She keeps a hip flask under her skirt, the metal cool against warm skin. There’s something excitable in her voice, tainted with a hint of madness, especially when talking about this evening’s plans (she gets invited to all of the parties, naturally). Her fingers drum against desk tops, nail varnished chipped. Everyone knows what she does in the bathroom stalls and around the back of the bike sheds where the CCTV doesn’t quite reach. Hers is a life full of fun and risk, fearless chaos that consumes everyone around her like a black hole.
fun fact: when taylor first played the best day for her mother she synced it up to a montage of home videos so it took andrea until the second chorus to realise it was actually her daughter singing - and then she cried a lot