View Cover
@Clementines blog, Bonjour Girl, is a total fake-ass disaster. Don’t bother reading it. It’s a waste of your precious time.
The nasty tweet hits me like a wall of vintage boots, handbags, and boho dresses. Or like a hurricane that goes on a rampage in my soul and leaves a gaping wound in my heart. I fight back tears while absentmindedly chewing on my nails. I cringe, knowing how many Twitter followers she has. Her malicious post has lots of retweets, too. Like, far too many. Somebody please shoot me now. This is dredging up old, unwanted emotions, all the pain and worry that nearly destroyed me last year. That’s why I came here, why I escaped to New York.
I want to crawl into the nearest hole and lie there until the school concierge finds my decaying remains.
Okay, I’m being gross and melodramatic. I take it back. I just want to hop on the next flight to Paris and never set foot in America again.
I feel nauseous and dizzy at the thought that the entire Parsons student body has probably seen this awful tweet and is now laughing at me. To make matters worse, I think of a Latin proverb I learned at my private school in France: verba volant, scripta manent. It literally means “spoken words fly away, but written words remain.” This totally sucks.
My mind goes into overdrive:
My chances of making any more friends are nil.
My existing friends will think I’m a complete loser and will desert me.
My chances of ever making it as a fashion journalist are ruined.
My transfer to Parsons will get revoked.
My parents will then kill me and ship me back to France on the next flight. (Not so bad an option considering the circumstances. Actually, that might be a good thing.)
Again, my eyes well up, but I’m too angry to cry. My classmate’s biting words sting to the bone. Especially after all I’ve already endured in my personal life.
What did I do to deserve all this?