"Whatever you do in life will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it anyway" -Mahatma Gandhi

Super Late! My apologies! I'm desperately trying to get caught up! D:
 
June 16th {Thursday};; Practice that million dollar smile and try to get your story straight, today is interview day. Countless channels and talk shows have sent the best of the best over to Late Night. Try to start your reputation on a good note, and you might just meet some of your fellow cast mates in between make-up checks and nosy questions. Welcome to your official first day of the new season
 
I stared down at my coffee with tired eyes as a cradled my head with my hands. I was so hung over it wasn’t even funny and now I had to show up to some god d-mn press conference event for work which apparently Gus mentioned weeks ago. Pssh- whatever. I groaned lightly under my breath before sucking down the rest of my coffee hoping the caffeine would provide the extra jolt of awareness I’d need to get through the day. Though of course, having had my fair share of hangovers, I knew the stupid coffee was as useless as drinking Red Bull to fight a cold (another medical “remedy” of mine). I got up, dropped my coffee in the waste receptacle, and groggily made my way toward the door. And in less than a second I felt the intense chill of some moron’s ice coffee splash onto the front of my silk blouse.
“F**K!” I yelped as the liquid made contact with my skin through my thin top. I heard a murmur of disapproval from the various customers around me, but why the h*ll should I care? They aren’t the freaking language police.
“Aww sh*t!” I heard the guy standing in front of me grumble.
Aww sh*t is right! This top probably cost more money than this moron’s monthly salary!
“What the hell?!” I barked as I looked up exasperatedly. As I finally caught a glimpse of my “attacker” I saw that he wasn’t half bad looking… h*ll if he hadn’t just chucked his prissy little beverage all over me (seriously what kinda guy doesn’t drink actual coffee!?) I’d do him.
“I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed sympathetically handing me some nearby napkins to help clean up this mess.
“These aren’t going to help anything.” I informed, grudgingly, “You already f**king ruined it.”
“I’m sorry- it was an accident.” He pointed out through gritted teeth, his expression set.
“It may have been an accident; but it was your fault.” I smirked, “so you get the privilege of paying for the damages.”
“Pay?” he asked slightly confused.
“Exactly.” I smiled innocently before dropping my bag on the floor, shimmying out of my jacket and peeling off my top. He just stood there gawking at me as I stood there in just my bra, a pair of jeans, and matching black Louboutins.
“Here.” I stated simply, thrusted my shirt in his direction. He took it apprehensively- still looking me over… h*ll, a lot of the guys there were.
“Uh Miss!” I heard one of the baristas call out to me.
“Relax!” I snapped, slipping on my worn leather jacket and zipping it up slightly just so she’d shut up. I grabbed my bag off from the floor and smirked at him once again. “I expect that back before next Friday I have a date.” And with that I brushed past him toward the door, feeling everyone’s gaze on me knowing I had caused a bit of a scene; but nonetheless I looked straight forward and carried myself with ease.
“How do I get it back to you?” he called out from behind me.
And without missing a beat I retorted rather simply: “Send it here.” Before walking out to hail a cab back to my apartment. I had only fifteen minutes to change and get over to the studio. He’s lucky my apartment is close by.
 
When I got to the studio everyone was lined up for their interviews. A flock of interns were milling through the crowds offering touch-ups and bottled water to the more prestigious members of the cast. I made my way over to where the writers were waiting.
“Mary. Scarlet.” I greeted the two girls next to me. They were the only few people I really knew here. The rest of the cast I hadn’t really met yet…nor wanted to.
“Why does she get to be Scarlet, and I get stuck with Mary?” Hazel whined, gesturing toward…Genesis? Gennifer? Gene-something. I already knew Hazel not only would have preferred “Scarlet”, but it would have fit her well to, with her whole stupid “I only wear red lipstick” rule. This was mainly the reason I gave that little pet name to (…Genna-marie? Oh, whatever!) what’s-her-face, because I knew it p*ss little Mary off like crazy. It was kinda fun to get under her skin.
“Because, Mary. “Mary” was practically made for you.” I smirked, quickly turning away from her. I didn’t really feel like talking much…at least not to her. Luckily one of the interns called her name not a moment later and led her to her interview.
Then it was just me and “Scarlet”.
“Are you nervous?” she called out from behind me.
“Not at all.” I replied, rather monotone. After a short silence of her just sorta…looking at me. I figured out she had expected me to ask her back.
F**king small talk.
 
“Oh- are you?”
“A little bit…” she laughed nervously tugging at one of her dirty blonde strands.
“Why?” I scoffed. “It’s just like talking to another person.”
“It’s just a little daunting.” She smiled.
“Daunting”? D*mn, she really was a writer. Who uses the word “Daunting” in normal conversation?
I was about to respond when one of the interns cut me off.
“Genevieve Mormont!”
“Oh that’s me!” she jumped, glancing back at me. “Wish me luck!”
I my fingers on one hand and held it up so she could see and smiled; a bit sarcastically.
I wasn’t here to make friends…last time that happened it almost killed me.
It was a while to my name was finally called and I was led over toward some 20-something in a pencil skirt.
“Hello!” she nearly sang out, shaking my hand vigorously before taking a seat once again. “I’m Whitney Gold, for Seventeen Magazine, Now what I want to-“
I held up a hand to cut her off and clenched my teeth.
“F**king, b-tch!” I spat out to no one in particular.
“Excuse me?!” she shrieked.
“Not you. My boss.” I replied hastily before making a bee line for Gus’s office.
“What the F**k, Gus?!” I yelled as I swung open his door.
“Do you even know how to knock, Camellia?” he challenged, his voice sounded tired as though he’s grown rather bored of our nice little chats.
Shame.
“Why the hell did you give me pre-teen magazine?!” I exclaimed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why not one of the 30 little “southern belles” you hired? Or hell, why not Mary?!”
“Because Camellia, you’re on thin ice. You’re a d*mn good writer and that’s the only reason I put up with your sh*t, but if you want this job you have to play by my rules for a little while.” He stated simply, glaring up at me a little.
I just kind of stood there for a moment. Was he serious?
“Now get out, Cam. I have work to do and you have an interview.”
I shot him a fake smile before closing the door behind me. “B*tch.” I mumbled under my breath.
 
