She pulls up in a shiny silver Bentley. The custom chrome rims reflect the sun rays with blinding white beams of light. The dark window tint is barley legal, making it nearly impossible to see in. Everybody knows she’s here. Heads snap around when they hear the familiar “beep” of the car that warns everyone its locked. As she walks up the well-worn steps of Bryant High School, she quickly turns back to check on her car, knowing it’s probably worth more than some people’s houses. Her long dark hair follows her head as she turns back around and heads for the glass doors awaiting her entry. Everybody notices her. Her long, toned legs are always covered with designer jeans, her torsos always covered with long sleeve shirts and expensive jackets. Her hair is shining violently each day. When you pass her, you can smell her Juicy Courtour perfume. Her dark brown sparkling eyes are always covered with dark shades, Armani, of course.

Her seat in class is always in the front. Her grades are always perfect.
“Her life’s perfect”
Or is it? People notice Carley’s car, her expensive clothes, and her gleaming white teeth. They don’t notice the real reason she wears those dark Armani sunglasses, or the real reason she always wears jeans and long sleeve shirts. They don’t notice she wears makeup only to cover the bruises. The bruises of a drunken father on a rampage.

Some people do notice, like teachers and friends but they don’t say or do anything about it. Why would they? Jealously burns deep into those who allow it.
Years go by and she still follows the same routine. Day after day, she pulls up in that shiny silver Bentley, in her now understood parking spot, and struts out in her designer jeans, expensive tops, and Armani shades. Her long, gorgeous hair flowing as she does the usual check on her car before she enters school, her safe haven.
She hasn’t missed a day of school since 8th grade. Since the beating started. Perfect attendance. She always made comments like “Something’s seriously wrong if I miss a day.” No one noticed anything was wrong because she always laughed about it afterwards. So it’s ok if she laughs about it, right?

As the days went on of her senior year, everybody noticed she wasn’t as bright. Her hair wasn’t as shiny, her outfit wasn’t perfect and her makeup got thicker and thicker. Until one day she got out of her car and immediately whispers scattered and heads quickly turned away. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. She shredded the shades. Everybody murmured. She was black and blue. Everywhere. Everybody noticed, but no one said anything. As the day went on people whispered and stared, but she sat in silence, her bruises now uncovered. Her silent cry for help. The next day that shiny silver Bentley never pulled up. And everybody noticed.