I wake up to a million notifications from dozens of different apps. I scroll through all my social media accounts before rolling out of bed at the last minute to get ready for the day. I spend ages picking out the perfect accessories and making myself beautiful before going to Starbucks for my breakfast.

On the way to school, I don’t say a word to my chauffeur, I mean mother, because I would rather look at pictures of people I will never meet than talk to my own family. 

I walk through the halls, eyes locked on the fake people on my phone. Halfway through first period, I decide that the teacher’s words aren’t as important as making another TikTok so I make the excuse that it’s another “female emergency”, even though I’ve already used that excuse three times this month. 

After I am satisfied with my mediocre dancing I return to class to edit the video before posting, because who puts their true self online? I use an app to slim my body and to give myself some fake abs, so I can look just like all the social media influencers I worship. No one will know if I edit it well and claim it’s all natural, right? I fix my hair as I walk to try and play it cool because pretty girls are perfect and don’t have insecurities.  I would pay a college tuition just to look like everyone else. I have begged to get fillers, brow lifts, and laser hair removal for years, but my parents say it reminds them too much of handsome Squidward. 

I sit down in my chair and I groan, realizing we are being put in randomized groups for a research project. The group project is to research marine life and how they’re affected by climate change. 

That’s good, I care more about turtles than my friends. I use metal straws— I’m a good person. The other working group members are annoyed at me for being lazy since I am not actively researching the ocean or whatever. I’m sorry— I can’t type with my four-inch nails. Sorry you bit yours off, Andy. I tell them that I’ll make the presentation with their research at home. 

I sit with my friend for lunch while I eat my salad. Everyday before I eat I have to send a picture of my greens out to the world since everyone needs to know. My parents always tell me to just eat my food, but c’mon Dad, everyone cares these days. 

I end the day with a sweaty unappealing class called. P.E. Is it pronounced PEE? The coach gives me an F and claims it’s for my lack of participation in literally any exercise, but I can’t risk chipping my nails, messing up my hair, or wearing those gross gym clothes. I’m sorry, but that’s just not hot. I don’t even know why I go to school when I can just become an influencer.