“Good to know your aggressive with everybody.”
 
“Excuse me?” I whipped around to see a tall figure leaning next to the wall on my right. “No way…” I scoffed as I finally took in his image.
“Good to know you still remember me.” He chuckled.
“How can I not remember the jack *ss who spilt his girly coffee all over my Tussah silk shirt…” I snapped.
“Speaking of which,” He extended the arm he had behind him to reveal my freshly cleaned shirt; still in the dry cleaning bag.
“…Give me that.” I growled as I reached out to snatch it from him, but he pulled it away.
“No.”
“What was that?” I asked in disbelief. Seriously? What the h*ll?
“Not until you tell me you name.” he smirked.
“Why should I? For all I know your some crazy stalker. How the hell did you get in here anyway??” I didn’t remember seeing him with the rest of the cast and crew.
“You don’t have to tell me your name.” I retorted, completely ignoring my question. “I can always keep the shirt.”
“I don’t think it’s your color.” I smirked. But he just looked at me expectantly.
“Fine. My name is Miranda. Miranda Hayes- now give me my shirt.”
“Why are you lying to me, Camellia?” he laughed as he handed me the shirt.
“Oh god, you are stalking me?!” I began to panic a little. This couldn’t happen again!
“What? No.” he laughed. “I saw you on the stage when I got here so I did a little poking around in my dad’s files.”
It took me a while to connect the dots. “Wait, Gus…is your dad?” I asked in disbelief. Oh this was too perfect.
“See you around, Cam.” He smiled as he turned to walk away.
“Wait!” I called out, “You never told me your name! Which is only fair considering you got mine without my…permission.” I said trying to find the right word.
He laughed again as though my request was completely ridiculous, “What’s the fun in that?” he smirked, before disappearing down on the studios various corridors. I could have easily followed him and nagged him to death for his name, but he was right: what’s the fun in that? I’m sure someone knew his name around here. Plus I couldn’t waste my time with him right now…I have an interview.
D*mn.

I was too lazy to make a real set :P so I used Pri's amazing template instead :)
Anyway, instead of having my character doing a normal "Hey what' up.." kind of intro. I had her answer random questions :P Hope that suffices!
 
Camellia Florence
Vancouver, Canada
--Camellia has a dark, almost sickening sense of humor. She’s harsh and brutally honest, not afraid to confront anyone and daring anyone to stand in her way. She may as well have claws, the way she rips apart those that dare speak a word against her and what she stands for. And just what does this raven-haired spitfire stand for? Even she isn’t always certain. Camellia’s interests change with her moods, and depending on the day you’ll find her ranting on about political issues to which fashion labels are sell-outs and which ones are true art. And although Camellia is ridiculously outspoken, the number of people that truly know her is even smaller than the list of those she hasn’t crossed at some point or another. Although she’s not afraid to bitchh out anyone that looks at her the wrong way, Camellia is terrified of opening up. Turns out, this dear writer that everyone loves to hate holds the key to a past more troubling than her aggressive personality is today. She befriends few and trusts even fewer, and no one is sure why. Camellia’s secret is hers to bear alone, and not even her true friends should expect to ever find out just what lies at the heart of Cam’s deep-rooted trust issues. Could a boy unravel Cam’s tangled web of problems, or will this fiery girl remain forever aloof?
- Taylor Warren
 
1.Give us a little look into what makes you tick?
 
An easier question would be what doesn’t make me tick…
 
2.What's your style like?
 
Chameleon; I don’t think I really have a style, I wear whatever I feel like wearing and let’s face it; with the body I have, I can pull of nearly any style.
 
3.How did you grow up? What's your family life like?
 
Do you really care?
Well, I grew up in a small suburban town in the heart of Vancouver. I lived a fairly normal life with my mother and father and my twin brother Sam- well, until my father left us for his secretary. My mother and him used to run their own dentistry practice but then they hired Meredith and what followed you already know. But while I may have had my father stolen from me I always had my mother…she was there for Sam and I one hundred percent; every school play, every district championship, every parent-teacher conference, she was there- always…Whatever. Anyway, Next Question.
 
4.Where do you live and do you live with anyone?
 
That’s none of your business.
 
5.Anything else you want us to know?
 
It's rare that I ever call a person by their given name...I use nicknames instead; sometimes they're nice, other times not so much.
 
6. What have you been doing/what has happened to you in the past year?
I worked at a Newspaper back in Vancouver. End of story.
 

Cam here. Stay on my good side and we will all be peachy. Don't? Expect a lot of kicking and screaming.

