The Divine Guide to Perfection

She seemed perfect. And in some ways she was. Her hair was always styled to perfection - anything less than perfect was never good enough for her. She had perfect friends, who all looked the same, felt the same way and thought the same things. She was the perfect specimen of a high school stereotype: she had the perfect boyfriend, who was charming, handsome and captain of the football team, she was popular, admired and looked up to. The boys wanted her and the girls wanted to be her.

If you didn't know her, then this is what you'd see.

But perfect doesn't exist. If you looked closer you might be able to see that tiny chip in her perfect manicure, or a smudge in her seemingly flawless makeup. If you looked closer still, you'd see the icy glare behind her chocolate brown eyes and the harshness in the words that she spoke. You'd see the way that her fingers clawed at the hem of her silk shirt and how little she actually cared for the company of her friends.

And in truth, she wasn't perfect. Far from it. It was all an illusion, a trick that even she didn't know she was performing.
And it all starts with her name. Even her name seems perfect, but in reality, just contradicts itself.

Her name was Angelice, and this is the story about how she discovered that she wasn't perfect, and that imperfection is nothing to be ashamed of.