Bianca de la Vérité

Well…I knew this was coming. Got an invitation to my school reunion lunch, it’s in three months, and even that isn’t enough time to properly prepare myself. I’m still up in the air over whether I’ll go at all. Depends how beautiful and successful and accomplished I’m feeling in August, I suppose. Chance of that? Slim.

But then, NOT going is just as much of a red flag to all my school friends who I haven’t talked to in ten years and no longer see. They’ll talk about me behind my back, whisper things about me being a crazy cat women living in a ute.

IT WILL NOT BE. Obviously I run my own conveyancing and settlement firm…obviously. I did an internship back in Year 10 at a conveyancing firm, so I think I remember enough solicitor speak to be able to pull it off. The tricky thing will be if anyone else has become one of those, and they start asking me things. Just got to think…who, out of all my friends, is most likely to have become a conveyancing lawyer?

Oh gosh, it’s Bianca Carmichael. It totally will be, and she had a reputation for being the smartest, most popular, most athletic and meanest girl in school, so if my ruse is revealed it’ll be disaster. She’ll walk into the lunch, probably still on the phone to her conveyancer colleagues, the other arm grasping onto her lightly-stubbled Italian supermodel boyfriend who’s essentially there as a trophy because he doesn’t speak English. She’ll be all blonde curls and crisp suit and expensive jewellery that she still manages to keep subtle, and I’ll be all rumpled blouse that I pulled out of the cupboard, trying to pass myself off as a conveyancer near Malvern (it sounds far away) and Bianca will ruin me. Just like she did at the Australia-themed social disco.

I’m ruined!