THE CW IS MAKING A NEW SHOW CALLED HART OF DIXIE, STARRING R. B. :D SO EXCITED!
 
and also... :)
 
Join this new High Fashion Roleplay called "Late Night Wishes"
 
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=122150
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=122150
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=122150
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=122150
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=122150
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=122150
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=122150
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=122150
http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/group.show?id=122150

Camellia Florence
Vancouver, Canada
--Camellia has a dark, almost sickening sense of humor. She’s harsh and brutally honest, not afraid to confront anyone and daring anyone to stand in her way. She may as well have claws, the way she rips apart those that dare speak a word against her and what she stands for. And just what does this raven-haired spitfire stand for? Even she isn’t always certain. Camellia’s interests change with her moods, and depending on the day you’ll find her ranting on about political issues to which fashion labels are sell-outs and which ones are true art. And although Camellia is ridiculously outspoken, the number of people that truly know her is even smaller than the list of those she hasn’t crossed at some point or another. Although she’s not afraid to bitchh out anyone that looks at her the wrong way, Camellia is terrified of opening up. Turns out, this dear writer that everyone loves to hate holds the key to a past more troubling than her aggressive personality is today. She befriends few and trusts even fewer, and no one is sure why. Camellia’s secret is hers to bear alone, and not even her true friends should expect to ever find out just what lies at the heart of Cam’s deep-rooted trust issues. Could a boy unravel Cam’s tangled web of problems, or will this fiery girl remain forever aloof?
- you choose, [suggested taylor warren]
taken by: OPEN
 
Top 3 choices:
-Camellia Florence
-Cassie Wintors
-Elliot Laurel
 
*NOTE: this character in no way, shape, or form expresses any of my personal views or beliefs. So to any of you who read this please do not post any hate comments regarding the content. I know the character is extremely brash in some of her views which is honestly exactly what I wanted because that is how I interpretted this character, but under no circumstances do I necessarily agree with what this character thinks, feels, or believes.
With all that aside, enjoy! :)
 

I moved my finger swiftly over the track pad of my laptop, pressing the “log off” button with one fluid movement. I was done for the night and in all honesty I didn’t feel much like going home. I wasn’t a workaholic or anything, I loved my job as much as any normal person does, but I did find solace in the busy, hectic atmosphere my office provided. I shut my laptop, grabbed my blood-red clutch off the desk, and locked the lofty wooden door behind me as I made my way into the empty corridor- though it didn’t remain empty for long. Before I could even take a step away from my door a gaggle of giggly, bright-eyed interns turned the corner. As their eyes met mine they stopped talking immediately and lowered their gaze. I guess you could say I don’t have the best reputation around the office. It’s not my fault though really, it’s everyone else’s fault for being so d-mn incompetent.
“Tch.” I scoffed at them; just for the fun of knowing they were afraid of me, before continuing briskly past them out toward the parking lot.
As I stalked through the studio I was stopped by an evidently p-ssed off Hazel.
“Camellia.” She called out sternly, as she stood in front of my like a brick wall- trying to block my path. “Can I have a word with you?”
“Sorry, Mary” I mocked as I brushed past her, my eyes fixated on the door. “I’m not interested in buying any girl scout cookies so-“ But before I could finish my snide remark regarding the fact that her small frame made her look like a 9th grader she cut me off.
“God! Would you shut the h-ll up and listen to me for one second!?” she yelled exasperatedly as she grabbed my arm and twirled my around roughly so that I was facing her once again.
“Watch it, Mary.” I sneered, narrowing my gaze at her. “If I remember correctly, I don’t think you’re supposed to use God’s name in vain.” I pointed out with a smirk as I put a hand on my hip. I looked down at her with a penetrating gaze- she was a clean 4 inches shorter than my 5’ 9’’.
Her bright red lips twisted in anger and I could tell she was gritting her teeth, and counting to ten, and whatever else it was she did in order to keep from smacking the sh-t outta me. It was her way of “handling me like an adult” in order to be the “bigger person”. Whatever, Mary.
“Listen,” she huffed, “I just talked to Ed and her said you approved this!” she thrusted the script rewrite I had signed off for at me and grimaced. “Did you seriously edit MY script without asking me?!”
“I did.” I stated simply, brushing past her to walk off again.
“D-mn it!” she shrieked, “Will you quit doing that!? I’m trying to talk to you, d-mn it!”she whipped me around again and this time I had had it.
“Don’t test me, Mary…” I growled roughly, my expression growing dark.
 
“Will you stop calling me “Mary”!” she spat as I tried my best to restrain my fist from clocking her in the jaw. Mary was a little nickname I had given her my first week here. Hazel was a “glorified Christian” if you will and the translation of that meant “religion pusher” she preached constantly about “holy this” and “god that” and I was sick of hearing it. Why should I be subjected to hearing what religion she is when I just don’t freaking care. Isn’t there some law separating that kinda cr-p from the workplace? So I had figured if she was going to act as “saintly” and “God fearing” I might as well address her correctly; thus the nickname Mary was born.
“Hey , look at the Brightside,” I smirked, “at least I’m not calling you Mary Magdalene.”
She inhaled deeply in an effort to shrug off my remark probably. “Just tell me, why the h-ll you thought it was okay to approve those changes so we can be done with this!”
“Fine.” I retorted coldly. “ I changed it because I felt: “Your concept lacked the wholesome family-style humor this show is about”, happy?” I chirped sarcastically, using her own words against her.
Five. Four. Three.
“You have got to be kidding me.” She stated slowly, enunciating each word carefully. Two. One. “You changed my f-cking script just to get back at me?!”
Blast off.
It was true though in every sense. I was bitter that just last week she had managed to talk Ed out of running my skit because it was too “morbid” or whatever bloody word she used to describe my “horrendous” writing style. And it was also true that when I asked her why she did it she gave me the same response I gave her.
“Why the h-ll are you so god d-mn petty, Camellia!?” she screamed throwing the script at my face. “Why can’t you just accept that as a writer you SUCK!” she flailed her arms about as she leaned into me, her blood obviously boiling, so much for her counting-to-ten rule, huh? Looks like someone just ran out of patience- and I could say the same thing about myself.
 
