A Cliche Teenage Story

Chapter 1

       She's crazy. Absolutely crazy. My best friend, Kelly May Shutterson is completely, utterly crazy.

       "It's the first day of middle school, for goodness sake!" I tell her. "Not even your first date, okay? You do not need to ransack your closet and spend a million hours choosing an outfit."

        So maybe a million hours is an exaggeration. But only a small one.

        Kelly looks at me as if I'm the one who's completely out of my mind. Which is, for the record, totally not true. "Um, yeah it's the first day of middle school tomorrow." She continues to look at me like I'm going bonkers. "The. First. Day. Of. Middle. School." She repeats, slowly as if I'm going to understand her point if she says it super slowly.

        She must have seen the blank look on my face, as she makes an exasperated gesture, then goes back to demolishing her room. Demolishing her room another way of saying trying on every outfit she could possibly make, then dropping it on the floor.

        I had run over here from my house when Kelly had called, saying it was an emergency. Little did I know that it would be a fashion emergency. Because, really, who freaks out this much about middle school?

        I clear a spot on her clothing covered bed, and then sit down at what is now the only clear spot in her room. "Well, seeing as middle schools starts in..." I check my watch, then continue. "In exactly about 16 hours, I suppose I'll help you make one of the most important decisions of your life," I say this as sarcastically as possible. "Then maybe you'll actually be dressed tomorrow at school."

        Obviously, my sarcasm goes through deaf ears, as she jumps up from digging through the sea of clothes on her floor, and hugs me as if I just won a Nobel peace prize. "Oh thank you so much!" She gushes. I didn't even know a person was capable of gushing, despite what magazines always use. What is up with the 'spills' and 'gushes', anyways? Couldn't they use something, oh maybe a bit more normal, like 'said'?

        "Okay, what do you think of this outfit?" Kelly spins around slowly, modeling the ugliest combination I have ever seen on a person younger then 60.

        "Maybe if it was national mismatch day. That thing that you call an outfit is perfect for that. But for the first day of middle school? Definitely not!"

        "I suppose it is kinda mismatched."

        Kind of? That's like, more then a hyperbole. More like astronomically mismatched.

        Obviously shes not getting anywhere, so I decide to help her out a little bit. Fine, help her out a lot. As in choose the outfit for her. I survey her room, cluttered with the contents of her dresser and closet. I examine her, trying to choose an outfit that will look good on her.

        With slightly wavy brown hair, a few inches below her shoulders, and freckles sprinkled under her gray-blue eyes, she's not what you'd call striking. In fact, most people would call her plain. I call her 'not quite at her full potential for looks'. Which is a nice way of saying 'shes plain now but maybe in a few years she will become more pretty'.

        I find a tank top that compliments her eyes, and pair it with a white crop top. I add a pair of Jean shorts, as its still warm at this time of year in northern Missouri. I shove the hastily made outfit at her. "Here you go."

        She frowns at the bundle in her hands. "Don't you think this is a little plain, though?" Kelly asks me, clearly worried about looking somewhat normal.

        I roll my eyes."Not with the right accessories."

        Kelly still seems doubtful, but she tries it on, knowing I have superior knowledge about clothing, because of my mom, who used to be a model, and is now a fashion designer. She has been, ever since she had me, when she was 23. Shes not all that famous, but has her own clothing line and everything. I don't actually know all that much about her job, other then that she spends a lot of time at home, compared to my friend's moms.