"I know we dreamt of these things, but now it seems like your standards are too high."
Adira Archibong wants to be a supermodel, but as she steps into a world of money, fame, and sex, she learns that the only people she can trust are her friends.
...
"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived and let me watch him do it." - Clarence BudingtonKelland.
If there wasn't a bandana around Adira's head when her hormones decided to act crazy, it was a beret. And today, being as crazy as it was, she wore a bandana.
Unlike everybody she knew, she wasn't fond of wearing clothes. She either stayed home naked wearing just her underthings or she threw in a T-shirt if she for some reason felt someone was watching her from afar.
She wore a white boxy T-shirt and tied a yellow bandana around her head. She strutted in front of her wardrobe as if ready for war.
"Okay, what am I to wear below?" she muttered to herself.
She clapped her hands then began her search for a jean trouser as she unconsciously sought out the darker colours. She finally settled on wearing a black jean trouser, which she struggled to put on with the help of some leg exercises like the jumping jacks and a few lunges.
Ultimately, she got the skinny jeans on.
"Finally," she breathed.
She got to the table where she placed her accessories and pulled out an acetate sunglasses to protect her eyes from the sun's fierce attack. A black embossed scandal completed her look.
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"Daddy, open the door!" Adira banged on the door ferociously. As usual, she had been standing outside the house. She had been standing there for five minutes and a few seconds. Not that she was counting or anything.
Her father peeped through the door when he opened it. "Sorry, my dear," he grinned ruefully.
"No problem," she said as she got in the house. "I'm used to it anyway," she muttered behind him.
"If you're used to it, why are you angry then?"
She shot him a look. "Daddy leave me alone. I'm not in the mood."
"You're never in the mood."
Adira crossed her hands and glared away at her father's stare. She turned her eyes to the table, then she blinked.
Twice.
On the syrup table strewn out in its erotic glory laid a sex magazine.
"Jesus Christ of Nazareth!" Adira exclaimed.
Daniel looked at her, a very startled man.
"Ah ah, daddy. It might be normal for you but you don't have to leave evidence," she said and gestured to the magazine.
"What do you mean by that?"
She pointed at the magazine.
Daniel nodded. "I know. What do you mean by I don't have to leave evidence?"