“Why you little-“ I was just about to smack her when I heard the loud speaker go off.
“Camellia Florence and Hazel Richardson in my office- NOW!”
“God d-mmit, Gus…” I grumbled as I took a step back from Hazel, creating a space in between us; mostly so that I was no longer tempted to create a bigger gap in between her front teeth with my fist.
“Look what you did!” She exclaimed her eyes were probably filled with that same horrified expression she got in her eyes whenever one of the actors forgot a line. But I had already begun to walk past her toward Gus’s office to never really know for sure.
“Shut up, Mary and move it!” I snapped “I’m too sober for this and I’m sure Gus will take you side anyway so quite whining.”
“M- my side?!” she stammered as she tried to catch up with me, “What do you mean “my side”? I’m the victim here after all!”
I just rolled my eyes. So freaking dramatic that girl…as were all the girls here.
As I had predicted Gus was more than empathetic to sweet little Hazel’s “situation”. But of course if I had walked in last week and tattled on her for completely cutting my script I still would have been the bad guy. Screw her, and screw Gus too. As I stomped over to my car I recalled what Gus had said: “If I hear about any more public outbursts like what I heard today I swear to god Camellia you will be on such a tight leash you won’t even get to touch a script for weeks.”
“I don’t need this” I grumbled as I massaged my temples with my fingertips before popping the key in the ignition. I hadn’t yet decided if I was going home or to a bar… all I knew was that I needed to get drunk- and ASAP.
In the end my house proved to be the destination of choice. I didn’t feel like getting pawed at by drunk losers who drank because they felt they had no power over their lives or whatever, I just wanted to drink and I had a sealed bottle of Absolut waiting for me at home.
I sloshed my drink around in my cup as I twirled it on the counter. I was well but tipsy by my third glass. That was one of the things I hated about drinking alone… it’s not as much fun when you’re getting smashed by yourself, but it did give you more freedom to do ridiculously stupid things and not have to live it down the next time you saw that person. I fingered at the zippers on my strappy heels before chucking them at the wall. I hopped off my bar stool drunkenly and wobbled over to my room using the wall for balance, only to end up tripping over my dog.
“Christ!” I yelped out as my forearms banged against the hardwood floor and my dog barked before trotting over to lick my face.
I pushed his muzzle away from me as I steadied myself to get up. “For a R-Rottweiler you seem to me a l-lot more damage than pr-protection.” I slurred.
 
As I entered my messy room I collapsed on the bed. I sat up slightly in order to peel off my dress and toss it on the floor before stumbling over to the full length mirror across from my closet. I braced my body into it in order to steady myself. Maybe it was the alcohol that coddled this new found strength to really look at myself, or maybe I was finally sick of pretending the proof wasn’t forever printed on my body. I was only wearing a pair of thin lacey underwear and with so little coverage you could see every scar. I lightly traced my fingers over my left hip where a collection of deep raised purple-red lumps in the shape of an oblong circle resided: a product of the excessive burning. I trailed my fingers down to my upper thigh where etched in my leg in scrawled, faded, pink streaked scaring read the initials: “JOT”. Then I turned slightly to my right and lifted my arm behind me as my fingertips traced the slightly raised “X” that began at the lower part of my armpit and ended at the middle of my right thigh. I stared at the few scars on my body that would never fully heal the way the others had and I felt a mix of emotions overtake me, and before I fully knew what was happening I was screaming. I was screaming and throwing things about in every direction, tossing a brush into my mirror- cracking it in the middle. I’m not sure how long it was until I stopped…the alcohol added to the episode to the point of where it literally felt like some crazy out of body experience. I slowly staggered toward the mirror and I lightly placed my fingertips over the expansive crack. It was just like me in a sense, that mirror and I. We were both damaged goods…we were both cracked. I felt my knees going weak as I slid down the nearby wall and onto a clean space on the floor. I fell into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest as I began to cry. I cried until my vision went dark and hazy; my thoughts drowned out by my dog’s muffled bark. I was crying for myself, I was crying for him, and I was crying for the mirror. Because the mirror didn’t do anything to deserve the abuse, the mirror was just minding its own business, and in this drunken break-down I realized why that stupid mirror cracking affected me so much: because through all the symbolism, I was the mirror.

My first doll ever and I actually like it :) Woo :P hahah

name; Rosalie Vera
age; twenty seven
job; crime scene investigator
bio; rosalie’s a sweetheart and mother to practically everyone in csi: dc. she’s almost an eternal optimist with a sunny disposition and a smile to match. but don’t think that her personality interferes with her job in any way whatsoever although her coworkers often say she’s “nearly too happy.” though her time working as a csi has exposed her to violence and gore, it’s something that she’s trying to shield from her one year old daughter - her favorite person in the entire world. it definitely doesn’t help that her baby’s daddy is trying to win custody of not only their daughter but also rosalie's heart. can she balance everything going on in her life or will she give in to the complications?
dating status; single
model; alessandra ambrosio
taken by; open
 
