Pretty Badass
Chapter 1: Freshman Year
I have my own manta for life: Live. Love. Listen to Pretty Reckless. Pretty Reckless is this Alternative Rock band that is simply amazing. It's made up of four people, but the only one anybody cares about is the lead singer, Taylor Momsen. Some of my friends think she's fake because of the way she acted in the Grinch and on Gossip Girl. But they know better than to say such blasphemy around me. I think that this rock goddess was simply waiting for her chance to be set free. She saw her shot and now she isn't letting go. I love and adore Taylor no matter how many times she flashes her boobs at concerts.
I remember the first time I discovered this righteous band. It was freshman year at Forest Pine Academy in South Florida. It was an elementary through high school, and this was my second year. My family - twin sisters, mom and step-dad - and I came down to Florida from New York the year before and I started my eighth grade year here. While 8th grade was filled with drama, Freshman year was the bomb. In fact, my friends and I kept a diary about the things that happened that year. If you're up for things that have no place in a normal teenagers life, by all means, read on. If not, you're lame.
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September, 2009
Diary Entry:
In the mornings that I get to school, I wait in the parking lot for my best friend, Shay. Honestly, Shay's the most popular one in our clique. But me, specifically, I'm one of the types where even when you don't know every person you pass, they all know YOU. Not like it's possible to be classified based on what you wear, because this is a Charter school, a prep school, and we have to wear uniform.
Anyway, everyday I pass the same people while I walk to the parking lot. And everyday, I see the same blonde girl walking in as I walk out. I never talked to her before, but I know enough about her. All my teachers compare everyone to her. Each time I see her, she always has something in her hands, whether it's a book or a basket of baked goods or whatever. I've never seen her without something. Now my thing is that I always have my Skull Candy headphones - not earphones - around my neck - not ears - blasting some song. Today it was Going Down by the Pretty Reckless. I had discovered it last night and made sure to download it to my iPod Touch.
Outside, stepping out of a white Ford Taurus was the one and only Shay Sheppard. Each time she got out of the car, I waved and exchanged "Good Morning"s with her mom. Her mom was like a second mother to me. She threw me parties, bought me gifts, dropped me home and took me shopping. She was pretty cool to treat me like another kid, considering she already had 3 of her own. When she leaves, Shay and I would just look at each other, not talking for a couple seconds. I'd raise an eyebrow and she's laugh. Don't ask me why we do this, 'cause I don't know, honestly. It's a morning ritual. Shay is tan and petite. She's 5'1 (but she tries to boast that she's 5'3, whatever) wears glasses over black eyes and has long curly brown hair. Add her looks to her slight Spanish-sounding accent, and it's hard to believe that she's Haitian. Looks can be very deceiving.
Appearances also play a part on my personality. I'm 5'6. My eyes are golden (Edward Cullen- colored, I like to brag). They turn either green or yellow depending on my mood. My hair is naturally blonde/red/brown. People - total strangers, I might add - have come up to me to stare in my face and ask if I wear contacts. Why? Because I’m Jamaican and Scottish, but most people think I’m Dominican. In fact, on my report card, it says “Ethnicity: H”. At first glance, I do look like the popular snob. My phone is glued to my hand, and I appear intimidating, and I don’t like to look at people when they talk. I usually shrug when my friends tell me this. I’m not being snobby, I’m just reserved.
Anyway, Shay and I made a U-Turn and began walking back to the main campus, and Going Down was on replay. “What song is that?” Shay asked, taking my headphones. “Going Down. Pretty Reckless.” I told her. That’s something I love about my best friend. If you give Shay anything to read or listen to, she won’t skim it and give you some half-hearted commentary. She’ll take her time to analyze the subject and give you her true opinion. By the next time the song came around, she was air guitaring impressively. So I began to sing along to the music. We walked down the hallways like that, her power chords and my harmonic skills, until we picked up another member of our clique: Belle Carrey. Belle was one of those first impression innocents. She was average height, brown-highlighted-blonder long hair, green eyes and fair skin. Not pale – because she was the actually Dominican - but still way lighter than me. “Hey!” We greeted her, and I hugged her. I took my headphones back from Shay and turned off my iPod. The three of us headed to the library where we usually met up with the rest of our crew, lounging on the couches while drinking coffee.
