Ya know, I'm probably the only 17-year old pacifist you'll ever meet. But, then again, you haven't met me. You don't know anything about me. Here, let me help you with that.
I haven't always been like this. I was just a normal, rich, princess about nine months ago. Then I went away. Or, I guess a better, wiser me came back.
I guess it all began those nine months ago, when I was just plain Rochelle Massey.
That day, in early September went something like this:
I came home from Bellman High, and I hate coming home. I loved school. I loved my best friends in the world, Camilla and Jess. I begged them to come hang out, but sadly they're the sporty over-booked types. How was I so popular by being JUST a princess?
Now why would I need company if I OBVIOUSLY had a life?
It was always that first minute that I stepped in the door that killed me. I would always do the exact same thing no matter who was with me; toss my purse and bag over my shoulder, shoo away any maid that was hovering by, turn on my phone, and skim the note "Daddy" left me, then proceed to tearing it right down the middle.
I guess I should have read the note that day, before grabbing a Starbucks frappucino and trudging up to my "tower."
My phone always rang when I reached the bed, and I'd always flop down and converse.
It rang that day, too.
"Hello?" I said between sips.
"Miss Massey?" A voice said into the receiver.
"Yeah?" I snapped, sure it was a stupid evil solicitor person.
"Miss Massey, I'm Jim Bowen, the American consolate. I'm good friends with your father?"
"Oh yeah...." I whined, recalling Daddy's obese free-loading consolate friend.
"I'm sure your father has already booked your car."
"My Ferrari BETTER be here by my birthday. If we were in, say, L.A. I could drive it." In case I forgot to say, we lived in the Hamptons.
"Alright, well, the car will taking you to the airport momentarily."
"WHAT?" I thought. Was Daddy Dearest getting rid of me? What if I went to a family that was.... POOR?
"Oh dear, your father hasn't told you." Bowens said. "Apparently you're having a male Iraqi visitor in your house to protest the current war."
"Oooh." I thought, terrrrrible things running through my mind. "A senior?"
"Ahem, your age."
I stamped my foot on the carpet. I really wanted a senior.
But why was Jason (Daddy) STUPID enough to leave a junior girl home with a junior boy ALL DAY LONG? I loved Daddy's stupidity.
"What's he look like?"
"You'll find momentarily. He will be at the JFK airport very soon. Tata." I hate when old fat bastards say that.
I guess I hopped outside, tweaking my hair a bit, wating to meet my new roomie. I was more concerned about what an ASSHOLE my father had been.
TO BE CONTINUED