Ugh, so school is totally kicking my butt and buring me under group projects so I havnt had much computer time lately D: So If I dont get my "real" Story up on time, I hope this audition will still "count" because this seems like a really fun RP :)
but anyway- until I get my story up (hopefully late tonight because by tomorrow the contest will be over :l)
but if I dont I have attached a story from another RP that I feel is pretty good, and hopefully this will show you I'm more than competent to be in this RP :) Ive just been so busy because of my stupid project but its due within the week anyway so all my busy-ness will be gone soon! :)
 
Thanks!
-Ella
 

I pounded my fist against the familiar gray door and within seconds it was flung open and he was standing in front of me.
“Rosie,” he greeted warmly stepping out of the way to let me inside.
“I’m here for Mel.” I stated coldly as I made my way toward the back room where I knew I’d find her in her crib.
“Rosie,” I heard Aiden calling behind me, “Can you please just talk to me? -It’s been over a month!” he shouted as he caught up to me, something I only knew because I could smell the heavy scent of his cologne behind me; but I still, I ignored him and instead I kept my eyes fixed on the reason I was here, on the reason why I didn’t totally fall apart when my marriage did.
“Hi, baby,” I cooed down to the small blonde child smiling up at me sleepily. Melanie was the best thing in my life, and as I picked her up from the pale yellow crib I felt instantly calmer just having her in my arms.
“Rosie, come on, talk to me!” I heard Aiden plead behind me but he didn’t deserve my time, he hardly deserved my daughter. It wasn’t fair how he was acting like none of this was his fault…
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before turning around to face him. “What is there to talk about?” I asked crossly clenching my teeth. “You cheated on me Aiden- you cheated on me!” I spat at him, feeling everything I had kept bottled in for so long flowing out at once, “You cheated on me with some platinum-blonde tramp, you- not me! So tell me, what is there to talk about?!”
“You’ll never know how much I regret that night, Rose. It was a mistake- one that I’ll always regret, and I’m so sorry that I hurt you, I truly am.” He explained.
“Well that’s great” I retorted sarcastically, “But it doesn’t change anything.” I pointed out bitterly grabbing the diaper bag next to Mel’s crib and hoisting it over my free shoulder. “Goodbye, Aiden. I’ll drop her off Tuesday.” I called callously over my shoulder as I squeezed past him and walked out the door.
 

(there was going to be so much more to this and If I get this part Ill totally add on what I was going to –because I wont have any time until sat.- and this probably makes it seem like Im too busy for this RP, which I totally get, but its just this week that’s been so busy! D:)
 
Link to My other RP writing: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=21452102

Eh, pretty okay set :P
I probably wont use this one for a story for a while but I have it done for the time begin :P Woo!
hahah Im kinda on a set binge

Hey- I actually like this set :D Yahoo :)
Story to Come! :D Im trying to get as much sets made as I can and then go on a major writing binge :)

Sorry my story is a bit scrambled and bizare I somehow always end up with my first story in a RP being kinda sucky and not very connected :P My next few should be better :)
 
I stared down at my phone anxiously as I drummed my fingers loudly against the cover of the book I’d been reading for English Lit. Why wasn’t he responding? It’s been a whole twenty minutes! Maybe he got bored of me- or maybe he’s talking to someone else…someone more interesting and pretty. Or Maybe-
“Carm!” Dillon yelled from the small couch on the other side of the room. “Cool it with the tapping!”
“Sorry…” I blushed, pulling my hand away from the book and setting it in my lap.
I heard Dillon give a heavy sigh before getting up from off the couch and making her way to my bed, plopping herself down.
“What’s wrong?” she asked thoughtfully as she pulled her knees to her chest- sitting at the foot of my bed like my dog Teddy used to do. I shot her a conflicted look; I honestly was a bit afraid she’d make fun of me if I told her the truth. But I mean- she was my friend, I mean even though Dillon, Sher, and I haven’t know each other that long we’d gotten closer than I was with the few real friends I had back home.
“Do you think Malcolm likes me?” I asked desperately staring up at her with my large doe eyes. I’m not sure if it was because I looked so pathetic or because it was such a ridiculous question, but all of sudden Dillon burst out in a fit of laughter.
“Are you serious? Christ, you two just need to get together all ready!”
“So…Yes?” I questioned timidly, wanting a more concrete answer.
“Of course!” she laughed throwing her hands up over-dramatically, “Anyone with eyes can tell he’s head over heels for you.” She soothed shooting me a smile.
“Really?” I smiled hopefully but then frowned again, “…Cause it’s been like twenty whole minutes and he hasn’t responded to my text yet!” I explained. I’m sure I sounded ridiculous but…I just wanted everything between us to go perfectly; to go the exact opposite way it when for my parents.
“Carm- seriously that doesn’t mean anything!” she giggled.
“Are you sure cause-“
“Yes Carmen!” She exclaimed, “I’m positive, listen, if you really want to become an “item” you just have to connect on a deeper level…and intimate level.”
“Intimate as in…?”
She rolled her eyes, “Anything from bearing your heart and soul to screwing him up the wall, pick your poison doll, you can’t lose!” she smirked. But slowly that smirk faded into a grin and I knew exactly what this meant. Suddenly, Dillon was pulling me up off the bed with her, dragging me toward the door.
“What are we doing…?” I asked uneasily. Dillon always wanted to…”fix” things, though it’s usually always successful anyone, so why am I truly complaining?
“I’m not doing anything.” Dillon smirked as she opened the door and pushed me out, “but you’re going to talk to Malcolm and I’m not letting you back in until you do” she smiled, “Cause honestly Carm- you’re driving Sher and I nuts over how lovesick you are.” She laughed gently slamming the door in my face. Of course this would be Dillon’s master solution. Okay, I can do this.
I made my way down the stairs of the girl’s dormitories toward the library; where I recall Malcolm told me he was. He was always in there actually so even if he hadn’t been texting me I would have known. He was always researching something or…well hacking into something –regardless of the fact Dr. Murdoch didn’t exactly approve, and it’s the main reason he got sent here in the first place. As I reached the lofty wooden library doors I took a heavy sigh and closed my eyes.
“I can do this…I can do this…I can do this,” I muttered to myself, then groaned, “Oh, I can’t do this!” but still, I pushed open the doors and began to search the vast, dimly lit room for Malcolm.
“Mal?” I called out, looking high and low for any sight of him. “Mal?” I echoed yet again scanning the isles of books and tables. After about five minutes of searching I was about to give up completely and bribe Dil with my favorite pair of Louboutin shoes to let me back inside, I saw something in the corner of my eye. I turned toward the benches near the plaque dedication to Edward Mansbridge in the back of the library, “Mal?” I called out again but the figure lying on the bench didn’t stir. Why do all guys literally hibernate when they sleep? I walked over toward him and knelt down next to him, “M-A-L-C-O-L-M!” I called out again enunciating each letter. He jolted from his sleep, obviously startled by the rude awakening I gave him. “Sorry.” I blushed as he gave me a bewildered look.
He smiled sleepily as he rubbed his eyes, propping his head up with his arm, “I must have dozed off…” he realized –still a bit disoriented, yawning lightly before pulling himself up off the bench, sitting up completely now.
“Sorry I woke you.” I apologized again…though really, I wasn’t since It had been my mission from the beginning.
“It’s all for the best really, I don’t know anyone in their right mind who wants to sleep on a bench.” He pointed out rubbing his neck with a smirk.
“Carmen to the rescue,” I laughed lamely as I looked down to avoid his gaze, and regardless he laughed at my lame joke too. I didn’t know what it was that made me so nervous around him. Maybe it was because unlike all the others boys I knew, he wasn’t some preppy pretty boy I’d “hit” then ditch, I actually knew the real him and he knew the real me; which in all honesty scared the sh-t out of.
“So what brought you down here exactly, Carm?”
Uh…crap!
 