I remember the first time I discovered this righteous band. It was freshman year at Forest Pine Academy in South Florida. It was an elementary through high school, and this was my second year. My family - twin sisters, mom and step-dad - and I came down to Florida from New York the year before and I started my eighth grade year here. While 8th grade was filled with drama, Freshman year was the bomb. In fact, my friends and I kept a diary about the things that happened that year. If you're up for things that have no place in a normal teenagers life, by all means, read on. If not, you're lame.
-----------------------
September, 2009
Diary Entry:
In the mornings that I get to school, I wait in the parking lot for my best friend, Shay. Honestly, Shay's the most popular one in our clique. But me, specifically, I'm one of the types where even when you don't know every person you pass, they all know YOU. Not like it's possible to be classified based on what you wear, because this is a Charter school, a prep school, and we have to wear uniform.
Anyway, everyday I pass the same people while I walk to the parking lot. And everyday, I see the same blonde girl walking in as I walk out. I never talked to her before, but I know enough about her. All my teachers compare everyone to her. Each time I see her, she always has something in her hands, whether it's a book or a basket of baked goods or whatever. I've never seen her without something. Now my thing is that I always have my Skull Candy headphones - not earphones - around my neck - not ears - blasting some song. Today it was Going Down by the Pretty Reckless. I had discovered it last night and made sure to download it to my iPod Touch.
Outside, stepping out of a white Ford Taurus was the one and only Shay Sheppard. Each time she got out of the car, I waved and exchanged "Good Morning"s with her mom. Her mom was like a second mother to me. She threw me parties, bought me gifts, dropped me home and took me shopping. She was pretty cool to treat me like another kid, considering she already had 3 of her own. When she leaves, Shay and I would just look at each other, not talking for a couple seconds. I'd raise an eyebrow and she's laugh. Don't ask me why we do this, 'cause I don't know, honestly. It's a morning ritual. Shay is tan and petite. She's 5'1 (but she tries to boast that she's 5'3, whatever) wears glasses over black eyes and has long curly brown hair. Add her looks to her slight Spanish-sounding accent, and it's hard to believe that she's Haitian. Looks can be very deceiving.
Appearances also play a part on my personality. I'm 5'6. My eyes are golden (Edward Cullen- colored, I like to brag). They turn either green or yellow depending on my mood. My hair is naturally blonde/red/brown. People - total strangers, I might add - have come up to me to stare in my face and ask if I wear contacts. Why? Because I’m Jamaican and Scottish, but most people think I’m Dominican. In fact, on my report card, it says “Ethnicity: H”. At first glance, I do look like the popular snob. My phone is glued to my hand, and I appear intimidating, and I don’t like to look at people when they talk. I usually shrug when my friends tell me this. I’m not being snobby, I’m just reserved.
Anyway, Shay and I made a U-Turn and began walking back to the main campus, and Going Down was on replay. “What song is that?” Shay asked, taking my headphones. “Going Down. Pretty Reckless.” I told her. That’s something I love about my best friend. If you give Shay anything to read or listen to, she won’t skim it and give you some half-hearted commentary. She’ll take her time to analyze the subject and give you her true opinion. By the next time the song came around, she was air guitaring impressively. So I began to sing along to the music. We walked down the hallways like that, her power chords and my harmonic skills, until we picked up another member of our clique: Belle Carrey. Belle was one of those first impression innocents. She was average height, brown-highlighted-blonder long hair, green eyes and fair skin. Not pale – because she was the actually Dominican - but still way lighter than me. “Hey!” We greeted her, and I hugged her. I took my headphones back from Shay and turned off my iPod. The three of us headed to the library where we usually met up with the rest of our crew, lounging on the couches while drinking coffee.