For one thing, we used to be bestfriends. When I met her, I literally was the happiest person alive. She was short, and I wasn't. And I wasn't Italian either. But we were both skinny. And we both had super thick hair that my mom overstated was "healthy." I didn't care. I thought I was ugly. But she was so kind and sweet to me. I remember as we were walking to PE class, she told me, "Jen. Every blonde needs a brunette." And of course I came back at her that I wasn't blonde, but rather dirty blonde. And her smartass self replied, "And that leads me to question, Dirty Jen, why don't you have a boyfriend yet?" I laughed. We would text and FaceTime every night and had countless sleepovers and hangouts. Our friendship was unbreakable, or so we thought. Until one night.
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I hate Missy Shapiro
Ficção AdolescenteI hate her. I hate her bright green eyes. I hate her million boyfriends. I hate her popularity. I hate her sleek brown hair. I hate her perfect body. I hate her happiness. I hate you, Missy Shapiro. Remember that.
