Out Late Sipping Milkshakes || ✔️

Milkshakes and Makeovers

Michelle's P.O.V

I looked at my clock, 11:00 A.M. I have exactly three and a half hours to get ready. That's too little time. If only my math teacher didn't assign essays am I right? Oh wait, NO MATH TEACHER ASSIGNS ESSAYS. Why students? Because it's MATH. Yet I'm stuck with Mr. Alphonso who wants to include my failing English grade with my almost-failing math grade. Yay.

I looked in the mirror beside my bed and saw, oh my lord, a literal cauliflower. I was going to say potato, but I don't deserve that title while looking like I rummaged through a trash can, got dumped in a garbage collector truck, and then dropped in a wasteland somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

Reaching for my phone, and almost dropping it even though I grabbed it firmly with one of my hands, or maybe I didn't. . . Illuminati confirmed, I texted my best friend who possessed a name that sounded like her parents owned an IQ of 1,000 or they just obviously really hated her. Okay seriously though, who names their child Viktoriya Livia Ngawang Addanaya Hameldon? Personally, I can't pronounce that name to save my non-existent life and I definitely cannot spell it. I could probably spell out the scary country of Liechtenstein better than I can spell whatever spelling her first name is. 

I sighed, what was I thinking? Inviting a really cute boy to a theme park? He barely spent 20 minutes with me yesterday, who says he wants to spend two hours with an asian cauliflower now? Still, Michelle Chazan has a nice ring to it.

My door slammed open and I sat up so fast Usain Bolt would've been proud. I averted my attention to the figure at the door. With shiny black hair, fair skin, hazel eyes, and a whooping height of 6'3, was Viktoriya Bolivia New Thang Adriana Hamilton, or something like that.

"Outfit?" She said while I was still recovering from my panic attack.

"Yeah, I need to get ready in about three hours," I said while rubbing the back of my neck. I think I might've cracked it when I was sitting up.

"Two hours, who do you think I am, the population of India? It's only me. Scale of one to ten how hot is this guy?" She threw open my closet doors and rummaged through my items of clothing, discarding a piece every half second.

"I can't exactly rate him yet, I've only seen him two times."

She whipped around. "Two times, two measly times? I've seen a dude at Starbucks two times but I don't picture him as my husband in five years. Do you at least have his social media accounts?"

"Well that guy at Starbucks must not be hot." I twisted a piece of hair around my finger. "And now that I think about it, I do not have any of his social media accounts."

She tossed a knitted sweater on the floor. "MySpace will count in this situation."

I shook my head. "He probably doesn't even know MySpace exists."

She groaned. "You are absolutely useless. I try to help but no, you've met the guy twice!" I watched as she threw her hands in the air and sat on my desk chair.