Suri Nightingale
“Bonjour, ma belle amie!” Polly says in the prettiest French accent as she eats a red macaroon that is the same color of her lipstick.
I had just gotten back to the house, impressively sprinting my way up to the room in record time just so I don’t bump into anyone, and right after flopping on bed, my phone started buzzing and there was a video call request from her.
“Bonjer, or something like that.” I said, in a less pretty way compared to her, because I don’t have the slightest clue about how to speak French or sound like one.
Polly chuckles just as I hear two other laughs behind her. A second later, Elle and Ariana pop up with bright smiles and colorful dresses fit for the runway.
Did they just come from a fashion show or is that how they normally dress for summe
