There was something familiar but strange about her - Snow White with a suntan. Cinderella in biker boots. Tough and delicate and magical and real all at once.
—Allyse Near, Fairytales for Wilde Girls.

Epic Summer To Do List B4 I Turn Eighteen:
#1: Get myself an effing tattoo from The Canvas*
Edit: get an effing tattoo from any other tattoo parlour because Ian Ross is the asshole-est of them all.

"So," Mingxia, the body ink free tattoo artist says slowly, watching my face from her spot behind me through the mirror in front of us. "You like it or nah?"

I stare at the tattoo on my neck. It's the famous mark— rune from The Mortal Instruments; the 'fearless' rune. It's darker than midnight and a bit small in size, starting from the area under my earlobe to the middle of my neck.

I hum in approval. "It's looking good," I say, pointedly ignoring the way the skin looks red with bits of blood and excess ink pushing itself out of the wound. "Wrap it up and shit; you know what to do."

She rolls her brown eyes but nods. "Yeah, sure. As long as I get my extra money."

I don't reply. She starts to clean the wound and I close my eyes because of the sting. I'm aware of her wrapping some sort of gauze on the area where my tattoo is and I hold my breath before opening my eyes.

"Thanks," I say, standing up. "Maybe one day, we'll meet again."

"Yeah," she says, snapping at the gum in her mouth. "Maybe when you're actually legal and you have a permit."

I laugh before digging my hand into the pocket of my skinny jeans. I pull out crumpled dollar bills. I pay her and dig my hand into my purse to add the extra fee- a hundred dollar note- and I watch as she counts the money. I frown as she stares at it for a moment.

"Why are you staring at it like that?" I huff. "It's three hundred dollars, cash."

"I see that," she says slowly. "I'm just admiring good looking money."

I'm tempted to tell her that I gave her the crumpled looking notes from my pocket but I don't bother. "Right. So I guess I'll see you around Mingxia. Thanks."

"Xièxiè," she says, looking up at me. She's quite short but then again, I'm taller than most girls I meet. "You mean xièxiè."

"Huh?"

"Xièxiè means thanks. I'm teaching you basic Chinese," she raises one pierced eyebrow. "Say xièxiè."

"Um, xièxiè," I mumble. And I thought my French teacher was a drag.

"You're welcome," she murmurs, turning away from me. I watch as she walks away and waves a hand over her head without looking back. "Now leave. You can use Google to get basic hygiene tips for your tattoo."

I obey her without any fuss. I leave her plain tattoo parlour and breathe in fresh air. I like Mingxia. She isn't unnecessarily rude and the great part about it? She doesn't have a holier than thou persona. "Oh, you're a minor and I'm an asshole so I stole your latte, low-key insulted your body and rejected your nonexistent feelings for me so that you'll screw out of my parlour forever, duuuuuuuuuh."

Ugh, just the thought of him makes me sick.

I shake my head as I unlock my car door and swiftly slip in. I know I have unread texts from Father- something about a private lesson I'm meant to be having right about now but it seems like Father has forgotten who I am. It's summer for one. Yeah, I'm definitely going to skip. So going back home is a no no.

I look down at my watch and sigh when I see that it's only noon. I really need to get new hobbies. Always leaving the house in the early hours of the morning is taking a toll on me.

I slowly drive away from Mingxia's tattoo parlour and make my way to the closest Starbucks. I need an iced white chocolate mocha now. And then maybe I'll go to the mall and get new boots and update my wardrobe and then get myself yet another ticket for speeding...

...Yeah. I think I'm in dire need of a social life.

Or maybe just friends.

I walk into the mall, black purse banging against my hip, a cup of my signature mocha clutched tight in my hand.

As always, the mall is crawling with different people. Teenagers of all ages, old people and even just young kids, walking into different stores or zooming right out, all laughing or talking or just being so damn lively, social and happy.

This kind of atmosphere sickens me.

I sigh and start walking. I'm aware of the way I'm gaining a few stares from random people. Okay, so what if I'm a thin, 5'11 girl dressed in edgy black clothes, tons of mascara over blue eyes, black hair up in a ponytail to expose piercings and a large bandage covering a newly acquired tattoo? I don't believe I'm that much of a spectacle.

I clutch my cup tighter and ignore the stares drilling holes in me. "Oh, take a picture, it'll last longer," I murmur to myself and the sarcasm practically pricks my tongue. "I was basically born to be a model, don't you know?"

Of course, I'm sure I also look mental to the people watching but at this point I don't care. Like, okay, I know that I'm a bit too tall but taller girls exist okay? There's a reason why female basketballers exist too—

"OHEMGEE SCARLETTTTTT," a high pitched voice shrieks from somewhere behind me, automatically cutting off my internal rant. I turn around, only for a blur of blue and red to practically crash into me. I clutch my cup tightly as the blur basically turns into a python, hugging me around the stomach.

