Matilda Hayden grew up with her father in the Elite Upper Class of Boston, and she quite enjoyed her life- thank you very much. She didn't have many complaints. She was going to be attending Yale, her dream school. She had her best friends with her...
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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧
August 2000
It was nice starting Sophomore year. For all intents and purposes, it was a very low stakes year. You're no longer a Freshman, which in itself, is a win. You're not the fresh meat of campus. But you're not a Junior either. You don't have to worry about those S.A.T.'s or A.C.T.'s. There is no stress to find the perfect Prom dress or visit colleges yet. You're also not a Senior, stressing over college applications or living it up before you leave high school forever. Sophomore year was just there, not good or bad. It was as neutral as a high school year could get.
Matty Hayden's hands were busy at work undoing her French braids from the night before as she hummed the tune to Say It Ain't So. Slowly, her caramel locks fell around her shoulders. Her grandmother had insisted she get a haircut before she begin the new school year. Six inches. Her head felt...lighter. Francine had also insisted Matty get her nails done. She had tried to convince her to go with a classic French manicure, but Matty had become quite fond of pink. Besides, her school had finally lifted the ban against colored nail polish.
She slipped into her plaid skirt, which stopped just a few inches short of her knees. No one noticed that it was technically shorter than it was supposed to be because other girls tried to wear theirs far shorter.
Matty appreciated rules, but even Francine admitted that requiring teenage girls to wear skirts that went past their knees was a fashion crime. She slipped on her white Nike's whilst throwing her practice clothes into her dance duffel bag. She could hear the honk of Charlotte's car as she ran down the stairs and into the dining room.
Meanwhile, Christopher Hayden sat with the newspaper in one hand and a coffee in the other- his plate of a mostly eaten omelette pushed to the side. His daughter ran into the room, kissed his cheek with a muttered 'see you', grabbed a croissant, and dashed out the door.
Charlotte had gotten a brand new Mercedes for her sixteenth birthday that summer from her dad. It was his "I'm sorry I got married again without telling you" gift. Ironically, she hit 100 miles on it around the same time the ink on the divorce papers had finished drying.
"Don't touch Britney!" Charlotte was snapping at Matty's best friend, Briar, as she entered the vehicle. Britney Spears' Lucky was playing in the background.
"Lottie, this is The Glands!" Briar pleaded, holding up a C.D. Charlotte's head shook aggressively as she pulled out of the driveway.
"Hey, can I borrow that?" Matty asked Briar, leaning forward in between the two girls.
"Yeah. Since blondie has no respect for anything other than pop," Briar frowned, handing Matty the C.D.
Matty took it eagerly, sticking it in her backpack. She grabbed a familiar purple album from her backpack and handed it to Briar. The redhead examined it for a moment then faced the brunette excitedly.
