I plopped my bag onto Carter's bed, and my body soon followed.
She was at her computer, checking Facebook, blahblahblah.
"Sooo..." I said, breaking the awkward silence, "How was Pennington without me?"
"It was alright I guess. How was Paris... without me?" Carter asked blankly, flipping through her latest copy of Teen Vogue.
"Good, I guess. I mean, great, actually." I looked down at my deep orange Chanel nailpolish, trying to think of something remotely exciting that had happened. All I had really done was shop (as usual), and sat at a long table for Daddy's boring Travel Meetings. Which took atleast two hours. Or more. Never less, though.
"Oh. Good." She replied, setting down the magazine and walking towards her large walk-in closet. "Ugh. Time to get ready."
"Time to get ready" always meant "Time for you to go unless you help me."
Of course I wouldn't want to go, seeing that Carter was my best friend and all.
So, I walked to her closet with her, stepping through the racks of designer clothes and into the back of her massive closet, which opened into an even larger massive closet.
It was time for Carter Anderson to become Nicole Jackson, the singer.
After atleast an hour of "Yessing, No-ing, and Maybe-ing;" we came to a conclusion.
Canary-Yellow Stella McCartney wrap-dress with black leggings and Steve Madden pumps.
I played with my Eiffel Tower earrings when I had to turn around while Carter/Nicole was changing.
When she was finally done, we were off.
Thank God my father owns a travel agency.
ahhhhh im soooooo sorry for the crappy storyyyyy D:
i might fix it;
i might not.
ahaa welll comment your oh-pinion please (: