The name of a Princess. Luckily, it's not very hard to see that Tatiana is definately not royalty, just a stuck up mean girl with a royal reputation. She parades down the corridors at school, head high, scornful of everyone.
Every toss of her blonde head screams "Look at me." And look, everyone does. How can you not look at something so beautiful, that it almost hurts inside? It still hurts me, though I'm seventeen, and all chances of being a Barbie are gone, gone with the passing years.
Tatiana is the youngest Spinnica offspring, and the most dangerous. She has friends in every corner, contacts in every company. She aces exams, and parties every other night.
Young girls idolise her, older girls grow green with jealousy at the sight of her gleamig smile flashing down from a billboard. The words "Spinnica Incorporated" are seen so often and by so many people, that no doubt it is almost permanently imprinted on the retinas of thousands of people.
And how does the most famous teenage Barbie in London have anything to do with me? Everything. Damn her to hell, she has everything to do with me.
When I was an innocent chubby faced kid of nine, if you asked me who my best friend was, the instant reply would be "Rosie."
Eventhough Tatiana dropped the juvenille nick-name after her sixteenth birthday and her Barbie-ication, she is still Rosie to me. Little Rosie, who had a wild passion for gardening and a michevous streak.
Rosie and I were the perfect living example of best friends. We whispered secrets to eachother in the playground at school, and walked around arm in arm. Sleepovers, birthday parties, days out: they never went ahead unless Rosie was there.
And how, I here you cry, did such an innocent soul turn into such a hateful one? How can a few years change a person that much? If we jump back in time to when I was fifteen years old, maybe everything will be clearer. Not just to you, but for me.