I sashayed out of my house, my Gucci heels clicking with my steps. I tossed my moonlight - beam blond ringlets behind my shoulder, pasting a confident look on my Covergirl'd face. School was right across the street from my house - as I said, I'm perfect.
I burst through the glass doors of the school, tossing my Coach backpack over my shoulder.
"Hey girl!"
"Looking hot!"
"Ali! Ali! Smile!" A blinding flash entered my vision.
Greetings and compliments flowed through the hallway.
I repeat. I'm perfect.
I strutted up to the rest of the cheerleaders. They smiled, their eyes running up and down my curvy, juicy body. Inside, I sneered. They would be perfect like me . . . in their dreams.
"So, girls," I breathed, twirling a lock of my hair, "How's life?" I strutted down the hallway for show. They followed me like lost puppies, mimicking my every move. Some of them quickly shoved a disgusting nerd in their open locker. My skin - tight, lacy, bright yellow camisole complimented my skin tone. My dark, limited edition Coach jeans stood out. Everybody looked out of place with their light colored jeans - I mean, I start the trends, I end them. Once again. P - E - R - F - E - C - T.
We passed the other cliques - the jocks, who told me I was sexy. The preps - who asked me how I got my perfect grades. The artsy kids - who asked me if I could model for their project. The skaters - who really didn't do anything but brag about their new skateboard.
"Babe! Look," One of my clique members said. Her name was Tasha, right? I'll kick her out soon enough. She waved a paper in front of my face. I snatched it away in annoyance. I faked a gasp, twirling around so that my locks bounced and I was face to face with her. "Girl, can you go fetch my lunchcard from the caf?" I asked, feigning a pathetic look. She nodded, skipping away. Strutting again, I sneered at the rest of the clique. "Like she's coming back," I snorted. They cackled.
I looked down. The school newspaper had a perfect picture of me. "Best Girl at School," it stated. I smiled, flipping through the short autobiography about me.
This was perfect, of course. My rich parents. My fabulous life, and perfect everything.
Then I looked up, my breath catching in my throat.
He gazed at me.
