3. A letter
Another freaking day in this prison but one more day closer to having my somewhat dream come true. I've always been interested in makeup and the hair thing but finally this is happening for real. Only 2 more days till I graduate high school, then summer training at cosmetology school. If that all fails I want to be a designer of something.
I don't know if that is gonna happen though since I'm stick in this cramped and smelling classroom for more days.
"Morgan...Morgan!" I hear someone whisper my name. I take my eyes off of my drawing and try to find where my name cam from. Jessie. My closet friend at this school and basically the only person I can trust. Well since Harry.
Dated for 2 years then left me for his dream and never came back. I decided it was over when he said he was single. Now he's world famous and everybody wants him and his band mates. Well not me.
Okay maybe Liam, but that's never gonna happen. I giggle to myself for once again realizing that another million girls like him too.
"Morgan, do you know the answer?" Jessie whispers tapping her paper. trying to get unnoticed by the teacher.
"How can you be one of the smartest seniors here and not know the answer?" I snap back. I'm not mad at her, she just annoys me most of the time, what friends do. :)
"Just help me okay?" She asks the puppy dog face covering her original face.
"Its 1946." I whisper, looking back at my drawing. Another boring one, the same as the other drawings that take up my locker, back pack and room.
The bell rings signally that school is over and this is the last day, since tomorrow is rehearsal for graduation.
I meet back up with Jessie after stopping by my locker and we walk to her car. I need to get one soon, for school.
The drive is short, as usual, and the usual school and future conversation.
"I'll be here at nine tomorrow, oh and please where something good." She smiles at me. I flip her off and fire a comment back at her.
"Excuse me? Go through your clothes then tell me that." Okay as you can see, I'm not the nicest girl at some times. Just how I was raised.
I shut the car door and walk up to my front door and open it with a spare key. I totally regret not going at getting something to eat after school because I see my stuck up, bitchy sister taking to my parents.
I scurry down the hall and into my room, locking the door and throwing my bag down. I find spare clothes and change into them, walking out and into the kitchen.
"Morgan! Come here!" My mom yells from the couch where everyone is. I roll my eyes and walk over to the next room seeing Briana's new photo shoot pictures are in and on the table. "Morgan, don't they look amazing?" She asks handing me the portfolio. "I like this photographer, better than the other ones." She adds, drinking some coffee.
"Same as always." I mumble and throw them back on the table.
"Beautiful, honey she means beautiful." My mom quickly adds.
"More like ugly as ever" I add walking away to the kitchen again.
I check the mail and see something from my soon to be school.
I immediately rip it open and scan through it twice realizing what this says.
I'm one of the few people that got chosen to be in a new course with new people including celebrities; there's a list from Jennifer Lopez to Justin Bieber that I could style their hair or wardrobe. I silently squeal and some of my hard work has paid off.
There's a list of people to call if I have questions and I safely walk and place it in my room.
I smile at my accomplishment and look back into the room wondering if they'll care. They won't. I stopped telling them stuff once I got the memo that Briana is the one, the angel of the family, the one that represents us.