Invisible To Her Bully
But they sat there, real and solid, and nothing collapsed when I said them.
I even believed them. A little.
Mariah slid onto the bench and crossed her legs, still watching me. “Princesses have it made, you know.”
I snorted, dabbing carefully under my eye in case my mascara smudged. “Yeah? How so?”
“Think about it,” she said. “They have people at their beck and call. Stylist on demand. Hair and makeup squad. Someone to tailor every dress. If I had a chef to cook all my food and a trainer who worked me out every day, I’d feel and look like a princess too.”
Bab Populer