Her bohemian-chic box braids hung down her back and the tiny, diamond stud in her nose complimented her well. The red scarf she tied Tupac-style around her head put some grit behind her baby face. She tried to draw on her maturity with expensive cosmetics, accentuating her pouty lips with red lipstick. She was Benjamin Atkins’ youngest daughter, and although her father had died years ago, his legacy lived on. Because of it, Morgan was royalty. She couldn’t help but feel like she was princess by default. None of this shit is for me. This is hers. This love is just residual from Raven. They don’t even really know who I am.

Morgan felt her best friend, Nish, tap her on the shoulder, as she held up a plastic soda bottle filled with purple liquid. Morgan focused on her lips. “You on this?” she asked. Morgan had gotten used to reading lips. She could spy on an entire conversation from across the room - just by paying attention. The things that other people missed, Morgan usually picked up on. Her perception was keener because it had to be. She took the bottle and passed Nish the blunt, before lifting it to her lips. She didn’t even get to taste the concoction before the bottle was taken from her grasp. She lowered her head, angrily, her eyes shooting daggers until they fell on his.

“Let’s go, Shorty Doo Wop,” he said. Messiah stood in front of her, face cross in irritation. His icy demeanor made his smooth, dark skin even more attractive. She loved the way his lips curved when he called her that...when he called every, pretty girl that. She had seen him refer to countless girls with that nickname. It seemed to be his nickname for the beautiful ones. She was just glad she made the cut.