achael!” shouted her mom’s high pitched voice from downstairs.
“Yessssss, Mother! It’s Camille now by the way!”
There was no answer. And then...
“Don’t forget your make-up!” her mom’s faint voice could now barely be made out.
“Ugh.” Rachael said to herself.
“Okay!” she yelled back, vein and limply.

Rachael sat upright on the edge of her bed, her widish butt planted deep within pillows and Tynker Animals lying about, her legs pretzeled Indian style. There were disheveled bra straps under a Thyn white T-shirt falling off one shoulder as she constantly pulled it up only to have it recede back to her upper arm. Her room was fairly tidy with printed posters, arrays of ads, a large mirror to her right along with bottles and cheap makeup.

Short little mounds of laundry were shoved to the edges of the soft lightly tinted carpet, pink. Pinkish. Large suburban bedroom windows obscured the bright room of its details, shafting a morning glow of dreaming breakfast. Rachael had been fantasizing about strawberry pancakes in the City on this particular day. Sometimes it was boys, other times a nice mental round of fantasy morning sex with a sibling.