That last one is not a thing.
"The Collin Murphy Foundation. They are a research foundation that helps fight childhood cancer. Their main base is here in Fayeweather, but they partner with a slightly smaller sister branch in the states."
"Oh, this is the one you do every year," he recalls, slowly.
"In deed..." I hum my answer as I open the text message from an unknown number. To my pleasant surprise it's a fair skinned female with her long blonde hair pulled to one side of her face and lips painted bright red to match the push up bra she's sporting.
The caption underneath reads: Wanna make me a princess?
Ah. This is one of the strip poker losers. Then again, are there ever really any losers in that game? Who doesn't love to see people naked?
The grin on my face causes my brother to grunt, "Please, tell me that's not a dirty photo." When I glance up and expand my smile he rolls his eyes. "Fine. Please, tell me you can at least remember the name of the woman in the photo."
Marilyn? Mindy? Melody? Melissa? I'm getting a rather strong M feeling. Doesn't really matter. I'm not gonna call her. Not just because she's trolling to wear a crown like so many of the women I meet, but because it was just a wild weekend at the Walngnaski Ski Resort. Think Vegas in the snow. What happens in Walngnaski stays there....except for whatever the paparazzi parasites manage to document. I.E. my ass through the glass window. In my defense that was the craziest thing I did all weekend unless you consider challenging some American senator's son to a drinking contest crazy...
Kristopher sighs and shakes his head. "And you wonder why I worry..."
I don't wonder. Nor do I actually care. As far as I'm concerned I'm just having a little fun. And there's nothing wrong with having a little or in my case an awful lot of fun...What else am I supposed to do to pass the time in my seemingly superficial reality? Play cards with my dead grandmother's bridge club and pretend it's making a difference? No. Unlike my brother, who has buckled under the pressures of being a Kenningston, I refuse to let my last name rule my entire life. Not now. Not ever.
Brie
I hate the youth of America. I really do.
"And then Becky told Kimmy who told Julie who told Micheal, that I was the one who said his girlfriend looked like a troll in that selfie. And I did. But she shouldn't have told her! Becky swore she wouldn't!" The thin fourteen-year-old squeaks to the girl beside her as they move forward in the check-out line. "Becky is lucky I don't post on Facebook about what she did with Julie's boyfriend while she was away with her family snowboarding."
"ID," I interrupt, which causes her to glare at me.
Oh yes. Because I'm slowing down her day.
She rolls her eyes and reaches into her designer bag. Unable to immediately grab it, she drops her purse and it accidentally lands on the edge of her tray. Like the world's worst catapult, it launches a horrific combination of ingredients straight at my face. Caesar salad dressing and raspberry applesauce trickles down my glasses while I wipe away spinach leaves from my cheeks.
I fucking hate my job.
The laughter of the teens in line erupts at the same time strips of lemon herb chicken comically drop from my hairnet.
Yes. As a fucking lunch lady I actually have to wear a hairnet. Health requirements. Don't think this is what they originally had in mind for the reason it needed to be a necessity.
"Um, hello," the bratty brunette whines.
I open my eyes to see her displeased expression.
She's upset? Did I just shower her with food in a room full of adolescents who can't wait to post about this on Instagram or Snapchat or Look At Me As I Go? Not exactly how I want my face across the internet...Not that I ever really want my face across the internet.
"I need a napkin," she huffs. "It's on my shoe..."
My eyes glance at the shoes that probably cost half if not my entire pay check. Before I'm even give a chance to possibly lose my outwardly calm disposition, one of the older cafeteria women, Bernice, places a hand on my shoulder. "Go get cleaned up, Brie. I'll handle it from here."