In Lies She Trusts

2

Author's Note: Sorry for the late update! I thought I wouldn't be able to post until next week, but I managed to get a moment! Make sure to point out any errors ( if you want ). Thank you for reading!! (:

​Another thing about being a rich girl was that you never quite stopped being a rich girl. It's like a permanent black veil on your face, blocking you from the rest of the world. And the rest of the world from you.

​Being rich is just like being poor, except with a lot more perks. In both cases, there are certain assumptions about how you're supposed to act and, well, be.

​However, in my case, overstepping the bounds of my stereotype bubble was almost dangerous. Which is why I was speeding away from my house in a Maserati, when I could've been studying for class. One of the boyfriends was driving—and it's somehow flown from my mind which boyfriend it was.

​I had a window seat. Sammy, who was sitting next to me, had been studying my eyes intently for probably the past twenty like she was reading a textbook written in Chinese. "You should really wear eyeliner. It'll make your eyes look dark," she said as if having dark eyes was the only thing one could ever hope to achieve in life.

​"Right," I said, sarcasm oozing from my voice. "Dark eyes. Even more important than a college education."

​I heard Rita snort, and I immediately cringed when I heard her approval. I cringed again when I realized that what I said was a Rita thing to say.

​Was I becoming a Rita—or even worse, was I already a Rita?

​Sammy was just sitting there blinking, not sure of how to respond, and not even quite catching my sarcasm.

​I wore no makeup, except for just enough mascara that if I wipe it off, my eyes would look a little "dead."

​We got to the mall, to my extreme disappointment. I was sort of praying to all god I could've possibly thought of that there was some type of traffic holdup, or just anything to prevent this excursion from happening. As we entered, the boyfriend ditched us, probably for some "boy" store. I couldn't blame him for leaving.

​Five minutes into shopping, I was already bored. Well, everyone else was shopping—I was sort of just idly staring around, touching some clothes so I could show some bare traces of interest.
​But there was nothing that shut Rita up more than a good shopping spree. I watched as she almost danced from aisle to aisle, looking at clothes like a professional art critique evaluating a Picasso painting.

​The others were chatting away as they held clothes to their bodies in an attempt to determine whether they would fit or not. They were probably talking about something completely meaningless; like a button falling off of their thousand-dollar cardigan.

​There was nothing more effective than a good shopping spree to remind me that I didn't belong. I was by no means the stereotypical nerd and I didn't even think I was anywhere near a geek. I was fashionable, I knew what was "trending" and to a certain degree I followed popular trends, and I cared what I looked like. I mean, I wasn't all skirts, dress shirts, and dresses, but I didn't look like a bum. And when your Dad's a CEO—well, you better look like the daughter of a CEO.
​However, I was an extreme pragmatist when it came to time. As a result, I ordered most of my clothes online, and simply returned clothes that didn't work out (while I was rich enough to just keep them out of laziness, I was also an extreme pragmatist when it came to money. Well, as much as a pragmatist as I could be). Trotting from aisle to aisle was simply not something I enjoyed.

​I went outside and sat on those metal waiting chairs that made your butt feel like you were sitting on a bunch of cold straws or something. They didn't notice. Really, they never noticed.
​As I got into an intense session of people watching, someone sat next to me.