Chapter Text
Sometimes life changes so fast, it feels like you’re stuck on the edge of a cliff, staring down into an unknown void. That’s exactly how it felt when Mom announced we were moving. One day, I was living in the wide-open spaces of Montana—long, cool evenings with Dad and the comforting smell of pine trees. The next, I was packing up my life, leaving behind the mountains and everything I had known.
The divorce had been a disaster. I could still hear their voices raised in anger, still feel the sting of the hurtful words. It wasn’t just the broken promises and the bitter silence that followed—it was the feeling of abandonment. Dad had checked out long before the papers were even signed. When he left, it felt like half of me was taken away, and I wasn’t sure how to get it back.
Mom never spoke much about the details, but I knew enough. She was always talking about moving on, about "fresh starts," but it never seemed like she was really dealing with the mess of it all. Her new boyfriend, Gregory, was her way of distracting herself—his expensive Tesla and that glossy smile were the bandaid she slapped over a wound that was still gaping. I hated it.
And now, I was sitting in the backseat of her minivan, heading toward California. I wasn’t sure what was worse—the messy life I was leaving behind, or the uncertainty of what I was walking into. California wasn’t home. Gregory wasn’t home. And I was still trying to figure out where I fit into all of this.
The silence between us stretched out until Mom broke it, her voice upbeat, almost too cheerful. “Oh, and guess who I’ve been in contact with?” she asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “Brooklyn’s mom. Turns out, you two are going to the same school.”
My heart skipped a beat. Brooklyn. My old best friend, the girl I hadn't seen in years. “Really?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, but it cracked. “She’s still living here?”
Mom smiled, clearly pleased by my reaction. “Yes! I thought it might be a nice surprise for you. She might even come over after school today.”
The thought of seeing Brooke again—after all this time—was a swirl of emotions I couldn’t quite sort through. Would she even remember me? Or had she completely moved on, just like everyone else?
I couldn’t help but drift back to memories of Brooke, the girl I used to know so well. She had been the quiet one—always with her nose buried in a book, her head tucked down, just the faintest blush on her cheeks. But beneath that surface was something different. A fire. Brooke was the type to pull you in when she let herself shine. Her humor was sharp, her laughter contagious, and her wit—oh, it could cut through any tension. But she kept it locked away, only showing that side to a few people.
I wondered if that part of her was still there or if the girl I once knew had completely disappeared. Would she still be the same bookworm, or had she evolved into someone I wouldn't even recognize?
The driveway was long, almost intimidating, and when the car came to a stop, I stared up at the towering front door, feeling even more out of place. This was it. My new life—this wasn’t home, not yet.
"Alright, sweetie, let's get these boxes inside," Mom's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I nodded absently, opening the door and stepping onto the smooth, freshly paved driveway.
The house wasn’t a mansion, but it was still impressive. The warm, creamy stone exterior contrasted sharply with the deep green of the manicured hedges that framed the entrance. A tall oak tree stretched above the front porch, its branches heavy with bright leaves. The windows, large and clean, let in the sunlight, giving everything an almost picture-perfect glow.
I grabbed a box from the back, my fingers tightening on the edges, feeling the weight of the future in it. The house was luxurious, sure—but not in an over-the-top, flashy way. Everything about it screamed comfort, taste, and wealth. Even though it wasn’t a palace, it was still hard to ignore how out of place I felt. This wasn’t my home, not yet.
"Hey, let me take that," Gregory called from behind me, stepping toward the open trunk. He smiled at me, his voice warm and casual. "You must be tired from all the driving, Savvy."
I blinked, slightly surprised by the nickname, but then realized I didn’t mind it. He seemed genuinely friendly, a bit like someone who was used to taking care of people. I handed him the box without much thought, my fingers brushing his as I did.
"Thanks," I muttered, shifting on my feet. It was strange, how quickly everything felt different already.
I stepped into the house, the cool air a contrast to the heat that had clung to me from outside. It was quiet, almost too quiet, but there was something inviting about the place—the polished hardwood floors gleamed beneath the soft glow of recessed lighting, and the walls were adorned with family photos that looked as if they’d been carefully placed.
