One girl. One boy. One-sided love.
This is a story of a girl named Candice Whitmoore who is madly in love with Ayrton Drake Yeary since kindergarten. Yes, she thinks of him as her destined prince and she will let no one to come between them. Ever...
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Candice's POV
"Candice Whitmoore!" My mom's high-pitched voice echoed throughout the house. It was another boring Saturday morning and I didn't have anything to do. Without Drake, my one true love, life was so gloomy. So I decided to devour my mom's closet and cosmetic set, to find and practice a good combination of clothes and make-up to match up my skin tone and eye color whenever I will be seeing him.
'Oh, Ayrton Drake . . .' I was thinking of him while trying to create a dot on my finger from the tubular container that read "CLINIQUE: Even Better" under the silver big letter C and "dark spot corrector 3.04 ounce" in the bottom.
Just the idea of him gave me goosebumps. I smiled at myself in front of the mirror and started transferring the liquid to my under-eye as I quickly blend it by softly patting my skin. I think I'm doing it right. I was certain that I imitated perfectly my mom's routine every time she attended a party.
"How many times should I tell you not to touch any of my things, especially this one?" my mom cried as she broke the sweet momentum.
My mom would be in this kind of berserk mode state every time she caught me touching her things for fifteen years. But I'm pretty sure she once called it cute when I was younger.
She was on the doorway but strode swiftly towards me and grabbed the corrector I was clasping. She then quickly hid it in the box together with the different lipsticks and eye shadows I was trying to apply.
"Mom, it's just a make-up," I said while pouting at her, crossing my arms across my chest.
She was picking her clothes and some high-heeled sandals on the floor when she looked up and said, "Just make-up? Oh, my goodness, Candice. I don't know what to do with you anymore!"
She was shaking her head as she continued cleaning my mess. She inhaled and held her breath as if her chest was about to explode. Her eyebrows met each other as she stared intently on one of the opened perfumes.
"This is Clive Christian! Oh, heavens, for the love of motherhood, save me!"
I just sighed dramatically as I dropped my shoulders. She was sometimes a real killjoy and a drama queen especially when it is about her cosmetics, but seeing my mom's reflection through the mirror, made me more grateful that she was my mom.
Why? Because aside from being a good cook, she was undeniably pretty like a goddess. I think she had more curves than any Victoria's Secret angels. Smiling, I leaned forward to the mirror and stared dreamily at my reflection, not caring what my mom was saying.
I got my silky, flowing blond hair from her and the cheekbones that her co-workers and friends always pinch whenever I see them. I also got my radiant, glowing skin form her, and thank goodness, I had no freckles. But my catlike-set of eyes was from my dad. I didn't have fringed eyelashes like dolls, but my eyes can look through one's inner soul. As a child, I was aware that I had good looks and the most common compliments I received were always about my fierce eyes.
