Angela looks at herself in the mirror after styling herself to her capabilities. Just because she got into a car accident doesn't mean she should dress like someone with little or no fashion sense. Fashion has always been her life; she has loved it since she was a little girl, when she would watch models grace the TV or magazine covers with their slim physique, high cheekbones and mystique.
She'd love to be a model one day, someday. She takes outfits, makeup and appearances very seriously. Looking unkempt and out of place is not an option.
She loves girly things, from reading magazines, going shopping is therapy for her, and she loves makeup and straightening her curly hair; it's not like she hates her curly hair, she just loves it straight.
Right now she's dressed in a plaid set. She's rocking a matching red-and-black plaid blazer and mini skirt, which is super coordinated and polished. She pairs it with a chic red headband. Her bag is the colour pink and has an image of a butterfly plastered on it. She loves butterflies so much, sometimes she would imagine herself with butterfly wings flying in the air and being wild and free.
Her footwear: Over-the-knee black socks that add a playful but stylish touch, elongating her legs.
Her look is bold, preppy, coordinated, and fashion-forward.
Sometimes she'd make drawings of herself with butterfly wings. She'd smile at the image because she knows she looks so beautiful and mystical.
She stands in front of the mirror for too long, but it's not solely because she loves what she sees, but because she's a bit nervous at the moment. Yes, her being nervous. Now that is something new.
She is going to an entirely different school, so she has to be nervous, and she's not just nervous because she's meeting new people. She's not shy; she's never been shy. She's always been confident.
She's nervous because she doesn't want to go back to the bad habits of being a bitch. For some reason, life has given her a second chance, and this second chance she is going to use to be a better person to people, be less mean, be more… nice.
The thought of being nice makes her cringe; the word even leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. But she has to be nice. It's either that or ruin people's lives or hers. Karma is still knocking on the door for her; it doesn't stop at the accident, she knows it.
And the broken wood on her bed is an indicator of that fact. Sure, they've fixed the wood, but her Grandmother basically said that the wood was not weak; even the people who came to fix the wood said the same thing. There's no way this wood could have been weak. But the wood being weak enough to break is the only reasonable explanation as to why the wood broke, because they can't believe that a slim five-foot-nine girl could have broken the wood on her own.
But whatever, she knows she's going to be nice, she doesn't have to be nervous, she has to snap out of it and walk out of here before she gets late.
So she leaves her room and makes her way downstairs to the dining hall to join her Grandmother for breakfast.
The first step to being nice is saying good morning to the maids in the morning, and complimenting people (only if they deserve it, because she's not going to compliment someone who has bad taste in fashion)
She can compliment other things other than their outfit, maybe their hair, their smile, or anything else. She can do this.
"Good morning." She says to the maid vacuuming a carpet, and she immediately squeezes her face because she knows for a fact that that greeting sounded fake as hell.
"Oh, good morning, ma'am. How was your night?"
"Uh, it was… it was good. Yours?"
"Same, ma'am," she says happily, and something in Angela jolts up She doesn't understand the feeling, but it's a good feeling. Seeing someone happy after asking how their night was makes her happy in a way.
She puts on a smile on her face and she walks into the dining hall to see her mother looking at a newspaper. There's a lot of food on the table. But of course, Angela isn't going to be eating much; too many carbs is a disaster waiting to happen.
"Good morning, Abuela." Angela greets her grandmother and then sits so elegantly on the chair next to her. Her grandmother immediately puts the newspaper down and smiles at her.
"Mi Amor. How are you?"
Angela nods. "I'm good. I was a bit nervous starting a whole new school, but I'm fine now." She places some scrambled eggs on her plate and some tomatoes as well. She pours herself a glass of orange juice.
"You nervous? That doesn't seem possible."
"Why not?" Angela asks, confused as to why her grandmother would say that.
"You know, you've always seemed like the confident one. I remember when you were six and you walked up to your cousins and forced them to play with you."
"Why wouldn't they want to play with me? Like, hello, that was rude."
Abuela laughs. "You're right, it was, and you showed them who was the boss. And that's one of the many things I love about you, you're confident and you're scared of no one. You weren't even scared of your father or your strict uncle," she shakes her head, smiling at Angela as if reminiscing. "You know, you kind of remind me of your father."
Angela doesn't say anything; she just puts on a tiny smile on her face. She still can't believe the great Federico Hernandez is gone. Sometimes she'd sleep and wake up to see that all that had happened was just a nightmare. But no, it isn't a nightmare, it's very real. And she's getting used to the fact that her parents did die. But she doesn't think she'll get used to the fact that she'll never see them again.
"Okay, now eat up so I can take you to your new school," Abuela says cheerfully.
Abuela takes her granddaughter to school, and she makes a stop in front of Sunnyvale High in Beverly Hills. The car might have stopped, but Angela doesn't make a move;e she just sits in there looking out the window at the students while her grandmother watches, and Come as You Are by Nirvana plays on the radio.
She thought the nervousness was gone, but she can still feel it creeping in.
"Honey." Abuela places her hand on her granddaughter's shoulder. Angela turns her head to look at her grandmother.
"You can do this, Angela. I believe in you."
"I know, I know, it's just so weird being in a new school, you know. I feel like things are changing too fast."
Abuela sighs. "I know, I completely understand, but you'll learn how to adapt to that change in due time."
That Angela is sure of, she had to go from watching her parents loving each other to always shouting at each other; she had to learn the hard way that her parents were never going to love each other anymore, and the best thing for them to do was get a divorce.
That was the last thing she told her parents before they died.
"Thanks, Abuela."
"Oh, don't mention it." Abuela waves her off. "Now give your Granny a hug." Angela gladly embraces her Abuela in a tight hug. It makes her feel better, so does the song by Nirvana.
"Now go show them what a Hernandez is made of." Angela nods her head,d and then she walks out of the car. She breathes in and out before making a move forward.
"That's my girl! ¡Esa es mi chica!"
Angela smiles to herself and shakes her head at her grandmother hyping her up.