Sixth Street ✓

Sunday 1st December

To : <beccaharris193@hotmail.com>
From : <sccjustin871@hotmail.com>
Subject : My new apartment

Becs, I'm literally dying. My mum has finally gone crazy - I knew this vegan diet would bring out the worst in her, especially considering her lifelong addiction to haribo - and she has decided to become 'one with nature'. So we are now living in a tent in the backyard of the house we rented, which bothers me in more ways than one. We have spent a small fortune on that house, yet we're camping out the backyard? I hate the way Dad throws money around like it's confetti, and even though I'm proud of Mom for deciding not to be a typical Sixth Street socially obsessed housewife, I can't believe what lengths we are going to to further her journalist career. I'm not sure I can stick three months of this. I swear I'll write soon, I found a cafe that does internet service but I've only paid for an hour and I've spent most of it on Facebook.

Love, Justin

Becca felt a smile stretch its way across her face as she re-read Justin's email, but then her mother's yells flooded the room.

"Becca Harris, if we are late for brunch you will be grounded until Christmas!" Becca rolled her eyes, smoothing her dark, luscious hair down one last time. There were a few unruly curls at the front which contrasted sharply against the gentle waves of the rest, but even a pair of straighteners couldn't dent them, so she shrugged and gave up. As she whisked out of her bedroom in a cloud of 'Enchanted Apple', her favourite perfume, she grabbed her favourite dark blue jacket with shiny brass buttons to pull on. It was one of the few times her mother had came up with a good Christmas gift.

"Becca!" Diana shrieked at her daughter as soon as she saw her. "What on earth do you think you're wearing?" She placed her hands on her hips in outrage, highlighting her slim figure. Sixth Street mothers tended to be younger and more glamorous than most, Diana Harris being no exception after having Becca when she was twenty-two, back in her modelling days.

Becca glanced down at her outfit, puzzled. She was wearing her slimmest jeans and tan ankle boots paired with a pale pink sweater that matched the colour of her lightly blushed cheeks. It was casually smart without being laid back, and brunch wasn't usually that formal anyway. "What's wrong with it?"

"We cannot let the Westerfields see you like that." Diana said, almost having palpitations. Everyone knew the Westerfields were important and ridiculously rich - that was part and parcel of the apartment block on Sixth Street. But when George Westerfield had married the widowed Lucinda Jennings, he had moved up to the twentieth floor of the block, the very highest. It was widely acknowledged that the higher up you were in the fancy block, the higher your social status was. Now George's annual winter welcoming brunch had become a hundred times more important, and Becca didn't get the memo.

"Wear you emerald green top, it really brings out the best in your eyes." Diana commanded, whilst Becca pulled a face. "Your black leather pants are extremely fashionable at the moment, and so are those heels I bought you two weeks ago. They cost a small fortune, and you haven't even worn them yet! So hurry up; we're already late."

But Becca knew as well as her mother that there was nothing that gave Diana more satisfaction in life than making a fashionably late entrance, so she took her time as she squeezed into the tight clothes. Her top was way too revealing for her liking and the shoes far too high, but she knew by now there was no point in arguing. All she could think about was the possibility that she may be seated beside Alyce, and that for once, she wouldn't have Justin on the other side to talk to.

"Is this better, Mom?" Becca asked as Diana grabbed her hand and pulled her forcefully out the door.

"You look beautiful, darling. Now let's attend brunch."