"Oh my God Scarlett, I haven't heard from you in, like, forever," the girl steps back and I finally get a chance to look at her. I raise an eyebrow. Red hair, green eyes, really pretty, wearing a blue jumpsuit and face caked with makeup— yep, she's one of the people I'm meant to know. Unfortunately, I don't.

"Um. Hey," I take a sip from my cup of thankfully still half full mocha. "Do I know you?"

Something like irritation flashes in her eyes for a quick moment but it's gone before I can really confirm it. "Oh, Scarlett. It's me, Dinah. Dinah Baxter? From school? You copied off my test once for Geography class? And thanked me after for getting a B?"

"Oh," I nod. "Yeah. I remember you." Nope, doesn't ring a bell. "What's up?"

She giggles, looking pleased. "Oh, I'm spectacular," she says. "Just came here because I've got tons of shopping to do. What about you?"

"Same," I reply, keeping my answer short.

"Oh," she grins. "Want to shop with me?"

"No, thanks. I'll pass," I add a fake smile for good measure because I don't want to be too rude. You know. Considering the fact that she apparently helped me get a B on a test. I should be nicer to the girl, I suppose.

Her smile drops for a moment. "Oh," she says, "Um. Well, at least we have something in common. So, whenever you're in the mood to shop with someone, you can always text me."

I don't even have her number but I shrug like I do. "Cool," I say and I turn around to go. "Well, I guess I'll see you whenever, Dinah."

"Wait!" she screams and suddenly, a hand is clutching my free hand, stopping me from making my unceremonious exit. I frown as I look down at it before trailing my gaze up to look her in the eye. She quickly drops her hold on my arm and my stance instantly relaxes.

"What?" I sigh. I already know I'm not going to like her request. "I've got things to do." Well, not really but I'd rather be doing other things than talking to you.

"Well, um, I'm having a party tomorrow," she says, with a wary laugh. "Actually, that's why I'm here. To shop for stuff like snacks and well, you know how it is..."

I give her a blank look.

Her laugh fades as she takes in the look on my face. "Um, so, I was wondering if you could make it? Like I know you could be doing better things— you're Scarlett Anderson, you could be doing anything to be honest. But, um, you know, if you just feel like—"

I release a long sigh. She pauses with her long, weird monologue. "Sure. Sure. Yeah, I'll be there as long as there's alcohol. Just text me your address."

"Oh my God, thank you," she gushes. "Like, because I heard you totally blew off Cat Phillip's birthday party last week and—"

"That's because Cat Phillip kept acting like it was such a big deal that I agreed to attend in the first place," I raise an eyebrow and she visibly pales. "I hope you know where I'm going with this."

"Yeah," she giggles lightly and slowly backs away from me. "Anyway, you totally didn't miss much. It was a cocktail party but the music sucked and the food was so mediocre..."

"Then I hope I don't regret coming to your party then," I fake a smile at her before turning around. "Later."

"Later!" she hollers after my retreating figure. "See you tomorrow!"

"Sure you will," I say with a roll of my eyes. I probably won't go but she doesn't need to know this yet.

Unfortunately for me, this is my life. Scarlett Rose Anderson; daughter of ex runway model, fashion icon and entrepreneur, Declan Anderson. Popular by default; surrounded by people who don't really like me but rather, like my connections.

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother going to a regular high school. I could have a simple education at home with various private tutors but then again, I'm apparently meant to be having a private lesson right now...

I shake my head to get rid of my semi negative thoughts. Okay, yes, I have the kind of life most people want. A sweet access pass to fame leisurely sitting on my fingertips and money- tons of money. But that doesn't automatically mean I should just like it—

My thoughts break off as I practically collide into someone. Some of my mocha spills on my shirt and I yelp before jumping away. The wrecking ball of a person spits out profanities in a vaguely familiar male voice but I ignore him in favor of staring down at my shirt.

"Fuck," I murmur, looking down at the damage. It's ruined and I don't even have a jacket on today. I'm angry about this— I mean, I don't care about the dry cleaning bill but what kind of idiot bumps into someone so hard that a half full cup of mocha manages to spill?

I look up at the person, getting ready to chew him out for basically being blind and needing extreme body coordination lessons but I pause as I take in the confused look on his face. My throat goes dry and I'm aware of the way my hand grips the cup even tighter.

"Okay..." Ian Ross says slowly, one dark eyebrow raised. His eyes slowly trail down to the cup in my hand and I watch as a smirk slowly forms on his lips. "Steve Rogers. Did I ever tell you that clumsy isn't my type either?"

I frown in reply and toss the remaining contents of my cup all over his disgusting, egotistic face.

I watch in satisfaction as he drops his carrier bags and clutches his face, letting out a slight yelp. "Fuck! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

I can't help but chuckle as he continues rubbing at his eyes. I ignore the stain on my T-shirt as I walk right past him. "Be feeling lucky. It could have been pepper spray, you jacked up idiot."

I don't get a reply and I don't bother to wait for one. Instead, I turn around in order to make my way out of the mall.

I've never really been big on shopping anyway.

To be edited.