The Outrage
Friday, February 7th
Dear Diary,
I can barely write this without my hand shaking from pure, unadulterated outrage. Her father, the glorious international soccer star (who owes his entire career to her genes – athleticism, grace, even the good looks), has signed a contract with an Australian team. This means that Leonora and I are moving to Australia. As in, the land of kangaroos and crocodiles and… well, I haven't really looked it up yet. It's probably filled with a lot of really common people, and I'm not sure how I'm going to survive.
First of all, their penthouse apartment in New York. The sprawling views, the private chef, the rooftop pool with the perfect lighting for selfies – gone! For what? A "charming" house in some suburban Australian town. Charming. The word itself makes me want to vomit. I'm sure it's a house, not a mansion, not even an estate. I probably won't even have a walk-in wardrobe big enough for all her designer clothes. The horror!
My dad, in his infinite wisdom, thinks it's a brilliant idea to send us to some "prestigious" boarding school. "To broaden your horizons, Leoni," he said, like he needs my horizon broadened. My horizons are already perfectly broad, thank you very much, filled with high fashion, exclusive events, and the admiring gazes of everyone who has the good taste to recognize true superiority. This school, St. Augustine's Ladies College (which sounds incredibly stuffy), is apparently "one of the best" in Australia. According to The Guardian, this kind of private school boasts luxurious facilities and extracurricular activities. I suppose that's marginally better than attending a dreadful public school with all the hoi polloi.
Leonora, of course, is pretending to be thrilled. "Think of all the new sports teams, Leoni! We can dominate the Australian art scene!" she announced, her eyes gleaming with a manic competitive energy that only a twin could possess. As if winning another trophy is going to make up because they're leaving behind their perfectly curated lives. Although I must admit, her trophies are rather impressive. Leonora's art portfolio is pretty good, too, I guess. For an amateur.
We already packed our entire lives into a terrifying number of suitcases. I almost had a breakdown when I realized I had to choose between my vintage Chanel handbag and my limited-edition Prada clutch. The struggle is real. The absolute, undeniable struggle. I'm pretty sure our personal assistant is going to have a nervous breakdown trying to organize everything. Good. That's what he's paid for.
I just hope this St. Augustine's has decent Wi-Fi. How else will I keep up with my followers on social media? And if the other girls aren't up to their usual standards of sophistication, well, I guess Leonora and I will just have to entertain them by finding new and inventive ways to mock them. It's what we do best.
Wish me luck. I'm going to need it.