Everyone's their own Gossip Girl *BOOK PREVIEW*

Gossip #2:

Andrea flipped her long, luscious dark chocolate hair back, and popped out a hip as she grabbed her phone and instantly starting messaging. Everyone on her contacts list was gone-vanished, and she rolled her eyes, sighing.

Her brother was messing with her again.

Andrea dropped the phone next to her hip and started picking at her nails, giving hard, cold looks to all the girls who passed. She hadn't been much positive like she used to-the radiant, beautiful best friend of four amazing girls, always smiling, laughing, and having such glow to her-everything was gone. She’d gone lazy. She completely stopped trying to make herself cute, load makeup on, and almost completely stopped socializing. Since her parents’ divorce, a new family being attached to one side, and the other side being torn apart, and having both sides figuring out the last few visits to her boyfriend’s haven’t been all that appropriate.

Now she was at the mall. For some odd reason, she’d thought it would be safe walking twenty kilometres, there and back on breaking heels, holding a purse, containing an extremely heavy wallet dragging her whole body to one side. Here she was in the mall, having no one to pick up.

She sauntered over to the bench and sat down, staring at the aisles of shoes and women, trying on those cute pair of flats two sizes too small. It seemed more like a comedy than a hunt to see which woman could find the shoe that actually matched her age and her size. Andrea tried to restrain herself from laughing, but nothing could help it. A smile had broken onto her face and then she was laughing. While swinging her head violently, she glanced at herself through a mirror and her smile fell off and a frown took place.

It wasn’t her in the mirror. That smile was unfamiliar and she almost didn’t recognize herself. The way the light had reflected off of Andrea’s warm toned cheeks, and the way her Cupids’ Bow seemed perfectly arched and perfected was too visible, too noticeable, and too different.

Suddenly, a glimpse of long, wavy blonde hair came into view. The long and skinny figure was somehow pushed back, exposing herself to Andrea’s sight. The girl had perfected skin, dewy and fresh, she had a long ballerina figure, her knees not too bent, and her hips not too curvy. She wore a black leather jacket that swung right above the knees and wore dark jeans, hiding her figure down until they were tucked beneath a pair of somehow cute and manageable hiking boots.

Andrea’s eyes crept up to the girl’s face.

She had eyebrows take semi-popped out of the face, and had extreme dimension all her face. Her eyes were more hollow, creating the illusion of mysterious vampire-like dark circles, and her Cupid’s bow had too much arch and curve to it, she looked like she talked a lot. Scaling the whole face, there was no sign of makeup, no sign of fake, super-arched brows. There wasn’t even a sign of lip gloss.

Andrea shivered in disgust, the realized that criticising would be way too hypocritical. She instantly started imaging what other people would have thought of her. The girl with warm caramel skin, dark long hair, big eyes and mouth, tall, slim nose, sharper features that carried all the way to her longer, slimmer paler arms to fingers, and her athletically-built, yet slim and elongated legs. She had been covered in red and black plaid designs, a black crop top underneath a buttoned shirt, and a pair of thick faux leggings. Half her freshly dyed hair had been covered under a black toque, and her eyes seemed to be inspired by the STAND OUT GIRL sign on her shoes.

Andrea bit her lower lip and she spun around from the chair and studied her features. She looked alright and had to admit that if she was a guy, she would go for herself. Smart, somewhat popular, somewhat confident, and talented in the musical side of things; she seemed desirable.

“Andrea Vega?” a restrictive, slightly too diplomatic voice called/croaked her name, her voice filled with what either sounded like curiosity or just plain disgust, as if she couldn’t bare even saying her name.