#𝟏 • 𝐀 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥'𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞.
❝But there's him. He wants to know who I am. He wants to know my past. He wants to know my secret. He isn't different from me. Because I need to know why he's a bad boy.❞
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Every High School has a Queen, who's...
The morning sun rises from the horizon, it's feeble light trickling through the crack of the window. I tighten my eyes shut to prevent the sun ruining my good sleep and I pull the blanket higher up to cover my face from the beaming sunlight.
"Paris!" My fathers voice echoes throughout the house. I mumble incorrectly and annoyed, pulling one of my plump pillow on top of my ear.
"Get your ass up." He orders from downstairs, and I growl, groggily, as I fling the blanket open and stumble off my bed, walking towards my closet, sleepily.
I pull on my burgundy crop top, which shows my belly piercing, then a pair of ripped up black jeans with black booties finishing up my look. Afterward I do my makeup and tie my hair in a mess ponytail then I wear my olive green jacket and a triangle necklace before heading downstairs.
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"Morning Dad." I kiss his cheek and he smiles at me as he looks up from his newspaper.
"Morning Princess." Dad replies, an uneasy look hesitating in his eyes. I frown as I pour my favourite cereal in the bowl.
"What's up?"
"Nothing." He lies, his eyes scanning the paper the in front of him. I scoff at his try at covering whatever he is hiding and pull the newspaper down slightly.
"Dad." I warn with narrow eyes. Dad glances at me and I raise my eyebrows, gesturing him to go on.
My appearance is half and half with my parents but my personality is mostly from my Mom: stubborn and demanding. But sometimes Dad's personality shines through me because he was once the only person who was able to make my Mom a better, less demanding woman.
Dad hesitates before placing the newspaper back down on the table. A second later, he pull out his phone, tapping against the screen before sliding it across the granite table. I look at the phone and frown when I see a familiar name across the top as Dad sighs in distress, rubbing his forehead with his fingers.
"Your mother messaged me last night." I read their text and frown. "She wants to meet you."
I become quiet before murmuring. "When?"
He runs his fingers through his greyish brown hair, his blue eyes filled with too many emotions that it makes me feel nervous thinking about my Mom.
"She's in California for a couple of months, she said that you can choose whenever you want to meet up. She doesn't want to rush you."
Scoffing, I push the phone back to him in annoyance and drop my bowl into the sink. "How about never?"
I turn around and lean against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. "You need to see her. We had issues but she never wanted to disconnect from you. You had that choice not to see her."