I wandered further into the house, my feet light against the floorboards as I passed the open living room, its large windows offering a view of the neatly kept backyard. The furniture was comfortable but elegant, with soft neutrals blending together like a curated magazine spread. To my right, there was a hallway leading toward a set of doors, one of which caught my eye.
At the end of the hall, there was a door with a simple sign on it—Savannah.
I stood there for a moment, just looking at it. It felt unreal, almost like I didn’t belong. The house was beautiful, undoubtedly, but it wasn’t my home, not yet. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.
Inside, the room was bright with natural light from the large window that overlooked the backyard. The walls were painted a soft lavender, and the bed was neatly made with a comforter in shades of pale pink and white. It was cozy, even if it wasn’t mine.
I stepped further into the room, running my fingers along the smooth, polished wood of the dresser. It felt like a place someone else would live. Not me.
There was a part of me that didn’t want to unpack, didn’t want to settle in because doing so would make it real. The change. The move. The distance from my old life.
But, despite everything, it was where I was now. And, whether I liked it or not, it was time to adjust.
As I stood there, taking in the quiet of my new room, my mom walked in, carrying a few of my boxes. She set them down with a soft grunt, her eyes scanning the room, the slight smile on her lips not quite reaching her eyes.
"Don't forget to pick out something nice for your first day," she said, her voice almost too bright. "You want to make a good impression."
I nodded absently, but inside, I wasn’t sure I was ready for any kind of impression.
"Okay," I muttered, still staring at my new surroundings, already feeling out of place.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the box of clothes in front of me, and sighed. My fingers hovered over the fabrics, each piece a reminder of the life I’d left behind. The familiar smell of Montana—pine, dust, and rain—was nowhere to be found in this house, just the sterile scent of fresh paint and new furniture.
I pulled out a few shirts, each one seeming too bright, too bold, for the dullness I felt inside. Nothing felt like me. Nothing felt like home.
I reached for a black turtleneck, something simple, understated. I’d wear that.
But then, I paused. Should I try harder? Should I go with something more “California,” like the bright colors I had seen in the stores back home? The idea of standing out, drawing attention, seemed like the last thing I wanted, but I couldn’t deny a part of me longed to fit in here—at least for a little while.
I tossed the turtleneck back into the box and grabbed a soft, purple sweater instead. Simple, clean, but also warm. I would need it. California might be known for its sunshine, but from what I’d seen of this town, it didn’t feel like it was going to warm me up anytime soon.
For pants, I picked out a pair of skinny jeans. They were comfortable, something I knew I could sit in all day without feeling too tight, too restricted. I could do this. I could get through one day.
But, the thought of walking into school tomorrow, facing a sea of unfamiliar faces, was enough to make me want to stay hidden in this room forever.
But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
I just had to survive tomorrow. One day at a time.
And maybe, just maybe, seeing Brooke again would help.
The sunlight poured through the half-open blinds, casting a warm golden glow across my room. The chirping of birds outside was the first thing that greeted me. I rolled over, groaning, and looked at the clock—7:15 AM. Great, my first day at a new school, and I was already awake before the alarm.
I dragged myself out of bed and quickly splashed water on my face. The familiar feeling of my mom's voice calling from downstairs made my stomach twist. I hadn’t even had time to process this big change yet, let alone get ready for it. But there it was, my first day of a new life, and I had to get up and face it.
I rummaged through the small pile of clothes I’d brought from Montana, still trying to figure out what this "California" version of me was supposed to look like. I had no idea what was cool here, or what would even fit in. Nothing felt right. But I pulled together a simple outfit: a loose purple sweater and some black skinny jeans, still unsure of how I would look or feel walking into that new school. At least it was a start.
As I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, I heard a knock at the door. “Savvy, honey, are you up?” Mom called from the hallway.
“Yeah,” I muttered, trying to make my voice sound like I had it together, but it didn’t work. I was still trying to piece this all together, from the new house to the new school. I just didn’t feel like me anymore.
