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 shes here. Heads snaop around when the 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 its probably worth more than some peoples 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 down sparkling eyes are always covered with dark shardes, 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, 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. The don’t notice she wears makeup only to cover the bruises. The brusises of a drunken father on a rampage.

Some people do notice, like teachers and friends but they don’t say or do anyting 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, strtuts out in her designer jeans and expensive tope. Armani shades and her long, gorgeous hair flowing. The usually check on her car before she enters her safe haven.
She hasn’t missed a day of school since 8th grade. Since the beating started. Perfect attendence. She always made comments like “Somethings seriously wrong if I miss a day” She always laughed about it afterwards though. So its ok if she laughs, 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 murmered. 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.