“Well, honestly…” I began, biting my lip, “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay…”
“Okay…how?” He laughed as he got up, grabbing my hand to pull me up with him.
“Well,” Dil told me to make some sort of deeper connection to help catapult our relationship out of the “friend-zone”, and this feels like a good of time as any… “the last time I lost contact with somebody like that…it turned out it was because they died…” I explained somberly looking quickly from my nude pumps to his deep brown eyes.
“…What?” he asked softly, searching my face for some deeper explanation.
I took a deep long breath- I can do this. This is Malcolm the sweetest guy you’ve ever met…he’ll understand. “About a year ago my brother was in a car accident…-“
“I had no idea you had a brother…” He interrupted, still a bit awe struck by my sudden explanation. The word “had” stuck the most, and it honestly stung a little to hear, I know it had been a year but…it still hurt to think of all the things he missed in my life, and all the things he missed in his.
“His name was Carter…” I trailed off looking glossy-eyed past Malcolm’s head. “He was probably my best friend too.” I explained trying my hardest not to burst out in tears. I looked up at Malcolm who stood expressionless probably still stunned by the news I had just sprung on him. “Unlike everyone else, I’m here for a completely different reason…I mean, yes, I hate my parents and I even partially blame my mother for Carter’s death...” I coughed, trying not to choke up, “but I left mainly because I couldn’t take the stares, and the whispers, or the sympathy!” I spat, “I couldn’t handle all those snooty housewives and gossips talking about him, about me, about my family.” I took a deep breath as I looked into his eyes, “I just couldn’t stand being “Aww, poor Carmen” anymore.” And before I knew it I found myself in Malcolm’s arms my head pressed against his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Carmen…” he whispered into my hair, “Things like that shouldn’t happen to people like you.”
“People like me?” I blubbered, realizing now why he hugged me so abruptly, I was crying like a baby.
“People who are so smart and kind and sweet, Carmen.” I looked up at him and he smiled, even though I looked like a complete wreck I’m sure with my eyeliner and mascara running, tears covering my face, and twisted expression of grief. Which made me fall for him right then and there, even if a part of me knew there wasn’t really other reaction you could give someone who just told you their brother was dead…I guess his smile just felt so genuine. And before I knew what had come over me I found myself pressing my lips against his. He tasted so sweet, so perfect, and as our lips parted I watched as he smiled slightly.
“Carmen I don’t-“
“Omigod, I’m so sorry!” I cut him off blushing again, embarrassed by my impromptu display of affection.
“Oh no, no, no it’s not that, that part was pretty nice,” he correct smiling softly again, “but it’s just- I mean… You’re in such a vulnerable state and-… I mean, I don’t want this to come across as me taking advantage of you or anything.” He stumbled over his words in a rush; oh, sensible Malcolm.
I couldn’t help but laugh “First off, I think I needed that,” I smirked at him up through my black-smeared lashes, “and secondly,” I began as I tried to wipe the running make-up from my face, “If anyone was being taken advantage of here it was you, in case you didn’t notice I kinda threw myself on you.” I chuckled.
“And in case you didn’t notice Carm, I totally didn’t mind.” He grinned down at me and I felt another glimmer of warmth in my chest as I smiled back at him.
And in that I remembered something crucial, “Um, Mal listen, there is something I need for you to do for me…”
He shot me a puzzled look, “Sure, anything!” he responded eagerly.
“Please don’t tell anyone about my brother…I don’t want to be that girl again, not even Sher and Dil know this about me, so please…” I looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Of C-“ , but before he could continue we were interrupted by Dr. Murdoch bursting in the library, his startled expression gave away the fact that he stumbled upon us was complete coincidence.
“Mr. Fry and Ms. Colvey break whatever this is up and head to your rooms immediately!” he commanded and in an instant I was out of Malcolm’s grasp and we were both scurrying out of the library toward in opposite directions, toward our separate dorms, but as we left we both shot each other a small secret smile; because with Dr. Murdoch still watching us we couldn’t say or do much else, but honestly I think it said more than any words could have.

