◈ name. kristen michelle gregory
age. recently turned seventeen
model. rosie huntington-whitely
likes. soccer, her friends, school, clothes, juicy couture perfumes, adidas by stella mccartney,bagborroworsteal.com, guys with abs
dislikes. losing, dylan saying how fat she is, getting mascara in her eye, being "poor"
never without. nars lip gloss
biography. kristen gregory is a scholarship student, a secret known only to the pretty committee. she tutors kids in lower grades and gives people soccer tips for extra cash so she can sport the new sevens next week, because kris refuses to be a "charity case" for her friends. wait, isn't that what you are whenever you take scholarship money that's raised by your friends selling their old designer clothes? anyway, even if kristen *is* poor, which she is, she still manages to look fab-u-lous, even if she curled her hair with a conair and has maybelleine on her eyelashes, lying and telling everyone it's ysl. tsk, tsk, kristen. don't you know that lying gets you know where? kris is nervous, because she knows people are suspecting things, but what would happen if they found out? she would ruin the pretty committee as everyone knows it. that's a lot to bear on your shoulders.
taken by. open for try-out
I brushed my hair out of my face and shifted uncomfortably under my mother's gaze, that woman was so critical sometimes.
"So where are you going again ?" She questioned, still in her nurse's scrubs, sipping chamomile tea.
"To dinner with Massie and her parents." I replied smoothly, lying had become a second language. "Oh look she's here." I said, my phone beeping, I didn't even know it was her, but I would take anything to get out of this awkward moment.
I yanked open my apartment door, stopping for a moment to see if Dempsey had left home yet to go to Derrick's huge bash since they'd won the soccer tournament, but then I decided against it, remembering that he was already there.
When I got downstairs, I practically ran through the lobby and pulled open Massie's Range Rover door, not even waiting for Isaac to open it for me.
"Geez Kris, don't piss all over us." Massie greeted, I rolled my eyes playfully and slammed the door.
"Ehmygawsh Kris, what are you wearing ?!" Alicia shrieked dropping her iPhone 4, the caramel covered popcorn that Dylan was shoving in her mouth fell. Claire just looked at me sympathetically, she was the only one who understood my position.
"Who's funeral are you going to ?" Massie asked skeptically.
"Yeah, Derrick only broke his arm." Everyone cackled and high-fived each other.
"Haha, so funny Dyl. Now move so I can change in the trunk." The girl's moved aside so that I could slip into the back with my large Chanel tote that I'd bought back when I actually had money, before my dad's art dealership got screwed up.
I slipped into a Markus Lupfer 'Saint' off the shoulder tee that Massie had bought me for my birthday, Michael Kors cotton short-shorts that my rich, annoying cousin got me as an early X-Mas present and Christian Louboutin gold Rodarte pumps, courtesy of my guilty father.
When I jumped back over to the front leather seats, Dylan made a failed attempt at wolf-whistling, Claire clapped, Alicia stuck one of her immature 'yes' stickers on me and Massie gave me that full approval look.
"Whoever died is one lucky guy." Alicia winked. "I totally heart that."
[Sorry about the story, not the best, but I really hope I get the part because The Clique is essentially what got me on Polyvore ! &I was going to start an RP just like this, but I was way too scared to because I didn't think anyone would join. I love all the characters, have read all the books multiple time, &I know that I'd give this part my all. I heart you guys <333]