The Good Girl's Diary

Plaid skirts and family disconcert.

August 23

Penthouse Bedroom

I just cannot force myself to exit the serenity of my silk sheet and down comforter haven to step onto the cold floor and begin my day. So here I sit in the empty apartment with an eery silence parading the room. My mom went out for breakfast to reconnect with an old friend who lives nearby. She has not even left yet and I already miss her intensely.

I doubt that Nathan was even awake yet. It was only 6 o'clock, but the city was already booming. Granted the place had boomed all night. I couldn't decider if the strain on my sleeping was due to the constant noise or my nerves. This was completely different from simply starting a new school. This was going from my local high school to a private school meant to sky rocket young students to the Ivy leagues. I was completely intimidated. I had seen some of the girls coming home from school the first day we arrived and they look more like models than school girls. I had never seen anyone pair Louboutins with a plaid skirt, frankly I had never seen Louboutins in person before that day.

Honestly, I just feel way too- whats the word- plain. I am five foot nine (which is only acceptable if you are a size 2 model), and I am a size 4 on a good day. My hair is a simple straight dark brown, not even single curl or extra color to add character. My feet are way too big, and to add onto it all I am extremely pale. I have been staring at my school uniform for the past ten minutes. The white shirt and burgundy plaid skirt seemed so perfect right now. This way, I fit in. I would not be different. I glanced at my shoe rack, I desperately needed new shoes.

Since my outfit was already decided I sat down at the marble vanity in my bathroom to actually take my time on my makeup. I ran my hand across the cool white counter and blinked my eyes to insure I was truly awake. I was awake. This was all real.

I hadn't had time to actually let it set in that I was living directly across the street from Central Park. I felt like Blair Waldorf sitting in my grand bathroom; all I needed was a box of Ladurée macarons.

I glanced down at my makeup, and then into the mirror. I needed to do something with this face. The last thing I wanted to do was go overboard. Nobody likes a girl to try too hard. And a pale girl with Kim Kardashian contour doesn't exactly send the boys running. I started sleepily putting on my foundation; pearl ivory to be exact. Maybe walking outside will give my face some color, or at least make me look less dead. I just wanted to look perfect, as perfect as a small town girl showing up at an elite prep school in a pair of department store flats and a face full of Target make up can look.

School Bathroom

So this moment will go down in history as the most cliche moment of my life. Me, the new girl, sitting in the prep school bathroom because I do not quite fit in. No one is being mean to me or anything. I am just desperately awkward, and did not realize this until I needed to think of something cool to say. All of these girls were going on and on about the parties and clubs they had been to, while I sat desperately trying to join into the foreign conversation.

"So, new girl," A slim Karlie Kloss lookalike said, "What do you do for fun in Kansas or wherever you're from. "Um, in Tennessee, I'll sometimes go to Nashville with my friends," I could tell that they were picking apart my southern accent. "Nashville? That's where that TV show takes place right?" a short dark haired girl named Lena asked. "The one that is literally called 'Nashville'," The Karlie Kloss girl (whose name is apparently Ana Katherine) scoffed. I watched Lena put her head down in embarrassment. These girls were cut throat, and I am pretty sure this was them attempting to be charming.

After homeroom, I went to French class (which I am pretty good at) and embarrassed myself further. I sat down next to a french guy. Literally, tell me why a boy from France was in my French III honors class. I sat down next to him, and he said "Bonjour, comment t'appellee tu?" My mind went completely bland and instead of saying je m'appelle Phoebe, I looked at him and said some mumbo jumbo that turned out to be a french slur leading to our teacher to give us a speech on respecting each other's differences.