- Carmen Colvey
Age: 16
Bio: Carmen is totally oblivious to everything going on at Mansbridge, she loves shopping and spending her daddy's money, her other obsession is Malcolm, she loves his nerdy side and is totally gaga over him. He parents sent her off to Mansbridge to try and turn her into a more responsible young lady.
Status: obsessed with Malcom
Model: Rachel Bilson
Taken By :»εℓℓα? :)
 
Gee this turned out to be pretty long D: My, bad!
 
I took another aggravated glance at the clock: 8:49. This is ridiculous. I flipped close the Vogue I have been reading and tossed it onto the coffee table. I pulled myself up and barged toward my mother’s office. I flung the door open only to receive a less than pleasant greeting.
“Haven’t you heard of knocking, Carmen?” my mother complained absentmindedly, just like she would when my brother and I were younger and we would wander in here. She would always say it as though our very presence was a burden, like we were those annoying twenty-something assistants she kept hiring, screwing, and firing; something I was almost certain she thought we didn’t know, but we did. Actually, I even think dad knows, but honestly I think he is just too busy to care. “I swear Carmen, I thought I raised you better than this.” She clucked her tongue obviously disgusted by my barbaric upbringing.
“Well Mom,” I began clenching my teeth, “You, didn’t raise me at all; Hanna, Irene, Juanita, Nora, and Rebecca did.” I corrected naming all my former nannies. “You always seemed a little too busy.” I snapped, feeling smug.
“Well Carmen someone has to support this family and it sure isn’t going to be you.” she huffed turning back to her laptop, her fingers tapping furiously on the keyboard. “What about Dad?” I wanted to ask, but I really didn’t feel like getting into that spiel again, “This isn’t the 1920’s Carmen, I have a right as an empowered young women to work and strive for my full potential; I don’t have to be a half-minded housewife!”
“Listen, it’s almost nine o’ clock what are we planning to do about dinner?” I signed as I leaned against the door frame, crossing my arms over my chest.
“What do you mean? Tell Rita to go make something!”
“Mom you fired Rita, its Penelope now, remember?” I replied; rubbing my temples. This was always happening, she was constantly replacing all of her work and housing staff she usually forget which ones were left. “Besides you gave her the day off, it’s her son’s birthday today.”
“Of all the trivial occasions to take time off work for,” she muttered, “well, can’t you go make something?” she asked as she turned in her large leather swivel desk chair to face me.
We’ve had a maid, personal chef, and nanny since I was 3, do I look like the kind of person who looks like they know how to cook? But of course, it’s not like she’d know.
“No mom, I can’t. So I guess that means I’ll go have Carter pick up something,” I sighed as I rubbed my temples again. I wonder if you can get a brain tumor from excessive stress.
“Great, I was thinking Indian, and can you have him hurry, I’m actually a lot hungrier than I originally thought. Now shoo, Carmen. I’m busy.” She then turned back to her computer and I knew even if I had wanted to talk to her still, she’d officially ended the conversation and no more from her would be said. B-tch.
I slammed the door shut behind me as I made my way over toward the stairs to find Carter. Since I was only 15 I couldn’t drive yet –well not legally- so it seemed as though he would have to play errand boy, and as I turned the corner I crashed into him, speak of the devil.
“Whoa, there!” he barked as I collided with him. He was a good 3 feet taller than my 5 feet 2 inches and was extremely toned, he always seemed like a giant compared to me and always made it a point to say so. He loved to make fun of my somewhat “stunted” growth. “Where are you headed off to?” He asked curiously as he pushed me back a little.
“The Dungeon master wants Indian for dinner and it’s my role as her prisoner to tell you to go fetch it.” I reported unenthusiastically.
He groaned and narrowed his eyes bounding a fist against the neighboring wall as he leaned against it with his forearm, “Are you serious? It’s like 9 o’clock at night!”
“Date with Rachel?” I stated more than asked.
“Better. The third date.” He smirked cocking an eyebrow. God, he could be such a pig.
“Okay, boundaries!” I squealed covering my ears, “I’m your sister, not one of your meat head buddies, and this is our house, not some smelly school locker room! I don’t want to hear about the sl-ts you screw!” I assured as a veil of disgust covered my face.
“Relax, Carmie,” he retorted, “If anything I’m preparing you for the real world, I’m allowing you see that all guys are dogs.” He grinned as though this was an achievement to be prideful of, though I guess as long as he was “getting some” any guy would agree.
“Not all guys are animals like you and your friends, Carter. Some are truly genuine.” I corrected.
“Yeah?” he snorted, “Rachel thinks I’m “genuine” too, won’t she be surprised.” he laughed; a wicked gleam in his eye.
“You’re such a man-wh-re, Carter!” I exclaimed, rolling my eyes.
He just shrugged, “It’s truly a burden, but someone’s gotta do it.” He chortled.
God he was such a womanizer, but he was my brother, the closest thing I had to any real sort of family member…and I loved him.
I felt my stomach begin to growl and instinctively placed a hand to my tortured tummy.
“Listen Carter, do you think you could hurry and-“
“I know, I know get the cr-ppy food; I gotcha.” He sighed grabbing the keys and heading for the door.
“I’ll be back in twenty… I hope. If this makes me late for my date-“
“It won’t, just hurry up before I starve to death or Mom decides to chew me out again.” I called back over my shoulder as I plopped myself back on the couch, returning to my magazine.
 
