"Perfect"

Her bedroom was frilly and pink—what a twelve year old girl's bedroom ought to be. With ruffled curtains, bow ridden pillowcases, floral wallpaper and vases of roses on ever surface.
But her thoughts were dark and devilish—what a twelve year old girl's thoughts should never be. She dreamed of twisting hallways, dark alleys, musty bottles, and old wine.
But no one ever saw what went on in Sandra Mae's head. So she kept up the act, dressing up like a doll every day. With white puffed sleeves, pink skirts, knee high socks and little black shoes.
That was when her mother would call her "The Perfect  little princess" with all the emphasis on "Perfect."
And Sandra Mae would smile with all of her teeth, the way she had been taught, and they would go on like that for hours, as if their life was to be broadcasted on TV.
Only with Alister could Sandra Mae be herself, and she only saw Alister at school.
Every morning she would wake with the sun, eat like a bird, and smile like the Cheshire Cat. Then Sandra Mae's mother would drive her to school—which was a walkable distance, but as her mother would say, "Perfect little princesses mustn't spoil their Perfect little clothes." with all the emphasis on "Perfect."
Sandra Mae would meet Alister on the steps of the school building  at exactly 7:18. And Alister would be precisely two minutes late. This was their routine, and it suited them well. When Alister arrived he always brought with him a question on his lips. And it was always the same.
"Where to?" He would ask. And Sandra Mae would smile with her mouth clamped shut, her teeth hidden safely inside, and answer,
"Anywhere but here."