Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
☀️🧴🍊
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Lennon Sertori's eye twitches every time someone calls her a good person.
She is good, a little bit, she thinks. But something about everything she does feels fake. At face value, Lennon is the epitome of kindness. She's the type of girl you'd think of when you see a pretty flower, or a unique shell hidden within grains of sand at the beach. Her face is adorned by a dazzling smile and bright eyes that light up every room she walks in, and a voice as soft as butter that makes every sentence sound like the sweetest melody ever made.
Maybe that's why it's so easy for her to lie.
It's a nasty habit of hers. She knows that much. But it only started a couple of months before summer began. See, Lennon was sick of being so perfect. Not that being so kind was costly, or that it bothered her at all, but the problem with being perfect is that there's no thrill. And that, Lennon hated.
Surface level Pogue activity didn't cut it anymore. In Lennon's sixteen years of life she'd learned that as long as you're from The Cut, people don't particularly care about what you do, and harmless crime is not so thrilling when it's expected of you. It was too normal—too regular. So what does a perfect girl do to feel something?
