Accident Prone |h.s|

Chapter 2: Before

*Three Years Earlier*

January 2017

I set my set my alarm an hour earlier than normal. I cannot be late today. This feels like the real first day to the job I've had for three months.

I've been working for Lane Smith (super cool and trendy stylist) for a few months now. My roommate and best friend got me the gig with one of the most affluential stylists in LA.

My roommate, Kim, is a makeup artist for all the best reality tv shows. She knows people, who knows people, who make things happen. Kim is an angel from above and is my favorite person in LA (even though she sucks at doing the dishes and can't seem to make coffee without it tasting like water.)

She's the kind of friend that has no problem telling you exactly how she feels whether it's good or bad. But she will also wake up early to make pancakes on stressful days.

That's the smell I wake up to on this Sunday morning. Chocolate chip of course. Because why would pancakes have anything else in them?

As I unwillingly remove myself from my soft sheets and queen size bed, I groan when I look at the time. Waking up before 7am should be illegal.

Starting the shower and stepping in, I try not to freak out at the thought of today. Unfortunately, it's all I can focus on while the day's plans sort out in my mind.

Wake up.
Don't throw up.
Look like a presentable fashionable human.
Go to hotel.
Be the best damn stylist assistant.
Don't throw up.
Help a famous celebrity get ready.
Watch the Golden Globes red carpet.
Celebrate not throwing up on a celebrity.

A simple plan really.

Kim has already completed her sunrise yoga and taken her puppy, Howard the Sharpay, for his morning walk. Sometimes I wonder at her being actually human as she plops a beautifully tan pancake onto my plate.

"You are a fashion diva extraordinaire who is going to kill it today. Just don't fall or throw up on anyone." She says to me with her eyebrow cocked to one side leaning against the kitchen bar.

Okay can she read my mind? I don't think I would actually vomit one anyone but how can she tell my deepest fears just by looking at me. I guess that's what best friends are for.

After a delightful (possibly too filling) breakfast and a gloriously understated makeup look from Kim, I am ready for the day.

Well, at least I hope I am.

For the most part, I have always been an anxious person. I constantly worry what the outside world thinks of me and if I'll fit into someone else's expectations. Today is no different than any other day in that respect.

But this is probably why I just can't seem to date, either.

Instead, I am always the best friend.

I was once told that I'm a "tweener" as in an inbetweener. I'm not exactly horrible to look at but I am no ones definition of drop dead gorgeous either. I'm the girl the guys love to talk to and have a good time with but then say that I'll be the best wife to someone some day.

I'm 23. I don't want to be anyone's wife right now. I just want to be someone's someone.

So instead, I spend my nights drinking a bottle of Chardonnay and re-downloading Tinder for the tenth time.

Kim, on the other hand, has the confidence of a supermodel and has had the best experiences with all the men she's met. I usually get nervous or self conscious and it gets awkward.