She looked down and wondered why she had worn such nice clothes for her arrival at camp green lake. Then she reached her knees and played with the hem of her casual Free People(an-not mine)black crinkle lace gauze dress. After realizing that her sweaty, miniature size hands were soaking her dress's hem, she let go and instead counted the stones on her bauble necklaces. Each was made of stone and rope, in the least primitive manner. They reached to below her bosom. There were four, one in red, turquoise, yellow and black. She supposed she had worn black as means of mourning, today was her first day of an 18 month shoperexic(an-hopefully some of you know what a shoperexic is-basically someone who doesn't or can't shop, usually someone who is always shopping) period.
Chanele's POV
I didn't deserve to be sitting in this wretched bus on the way to delinquent camp.
Okay, maybe a little.
Why is it that the mayor's word was more believable than mine?
When I had sat in court, I could feel him staring me down. I felt like he was looking straight through my YSL (not mine) pencil skirt and Polo Ralph Lauren (not mine) white button up shirt. I scratched my left ankle with the right heel of my mom's borrowed Marc Jacobs pumps, then pulled at my hair in its tight ponytail. I was extremely uncomfortable in such prim and proper clothes.
They found me guilty. Of course. The judge scoffed at me when I told her the true story, that he was trying to rape me. "The mayor is a good man," she snarled. I was sentenced to a year and a half in juvi, but my superrich and snot-nosed daddy simply wouldn't stand for it. So he pulled a few strings, and here I am, riding a lonely road to hell.
I was convicted of assault of a public official while under the influence. Well, no one told me that the New Year's punch was spiked.