sun shine rain

Tiffany rain knows what she wants: the best clothes, the best grades, the best house, the best voice and the best boyfriend. She has the perfect life. She's top of her class, her teachers love her, her friend are in awe of her, he family adores her. Year nine is a new year. Nothing could go wrong. Right?

Henry's a ginger brainiac, he thinks Tiffany is big headed and pompous. He knows what he wants: a scholarship to the best school, a new calculator and for kids his age to show a little maturity. His an individual with a flared jeans and a bad taste in music. Year nine is just another boring year . Right?


1. Tiffany

I give myself a final once over. My masses of blonde curls are secured in a tight top knot, which I spent ten minutes applying hair spray too. My eyes are weighed down in mascara and my skin is blemish-free. All summer holiday, I've been tanning, losing weight and using a million creams to make my skin soft. All for this day.  This is the day when all the people I haven't hung out with by the pool, will see me for the first time in two month's. They need to be stunned, I need to blow them away, nothing less will do.

"Tiffany!" My older brother, matty, hammers at the bathroom door  with his fists, on the verge of a mental break down... "I'm gonna count to three!" I roll my eyes and sigh, tucking a stray ringlet behind my right ear.

"All right I'm coming," I reply. I open the door casually, just to piss him off, and saunter out into the hallway. He bulldozes past me, a tin of gel already open in his hand. "I am never gonna have time to do my hair, what do you do in there?!" He screeches. I avoid the question: my regime is waaay to complex. "You sound like a girl," I hear him let out a hiss, but I run down the stairs, before his stream of swear words hit me.

My kitchen is the type of kitchen you see on cooking shows, red and silver, shiny surfaces, lots of cabinets and an island in the middle, surrounded by twirling, red bar stools. All complete with a bright faced mum with silky blonde hair, and a constant fake smile, making pancakes on the oven. "Hi babe," she twirls around (nearly knocking the pan of the stove) showing of her slim figure, "Taa daa!" She exclaims. I have no idea what she is going on about, she looks just as fake as normal.

I give her a funny look and, stepping over our adorable twin micro-poodles and hop onto the stool furthest away from her, eating my 20 calorie breakfast bar. "Mum jeans!" She sighs exasperatedly. Good for her. "I thought you said they were for old people who live on benefits and have yellow teeth?"  I  say with as little enthusiasm as possible. Yellow teeth? Not every one who's not as rich as us is ugly. No point telling her that. If there was a group in the council pro elitism, she would be head. 

"Have you not read "The glamorous housewife," column on fashion?" I hadn't actually "Mum jeans can be just as classy as Valentino, as long as you wear it with a silk blouse and designer cardigan, and" She emphasised "They make you look like the perfect house wife," She recited, I shook my head, resigned. She took one look at me and she hit me on the head with a dish cloth. "Were not in the 70's any more, Tiff! Today's society is about comfort, Mum jeans are where its at, kid." For the hundredth time, I give up with that woman. "By the way, I'm taking Eleanor and Winifred too the pooches salon, later today to get their nails done... what do you think? pink or lilac nail varnish? I heard teal is very in," dear lord...

I hitched a ride with Matty in his jag, because Daddy's on a business trip to India. I really miss going to school in a royls royce. My brothers car is way too flash... and red. Bright red. Too red for first thing in the morning.

"Get in, or I'm leaving you here" I opened the door and l slid in reluctantly; he wasn't joking.

"Take it away, Boy racer" Instead of feeling insulted, he smiled and revved the car, utterly joyful since we breaking every speed limit we passed. He pulled up abruptly, slamming me forward. "Have a nice day," He smiled sweetly. I kicked his car on the way out... I don't think he noticed.

I stood outside the towering school gates of St James academy, the most elite school in London, smoothing down my perfectly ironed uniform. Other than my skirt being five inches to short, I looked perfect. That's not to say I didn't hate the lime green blazers or striped ties. I detested them, and couldn't wait to go to six form like my brother... But it did feel great, knowing I was the only one in the school who could pull it off. 

I whipped my cherry lip gloss out of my pressed pockets, applying two layers, double quick. Fashionably late, as my mum would say. This was it. This is what I had been waiting for. I pulled back my shoulders, raised my chin, pouted a little, hooked my right thumb through a loop in my Burberry bag, left my other arm to swing like a model. Let's do this.

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