Nicole Montgomery, is as common as her name. Straight A's, wallflower, addicted to Harry Potter, adorable, and a well-known cat freak.
Adam Kline, is as common of a bad boy as any, tattoos, piercings, smoker, a man-whore and (surprising for me too)...
The masking smell of nail polish and hairspray filled the room, as if the salon were a bucket and water was falling off the rim as more was added in. I wrinkled my nose and tried too keep the contractions of my breathing to the longest brink.
My long brown hair was being infused with heat and hairspray to make it in come sort of unknown up do, pulled too tight making the corner of my eyes look almost Asian.
The woman named Sheryl, or so her name tag says, asked me questions she didn't wanna ask and I didn't wanna answer. It's easier for older women, they get questions and you get a novel and a point of view-that somehow makes their point right in every way possible-when you ask an seventeen year old senior about her school life, she won't exactly be one of many words.
My phone vibrated under my butt, probably making a cellulite tsunami, I rolled my eyes and slowly tucked my hand under my leg and grabbed my iPhone.
It was Kelsey, my best friend, who was going with her boyfriend Cedric but they said I could tag along. And don't worry I've been called it a million times, I'm a third wheel. But at least George can do it with me. Which makes us an socially awkward station wagon.
"Okay, Nicole, what do you think?" Sheryl asked snapping myself into the smelly situation.
I stared at myself in the mirror, my hair all picked up with flowers, in every direction possible, and glitter thrown in in random places... Basically the first thing that pops up on your feed on Pinterest.
Don't deny it.
I honestly wasn't that impressed, an hour and a half took my hair in all directions with flowers. A run through the woods could do that. But of course like the "social" young lady I am, I smiled and thanked the woman, payed way to much for some plastic flowers, leading myself to my car and driving home.
It didn't take me long to get ready, I just had to ditch my sweater paws and put on my dress, once again not impressed. I'm not one for dances, as you may have already thought, I'm more of a "Netflix and chill with several cats" kind of person. But by Netflix I mean YouTube and by chill I mean rocky road ice cream. But it's my senior year and prom is supposed to be magical for a young girl, especially her senior year, well according to every chic flic my best friends watch.
When I finally got home, and texted the man himself.
Me:Justgotdonegettingmyhairwrecked..Happy?
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