down the numbers they called.
Ms. Rossi goes aways , and returns with more clothes than in my closet would hold .
"Ms.Rossi , what his shoe size ? " They ask in sync.
"9½" I answer.
Three tedious hours later , and my legs wobbled from standing too long and my eyes hurt from checking logos. I'm seriously starting to think this appointment was just Ms.Rossi's way of monetizing a pinterest search results for the words ; minimalist , Ralph Lauren , and designer watches with male attached at the end.
Yet , I couldn't decide if I should applause her for making a quick buck plus commission or call her out.
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