Friendship And Family (Currently undergoing a rewrite. Do Not Read.)

CHAPTER 11. Picnic

                    Agnes' POV

We decided on the park for our picnic after the incident at the farm. I took out the crop top I'd recently bought from my wardrobe as crops weren't my style. I spread the top on my bed, with a pair of blue jeans beneath it, and then I hurried to my bathroom for a shower.

The water had removed the log in my eyes because after my final examination on the outfit, I failed to see its former beauty. It needed something extra.

I continuously beat my index finger on my temple as I thought about the flay skirts in my wardrobe that would go with my new top, and then an idea popped in my head. A better one.

I hurried to my mirror table drawer to get my scissors and, after some minutes of DIY, I had a new pair of ripped jeans. I wore the outfit and appeared in front of my mirror.

The white crop top, with a sexy, red lips art on the front hung below my flat chest; way shorter than what I'd normally wear, and the ripped jeans gave it the fresh vibe it was missing. I applied makeup on my face and let down my kinky hair, pulling out and adjusting every strand with my fingers.

If Andrew wants hot, I'll give him hot.

I clipped a part of my hair behind my ear, the rest of the hair falling out in their rich Afro curls. I then took out my pink sweater from my wardrobe and wore it over the top, zipping all the way to my neck as I left my room.

"Are you ready?" Mum asked when I walked into the kitchen, arranging the food she made for our picnic in a basket.

"Yup," I pronounced with care, being mindful not to smear the heavy gloss on my lips.

She turned around. "That's a lot of makeup."

My dark skin was glistening with the right shade of foundation, contour, highlight, blush and eyeshadow, like a crowned beauty queen.

"You didn't complain when Dad got it for me," I said, pouting.

"Oh..." she trailed off with slow nods, not believing my audacity. "I'll let this one slide, only because it's a picnic. But I'm still the boss in this house."

I chuckled at her warning.

"And what happened to your jeans?" Her judgy eyes fell on the crazy cuts, looking disgusted by it. "You're not leaving my house dressed in that rag," she added before I could speak for myself.

"But it's the only jeans I have," I protested.

"Then put on a skirt, a dress or something." She gestured aimlessly.

"I don't—"

She cut me off with a glare and I left the kitchen, upset. She always had her way.

I entered my room and started searching my wardrobe for a better substitution, almost giving up when I stumbled upon a joggers I hadn't worn before; an abandoned gift from my dad. I held a last-minute success smile, marking this day as the day I consider forgiving him for not being a part of my life.

I quickly changed into the joggers and went to the mirror again. I unzipped the sweater to see if it matches the top, and it did, even better. Smiling, I zipped the sweater and made to go out, but there was one last thing so I stopped, then rushed to my wardrobe.

I searched my plastic kit that contained my underwears and pulled out the only black padded bra I had. I started to undress to put it on and, after I finished dressing up again, I tossed the sport bra I'd taken out into my laundry basket and finally left my room, feeling like a grown woman.

You're just 15!

My subconsciousness yelled after me.

Mum handed me the basket in the living room, which I received in a hurry to leave so she doesn't notice anything else and sabotage my day.