-Name- Jenny Phelps
-Hometown- Atlanta, GA
-Bio- Jenny is the baby sister of legendary swimmer Michael Phelps. Ever since the 2008 Olympics, Jenny hasn’t gone a day without hearing about her brother. She began to despise him, getting angrier and angrier by the day. That was, until Michael’s drug scandal. Jenny toke the opportunity, and stepped into the spotlight. Now considered a prodigy, Jenny is determined to win more medals then her older brother. On the other hand, Michael is trying to protect his sister. She is young and perky, which means the other athletes will flock to her. He is determined to make sure none of the 150,000 condoms ordered will be used for his baby sister.
-Likes- Flirting, boys, s3x (hypothetically), music, focusing, pretending to be alone, silence, the rain on the windowpanes
-Dislikes- Her overprotective brother, c-ckblockers, being disliked, ugly clothes, broken stuff, not having the best, losing (not that she does, really), animals (ew, nasty!), responsibility
-Model- Sarah Hyland
"Uh, Daph? That's f-cking hideous. Seriously, choose another outfit! It's London, not America's Next Top Drag Queen!"
Daph frowns. "I don't really think that's a show, Jen -"
"Shut up and pack faster! God," I sigh, leaning back on the bed, "good help is hard to find."
"I'm not help," she says, snorting nerdily while she pushes up her glasses. It's my little charity project that I've taken on: I give her tips and some old castoffs of mine, and she does my chores.
It's like having a personal maid, but totally free and probably legit, too. Seriously, I should start a business or something. It's great.
Michael bursts into my room. "Jenny, what the h-ll are you doing?"
"Packing?" I say innocently, swinging my bare legs over the side of the bed. Little does he know that Kyle's scrambling over the side wall of the house, trying to get away from my overprotective brother.
It's ridiculous, really. It's like he doesn't know what's good for me. He makes these really sh-tty decisions in his life, which is pretty whatever, but as long as he doesn't try to micromanage my life, we're okay.
Which is too bad, 'cause that's what he's doing right at this very moment.
"'Bye!" I say. "Hint-hint."
Daphne, meanwhile, has stopped packing the clothing. "Oh my god," she says, her eyes widening. "You're Michael Phelps!"
I roll my eyes. "Duh, Daphne. Now shut the f-ck up and keep packing my stuff, okay?" I say the last part as sweetly as I can, a grin aimed towards my brother. "See?" I say. "Got everything under control."
Michael frowns. "I'm serious, Jenny. This isn't a joke, but you're treating it like one!"
"It's the Olympics, Michael, not Fashion Week! Lighten up!"
"Sometimes I don't know where Mom and Dad went wrong!" he yells, turning to leave the room.
"I could say the same about you!" I retort. Daphne has completely stopped folding clothes. My pink "Hello, London; I'm Fabulous!" dress is wilting in her still hands.
"Never say that again," Michael says. "And by the way, I know that boyfriend of yours, Ken or whatever, was in here. Don't let him in here again. Next time I catch him, I /will/ punch him."
"Oh, Michael...we weren't doing anything. Especially not with Daphne here!" Except that we were. But Michael doesn't need to know that. I bat my eyes at him.
He sits down on the side of my bed. "Daphne, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I seriously have no idea who you even are, so get the f-ck out."
Daphne lowers her head in shame.
Once she's gone, Michael turns back to me. "Sit down," he says, imploring. "Please."
"This is really important to the entire country, Jen. You can't just throw away an opportunity like this. How do you feel?"
I flounce away from the bed and return to my closet. "Ready," I say, monotone. "I feel ready." I toss the next pink dress onto the pile and wait for someone to fold things for me.
3. Let me think?
4. JENNY PLEASE?!
God, I know that's d0uchey. But I really, really love Jennyyyyyyyyyyyyyy k.