Stephanie Roosevelt By Nicky Pesquin
´Ugh´ thought Stephanie. She had just chipped her nail polish and would have to repaint it, she couldn’t stand it when her nails weren’t perfectly polished. She twirled her straight, blond hair (she did that when something was wrong or when she was thinking), and turned her frown into a smile, and anybody who didn’t know her would think that smile was authentic. Stephanie Roosevelt was the classic 12-year-old rich girl: sassiness included.
She took her phone (number 2 out of 8) out of her purse, turned the ringer off, and walked into class. “Hi Ms. Monica,” Stephanie said with as much kindness as she could muster. Then, she walked over to a girl named Angela and said “I love your skirt. NOT,” and sat down in her seat. She put on her this-is-so-interesting face and waited impatiently for school to be done. Soon enough, it was, to Stephanie’s relief. The school bell rang and she ran and got in her limo with her driver in it. “Mr. Charles” she said to her driver “ I´ve had such a long day. When we get home, give my tutor my homework to do for tomorrow.”
“Of course, my lady” said Mr Charles. Then Stephanie collapsed from exhaustion and fell asleep.
The next thing she remembered was her butler waking her up. Her parents were waiting outside of their 5-story mansion, waving. “ Hi mother, hello father. How was your day?” said Stephanie as she followed her parents inside.
“Marvelous” said her mother.
“Stupendous” said her father.
“So was mine” said Stephanie. Then she went upstairs to her room to criticize other people’s Instagram profile pages.