Vivica. She is 14 years old with eyes as charming as ever. Her lips so pink, that they take away from the fact that they are thin and cracked. She is thin on the stomach but thick on the thighs. Her pale skin very vibrant and milky as if she rolled in white chocolate before tossing her brown tresses into a sloppy top knot.
I used to see her every morning. We would casually glance at each other before pushing our attention to something else. She would stand with her back against the street pole sipping her coffee. Everday. At the same time.
Though being 14, Vivica smelled like pure cigarrettes and weed. Just smelling the second hand smoke would get you high. She knew as everytime I passed by her, she would curl her lips in a toothy grin before tapping the bridge of her nose.
I wanted to be like her. Vivica soon became a sick obsession. How could I dress like her? How could I wear those ripped black leggings in 40 degree weather? How could I bite my lip and toss my hair without the bad attention flocking to me like birds? See... that was what the problem was... the bad attention. Bad girls get bad attention, and she was full of it. Everyone knew her; she was the sexy looking, buzzfilled, drunk, illegal driving teen of school. Boys would claim they repped her and girls wanted to hate her, but could not because she was just so... Vivica.
What is it about that negative, naughty side of people that makes everyone so flustred?Everyone wants to be a Vivica - at least once, but everyone is too afraid to. Now in 2016, it is almost as if everyone wants to be Vivica. Even the alternative people look the same. Sporting the same lipstick, the same Herschel bookbags, and the same septum rings (I have one too but don't judge me, it's cute). I digress, but trust me. It pays to be bad.
Part 2 will come. It consist of me talking to Viv.