Where is he? I wondered worriedly. I took another look at the clock: 9:51. He should have been home twenty minutes ago…no he is fine. Everything is fine; it’s probably just Friday night traffic. It has to be...but I've called him 3 times already and he has yet to pick up. I felt my stomach grumble again and I groaned flinging to magazine aside once again and making my way over to the expansive kitchen. I opened the fridge and pulled out of bottle of Snapple, hoping to tie myself over solely on liquids until Carter came home with the food. I undid the top and took a long gulp, a trill of the red liquid making its way down the corner of my mouth. Why did fruit punch have to be so messy? I was about to track down the paper towels when the doorbell rang, so I settled for using the back of my hand, though it made it feel extremely sticky. I raced toward the door figuring it was Carter and he was just too lazy to use his key, but the instant I saw the red and blue lights flickering through the glass panel on our front door I felt my stomach drop as well as the glass Snapple bottle in my hand. It fell to the marble flooring with a deafening shatter.
“What the hell did you do, Carmen!?” I heard my mother scream as she undoubtedly got up to see what the commotion was. I felt her presence as she entered the room but I couldn’t move, I felt paralyzed, and all I could see were the lights, those d-mn lights.
“Carmen!” she screamed as she saw the shards of glass gathered around my feet. It wasn’t until after she saw my unwavering gaze did she see the lights too and heard the bell chime again. She uneasily made her way to the door and opened it to find a stocky policeman standing on our porch.
“Mrs. Colvey?” he asked in his most professional voice.
“Yes?” she asked hesitantly her voice slightly quivering.
“I’m Officer Monroe, do you mind if I come in?” he asked removing his hat” as I looked on from my spot- frozen.
“Yes I do, actually!” My mother spat anxiously, “What the f-ck is going on!?” she exclaimed she sounded almost on the verge of tears.
He sighed deeply then began, “I’m regret to inform you there was an accident on I-28, a truck collided with a compact BMW, the driver of which, it is believe was killed instantly-“
“Believed?” my mother snarled her tone angry as she cut him off. “What does that mean!” she screamed.
"When the car was hit the trajectory pushed the car into Lake Bronwin...the body still hasnt been located, we believe he wasn't wearing his seatbelt when he was hit."
"No.” my mother snarled her tone angry as she cut him off. “No- don’t you dare tell me my son is dead, he is not dead!” she screamed.
“Ma’am, I’m deeply sorry.” He consoled.
“No!” my mother choked out, as I heard her muffled sobs begin, “No-no-no-no, not my baby.” She mumbled as she slid down the door post into a crouch, her breathing hitched as she began to sob through her mumbles of “Carter, carter, why?”
I remained there, frozen. The world felt like it had gone into slow-mo. It wasn’t until my salty tears fell to my lips did I understand I had been crying. He couldn’t be de- gone. I had just seen him, just talked to him, less than an hour ago, and he was only 18, he was too young-…It was all too surreal.
“Carter.” I whispered as my throat grew tight and the overwhelming urge to cry overtook me. Wake up, Carmen. Wake up, from this nightmare.
 
“Carmen! Get up were going to be late!” I heard Mimi call out from her vanity in the corner of the room. I sat up groggily rubbing my eyes. So it was all a dream, well- yes and no. This time it was a dream, but once long ago it had been my reality…a year ago from today actually, I realized as I caught a glimpse of the calendar next to my bed. Had it really been an entire year? An entire year without him?
“Are you just going to sit there- hurry up!” Mimi called out as she ran a blush brush across her cheek bones, “If I get another tardy I have to do some sort of community service during my weekend; which is the only time I have to forget I live in this hell!” Mimi exclaimed briskly as she finished up her make-up. She stared at me again finally taking full notice of my dazed expression. “Are you alright, you look a little sick…”
“I’m fine.” I croaked, “Just had a bad dream, that’s all” I reassured her as I got up and made my way over to my dresser.
“If you say so…” she trailed off as she fastened a dangly hoop to her ear. “Oh hey- mind If I ask you something?”
“Shoot.” I responded a bit lethargic, still; as I pulled a cashmere sweater over my head.
“Who’s Carter? You kept saying his name over and over again.”
Cr-p.
“My, uh dog.” I lied, knowing Mimi wouldn’t accept the lame “nobody” answer.
“Oh…did it die or something?”
“No it ran away when I was little that’s all, I hardly even remember it all to be honest.” I shot her a wry smiling and headed into the bathroom hoping this would end the conversation. When I came to Mansbridge I had decided not to tell anyone about Carter, because I didn’t want to be who I was back home. I didn’t want to be “Poor, Carmen” or “The girl with the dead brother”, I just wanted to be Carmen and that was it. I wanted to be who I was before any of this happened, but that would never be possible. Because Carter would always be dead and I would always be lying to myself.