Story of my life. Except...well, I never worked up the nerve to talk to him. Anyways, if you want to hear the story, let me know hahahah.
Layout creds/inspiration to @the-wild-things.
♔ SPENCER JILL HASTINGS (16)
LIKES; plaid, fall, headbands, brick, vintage, thrifting, old buildings, ivy, prep, witchy vibes, seances, nail polish, layers, floaty fabrics, strange fashion, music, perfect grades, her sister's boyfriends, red lipstick, cat eyes, big sunglasses, star power, winning, ivy leagues.
DISLIKES; not being in control, her sister, families, her sat scores, rejection, imperfection, bad hair days, whiners, sore losers, people who don't get her, pointless things, wasting time, unrealistic tv shows, rap.
BIO; spencer hastings is your classic overachiever. everything she does, she does it perfectly. and an odd number of times. see, spence is not only a perfectionist, but she also suffers from ocd. most people don't know about it, though; they accredit her quirks to her type-a personality. growing up, spencer wasn't very popular. people avoided her because she spent all her time studying, and they figured that she wasn't very much fun. however, a very special person named alison dilaurentis changed all that. ali turned spencer and three other girls from nobodies into somebodies, and they never turned back. now, spencer is one of the more well-known girls in rosewood. many people want to be friends, others look up to her as a style icon, and others want her to do their homework for them. only a few people see the other side of spence - the nervous, imperfect side that's just waiting for the right moment to pull out a cigarette and her worn red lighter.
NEVER WITHOUT; the perfect outfit, a pen, her wallet (and money), her checkbook, cigarettes, her shiny red lighter, the urge to make sure everything is perfect.
MODEL; megan kennedy (thanks, @sky-rocketer)
I tapped my polished fingers on the desk, staring at the lamp instead of writing my latest essay. Our teacher expected mine to be perfect, and usually they were. But not this time. Recently, I couldn't focus for long enough to do any homework, and it was driving me crazy. My palms would start to itch.
I took a deep breath and looked back at the homework assignment, but then my nails caught my eye again. Pink and navy - I'd painted them because I thought it looked like a cute mix. Now, though, the pink was starting to chip, and it was driving me crazy. I pushed my chair back carefully, dug through Melissa's nail polish drawer, and pulled out my favorite pink, the one I'd used so carefully. I always measured to make sure that my use wasn't noticeable. And if it was, I'd shake the bottle up until it was impossible to tell how much nail polish there was.
After my nails were fixed, I felt a little better. My desk was clean in the way that I really like: my white MacBook monitor perched on top of a little pink set of drawers, and my favorite jewelry inside. I opened the drawer and stared at the little locket I had from seventh grade. I knew that if I opened it, I'd see a picture of me and Ali, a picture I had memorized. But I did anyways, letting my hands linger on the worn photograph.
Suddenly, I caught myself getting distracted. From downstairs, Melissa's laugh rang out, and I dug my fingers into my palms, trying not to smear the nail polish. The laughing bit into my brain until I finally found it within myself to focus.
"An Introduction to Oscar Wilde," I typed. "By Spencer Hastings."
After five more uninspired minutes, I pushed the chair back, slid over to my bookshelf, and pulled out my favorite book. When I was a kid, I used to reread it all the time, and it got the food stains to prove it. When I was fifteen, I started using it to store my photos and news clippings of Ali. It was then that my parents decided to go on a rampage, throwing things out left and right. I knew they wanted to get rid of Ali's influence. It was like they had lost their daughter when the Dilaurentises lost theirs. I heard my dad say that one night. And from then on, the Ali shrine was gone, relegated to a hidden file on my bookshelf.
Finally, it became clear that I wasn't going to get any other homework done, and it probably wasn't worth it to try. After all, I was Spencer Hastings. I could do anything - including my homework tomorrow morning, if I got up early enough. And if that didn't work, I could try to ooze charm all over the teachers. Crude, but effective if necessary. I was really hoping it wouldn't come to that, though.
I pulled on my Burberry scarf and trench and spritzed on some perfume. My boots awaited me at the door. "I'm going over to Kristen's!" I called to my parents as I pulled them on. "She's got my science notes because she was sick today."
My parents didn't even acknowledge this. They didn't even consider for a moment that I was lying. They just sat in the kitchen with Melissa, drinking their stupid champagne and congratulating Melissa on whatever she'd done right today.
I ended up at the mall bookshop, flirting idly with the cute guy behind the desk. He was cute, but not my kind of cute. Too Rosewood. I was looking for something a little bit more, and besides, it only took a few minutes before he was asking for my phone number. I scribbled it down on the old napkin in my pocket so he'd go away.
Before Ali, I never would have done that. I would have been flattered that any boy liked me, especially since I was such a nerd. But now, I took it for granted, assuming that I could get him. Just like that.
I wasn't sure who I became after Ali. But I liked this new Spencer better. A lot better, I thought, looking down at my nails once more.
Just then, a hush fell over the mall crowd. I looked up and saw Hanna, as usual, strutting through the mall like she owned the place. Not that she actually did, but I bet she easily could if she tried. I always saw her with the most expensive stuff, and her family never seemed to run out of money. Tagging along behind her was Mona, ex-nerd and newly fabulous. So she claimed, at least. I, however, was a bit more skeptical, and had reserved the right to state an opinion later. After they stopped acting like airheads, for example.
It shocked me that my old friend Hanna had become this. She was pudgy (sorry, Hann) and nervous and awkward, always the odd one out (to me, at least). She ate too much and unabashedly jammed dessert after dessert down her throat. Then, she'd cry about it. Me and Ali used to laugh about it secretly. I wondered if Ali would still be laughing now.
"I love that book," someone said. I turned and saw Aria. Minus the pink streaks, she still looked almost the same. Icelandic Aria, the guys called her. I saw the way they looked at her now, like she was some completely different girl. Like they didn't know that she used to knit her own mohair bras and prance around in them.
I looked at the book in my hand. Lolita. "Hi, Aria," I said. It was more awkward now that everything had happened. We tried being friends without Ali, but it wasn't working, and when Aria moved to Iceland, forever shattering the friendship, we were all kind of glad.
"You look good," she said, appraising my outfit.
"Thanks," I replied blandly. "You too."
"You should totally read that," she chirped brightly. Then, looking at her chipped fingernail polish (please, can she fix that?), she said, "Hey, text me. I gotta go pick up Mike." She made a face. "It's almost like we never left, right?"
Even after she was gone, I still tossed the words around in my head. "Almost like we never left," I mused.
Almost like Ali never died.
If you read, include 'blue eyes' in your comment!