Sad Luck

Chevonne Caryn Carpenter was one of the kindest girls I had ever been fortunate enough to meet. She may be your dream friend, if you acquire some characteristics of mine. She was stunningly gorgeous, a destined famous-face. She was tall, but not overly so, and was really, really, painstakingly slim, a destined model. She had the best grades in school. She was typically kind and sweet, and was really, really, really, really modest. Modest till the point that I cannot possibly stand it. She would always shrug off compliments and declare loudly afterward that we were better. As if. She was a pain in the butt for her modesty. I cannot stand her. So I just ignored her protests, for I knew her too well. An example can be shown: I was like, 'I am so very nervous about my examination results! I am afraid I might fail to pass it. And there is no doubt, not even an ounce of it, that Chevonne's grades are at the very top.' Then Chevonne would literally sigh, saying, 'That is basically impossible. I really, really, really suck at Chinese. Trust me, for this very time too, that I am going to fail. It wasn't as hard as I thought, but people make mistakes sometimes. Oh no! I think I answered question fifty-seven wrongly! I think my grades are going to be much, much worse than yours, Jhennah. I am so very worried.' And oh, I forgot to introduce myself -- not that you are interested. My name is Jhennah Holmes, and Serenique is my made-up name. Anyway, topically speaking, I was really frustrated with Chevonne. Like, what the heck does she mean by much worse than mine? I had enough of her overly-over modesty. Thanks very much. So I made sure I won the debate over whether Chevonne was going to excel in her grades or not, leaving her flustered. And no surprise, she was at the top. The very TOP. See what I mean? During breaks between periods, however limited time she had, she would read her notes. Which stressed me half to the ground. And when she was doing so, nothing, absolutely nothing, could have distracted her focus. I sighed at the very thought. She was perfect in almost every way. And some of you might be thinking that I am just some typical writer who writes about perfectionists with amazing lives. But, unfortunately for you who are seeking those kinds of stories, sorry not sorry, but I am currently not providing you with these stories. Chevonne had a pair of sweet blue eyes and a soft smile. Long blonde hair which was styled up into a careless, yet delicate bun. She wore round, thin, spectacles that matched her silver earrings and necklace with a sapphire pendant shaped like a teardrop. Even though she had long since left this beautiful world, her soul and our memories together remained as intact as ever. I had cried for weeks ever since she had passed away, for she was my very best friend. I was so lucky to have her as my friend. We were like sisters back then, except that we hardly fought, if you did not include that very event... You would have thought that I was some kind of old grandmother -- no offense -- crying over a deceased old friend, but no, I wasn't. I am still in my teenage years. Speaking of years, it is her birthday today, the seventh of July. I am here to wish her a happy birthday and let's continue the rest of the story in Chevonne's very perspective, for it was from her very diary I got from her trembling-in-tears mother's hands.