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Another thing about being a rich girl was that you never quite stopped being a rich girl. It's like a permanent black veil on your face, blocking you from the rest of the world. And the rest of the world from you.
Being rich is just like being poor, except with a lot more perks. In both cases, there are certain assumptions about how you're supposed to act and, well, be.
However, in my case, overstepping the bounds of my stereotype bubble was almost dangerous. Which is why I was speeding away from my house in a Maserati, when I could've been studying for class. One of the boyfriends was driving—and it's somehow flown from my mind which boyfriend it was.
I had a window seat. Sammy, who was sitting next to me, had been studying my eyes intently for probably the past twenty like she was reading a textbook written in Chinese. "You should really wear eyeliner. It'll make your eyes look dark," she said as if having dark eyes was the only thing one could ever hope to achieve in life.
"Right," I said, sarcasm oozing from my voice. "Dark eyes. Even more important than a college education."
I heard Rita snort, and I immediately cringed when I heard her approval. I cringed again when I realized that what I said was a Rita thing to say.
Was I becoming a Rita—or even worse, was I already a Rita?
Sammy was just sitting there blinking, not sure of how to respond, and not even quite catching my sarcasm.
I wore no makeup, except for just enough mascara that if I wipe it off, my eyes would look a little "dead."
We got to the mall, to my extreme disappointment. I was sort of praying to all god I could've possibly thought of that there was some type of traffic holdup, or just anything to prevent this excursion from happening. As we entered, the boyfriend ditched us, probably for some "boy" store. I couldn't blame him for leaving.
Five minutes into shopping, I was already bored. Well, everyone else was shopping—I was sort of just idly staring around, touching some clothes so I could show some bare traces of interest.888Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOyaGwcH7oe
But there was nothing that shut Rita up more than a good shopping spree. I watched as she almost danced from aisle to aisle, looking at clothes like a professional art critique evaluating a Picasso painting.
The others were chatting away as they held clothes to their bodies in an attempt to determine whether they would fit or not. They were probably talking about something completely meaningless; like a button falling off of their thousand-dollar cardigan.
There was nothing more effective than a good shopping spree to remind me that I didn't belong. I was by no means the stereotypical nerd and I didn't even think I was anywhere near a geek. I was fashionable, I knew what was "trending" and to a certain degree I followed popular trends, and I cared what I looked like. I mean, I wasn't all skirts, dress shirts, and dresses, but I didn't look like a bum. And when your Dad's a CEO—well, you better look like the daughter of a CEO.888Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYufhzoLufP
However, I was an extreme pragmatist when it came to time. As a result, I ordered most of my clothes online, and simply returned clothes that didn't work out (while I was rich enough to just keep them out of laziness, I was also an extreme pragmatist when it came to money. Well, as much as a pragmatist as I could be). Trotting from aisle to aisle was simply not something I enjoyed.
I went outside and sat on those metal waiting chairs that made your butt feel like you were sitting on a bunch of cold straws or something. They didn't notice. Really, they never noticed.888Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhJwV0jprkl
As I got into an intense session of people watching, someone sat next to me.
I glanced over, fully expecting one of those strangers who never learned the concept of personal space. I was looking at the jawline of none other but Ryan Loomis.
"Why are you here?" I asked. I didn't believe in coincidences. I somewhat believed in accidents, but coincidences were a stretch.
He gave me that lazy smile of his that even Sammy would agree made him look like sleaze bag. "Shopping, like everyone else."
"Then shop," I suggested.
"You looked bored," Ryan said.
"I can promise you I wasn't," I informed him somewhat dishonestly. While people watching was mildly entertaining, after an hour it becomes just a little redundant. "Why do you care if I'm bored?"
"Why are you so...defensive?" he asked.
Because he was dumb; because he was little too condescending; because his breath smelled too much like mint; because he was the typical pearly diamond, and I couldn't stand pearly diamonds.
"Loomis, cut the bullshit and tell me why you made the decision to come to this mall—that I've never seen you in before—and sit down next to me," I said, almost angry.
"You're smart," he said dully, like he was reading sentences out of a math textbook.
"The school system told me your GPA measures how smart you are, and while I'm not trying to brag, the school system confirms your statement. Why are you sitting next to me?" There were only really two things that had the power to annoy me: 1) unanswered questions and 2) questions I didn't know the answer to. Both were occurring right then.
I was on the verge of being upset.
Let me tell you, Loomis wouldn't like me upset. Neither would the law enforcement, which Loomis would probably be forced to get involved.
"I specifically found out where you were going to be after school today," Ryan said, sounding more like the Ryan who asked if I programmed. The one who had the brain.
Did Ryan have a brain? Was I too quick to judge?
"Why?" I asked sharply, almost as if it were a statement and not a question.
"Because. Certain entities are interested in you." Entities. Ryan knew more than basic English vocabulary. Since when? How?
While I was by no means ugly—or at least, I didn't think I was; I mean, there's no real way of knowing—I didn't have the type of personality to attract boys like Ryan Loomis, and those were the only boys I even knew. I was a little too smart and a smidge too honest. I wouldn't make a good billionaire wife.
I wasn't butthurt about it, though. I didn't have interest in any Ryan Loomises, and I didn't think I ever would.
Anyways, I was almost absolutely certain that no Ryan Loomises liked me. But the only certain entities Loomis would be associated with would be people like him.
So I could only assume that teenage boys were, well, recognizing my existence in a way they hadn't since elementary school.
Still, my Dad always told me, don't assume the stove's hot if the gas isn't on. "What do you mean, certain entities?" I asked.
"Don't get your hopes up, Nicholas. No one wants to date you," he said in a sickenly demeaning voice.
I nearly earned myself a mark on my rap sheet, but I just barely shoved back my anger. "I don't want to date you or any of your friends," I said, venom dripping from my voice like water from an icicle. "Tell me why you and your certain entities are suddenly interested in my existence."888Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtZwlQxIOg7
Ryan Loomis shot me his douchepants smile again. "You'll find out soon enough." And he walked away, swiping a hand through his blonde hair. That swipe further annoyed me.888Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSnN390ypf4
I sat there fuming, debating whether to test if I was the Hulk on the chairs or not.
"What's up with you and Ryan?"
Maybe I'd test it on Michayla. It would serve her right for coming here with a completely repulsive question with even more repulsive hair product.
I got home around 7:00 ish, which annoyed me, but there was nothing I could do about it. My Dad wasn't home again, as he had one of those business trips where you go to some exotic city, but you spend more time on your phone yelling at executives than exploring.
A few hours into my homework, I heard my iPhone 6S Plus announcing its presence. I picked it up. My Dad wanted to FaceTime. I hurriedly answered, possibly beating world wide record speeds of answering a phone.
"Hello," he said. "How was school?"
"A bunch of rich people and then other people being people," I replied, as conversations with my Dad were practically competitions as who could be more evasive. "How's being CEO?"888Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYPpU5Xr5YD
He smiled. "A bunch of other CEOs, and then other people wondering why I'm answering business calls while shopping for groceries."
I laughed. And then I told him about Loomis and his "certain entities."
"Oh, Lauren," he said. "People just aren't what they seem."
I rolled my eyes, ready to fire back with a sarcastic comment. Then his work phone rang, and he rushed out a goodbye and hung up.
I stared at the blackened screen of the phone in longing.
At least I got a FaceTime.
My friends sometimes didn't even get a text.
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