The Social Ladder

Chapter One : The Aches and Pains

Chapter One : The Aches and Pains

“You look horrendous.”

     I stared at my reflection once again, this time trying my best to take in all the details that must’ve been noticeable enough for Kyle to point out and call this ensemble of an outfit (which I took time to put together) “horrendous.” Stupid British boys, always looking for the most sophisticated of outfits.

    “I do not look horrendous,” I argued, examining my outfit again. Skinny jeans and cardigan with a shirt with a studded collar underneath looked acceptable and was literally the best looking outfit I could pull out of my closet. All my others involved simple jeans and a boring t-shirt. Sometimes I felt I had the fashion sense of a boy.

    Kyle made one more round around me before rubbing his chin and then nodding sympathetically. “Well, Nat, you do.”

    “No I don’t! See, this has studded collars,” I spat, foolishly reaching up to grab at the plastic studs. Saying that sounded much less childish in my head. “Whatever, man, I’m not rich like you.” Literally, his parents lived in a mansion or something very close to one and he shopped for casual clothes at Gucci. Fifty bucks for a t-shirt? I think not.

    “Actually, my outfit only cost a hundred dollars, including the shoes,” he said proudly. Oh, yeah? Well mine didn’t even cost half of what his did. I mean, if you actually inspected- and I mean inspected- him, you’d find him wearing clothes from designer brands that hadn’t even released it to the public yet.

    “I don’t look horrendous; you just have an overly expensive fashion taste.”

    “What princess wears skinny jeans and that-” he pointed to my shirt- “on her first day? First days mean everything.”

    “To you,” I snorted. Besides, I wasn’t even a real princess. It was just some stupid title that idiotic teenagers liked to make up along with stupid morals to follow.

   Behold, ladies and gentleman: Kyle Baker, the only boy I knew in person that had a full-blown English accent, who also happened to be my best friend for the past four years. He moved to the US five years ago and only a year after his transfer from the UK did his parents score jobs within humongous business franchises and thus moved to New York City, where I proceeded to meet him in eighth grade. Too bad he didn’t like girls- I would have dated him the second I met him.

     “I am not allowing my best friend to walk into school, as a new princess, with that on. Let me save you the embarrassment and let you borrow my sister’s clothes,” he offered, raising his eyebrows at me. His sister graduated high school seven years ago, and yet she was small enough to be the same size as I was.

     “Are you insulting my fantabulous taste in fashion?” Mockingly, I wiggled my eyebrows at him and smiled goofily.

     “Oh dear God. .  It’s times like these when I wonder how you even earned yourself a spot as a princess.” He rubbed his temples, shaking his head in disappointment. “Now are you going to accept my wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime offer or will you decline it like the idiot you are?” I was pretty damn positive he knew the answer to that, and all his other questions.

    Shrugging, I proved him wrong and with a strong, yet quick sense of confidence, I nodded. “Take me to your sister’s,” I said, grinning with enthusiasm. He returned the grin and after we said two prompt goodbyes to my dad, we left the house. School was in half an hour, and although I knew that my teachers would not appreciate me being late on the first day of school. . Well. .

    Whoops. Oh well.

- - -

    “Ouch! Don’t touch- Did I not just say to not touch that- oh my Jesus help me please-”