She came in, holding a pile of folded clothes. “Gregory helped me find the school online. He thinks it’s going to be a good fit for you. They have some really great programs for people who want to get involved in extracurriculars, too.”
I nodded, my thoughts still racing. Gregory had been the one to research the school, pick the house, and everything else. Mom seemed so happy about it all, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being a stranger in my own life.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to sound sincere. I could feel my stomach knotting up. I wasn't sure if it was the thought of meeting new people or the pressure of being the new girl—probably both.
Mom smiled at me, then looked me over with a critical eye. “You’ll look great, I’m sure. Don’t stress. Just take it one step at a time.”
Easier said than done.Once she left, I stood there in front of my full-length mirror, trying to imagine myself walking into that school. Would it be like Montana? Would it feel familiar? Or was I just another face in the crowd here?
A sigh escaped my lips, and I grabbed my jacket. Whatever came next, I had to go through it.
I stepped into the kitchen, and instantly, the warm scent of potato pancakes hit me—comforting and familiar, though I couldn’t quite shake the feeling of disconnection. Mom had gone all out. The bratwurst sizzling on the stove brought a wave of nostalgia, the way it always had back in Montana. I sank into the chair, taking a bite of the golden pancakes, the texture soft and fluffy, coated in a light dusting of powdered sugar. It was delicious, but it didn't soothe the unsettled feeling in my stomach.
After finishing my breakfast, I slid my feet into my boots, the soft leather cold against my skin. Mom had already pulled on her jacket, ready to go. Her movements were quick, purposeful. As I followed her outside, I caught a glimpse of Gregory's sleek Tesla parked in the driveway, polished and pristine, its smooth curves reflecting the morning sun. I felt a pang of envy. He had everything—everything Mom seemed to want—while I was stuck in the faded, chipped minivan that had served us for years. The doors creaked as I climbed into the passenger seat, the leather seat worn from years of use.
Mom didn’t seem to notice my quiet frustration as she slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting her mirrors before starting the engine with a dull roar. “You’re going to love your school,” she said, her voice filled with optimism. She glanced at me briefly, and I forced a smile, even though I wasn’t so sure about this new chapter of my life. The van’s engine hummed steadily, but it felt out of sync with my thoughts. How could I love a place that felt so foreign to me?
The drive to the school was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space as I stared out the window. Back in Montana, schools were simple—one big building with the occasional portable tacked on for overflow. But this? It was sprawling, like a small campus. Multiple buildings connected by tidy walkways, all framed by trimmed hedges and clean stone paths. It felt more like a private university than a high school. My stomach twisted as Mom pulled into the drop-off circle.
I looked around, trying to orient myself. Students were everywhere, their voices blending into an excited hum. Most of them looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine—perfectly styled hair, designer clothes, and an air of confidence that I could never hope to fake. My gaze darted to a group of girls near a fountain, their laughter cutting through the noise. They were dressed in sleek skirts and expensive tops, their shoes pristine even on the gravel paths. Not far from them, a cluster of boys tossed a football back and forth, their easy camaraderie evident in their booming laughs and playful shoves.
As I walked farther onto the campus, I noticed smaller groups scattered about. There were the artists, easily identified by their paint-splattered jeans and sketchbooks tucked under their arms. The techies sat in a corner, their heads bent over laptops and gadgets. The athletes, loud and energetic, seemed to own the space near the gym. It was like each clique had its own territory, perfectly defined and utterly intimidating.
Then, I spotted it—a long line of students waiting at a table beneath a banner that read “Schedule Pick-Up.” My stomach tightened. I swallowed the lump in my throat and headed toward it, each step feeling heavier than the last.
The closer I got, the more I noticed the details. The table was draped in the school’s emblem, a crest embroidered with gold and navy thread. The staff behind it wore matching polo shirts, their smiles professional but impersonal. The line moved slowly, giving me plenty of time to absorb the fact that everyone else seemed to know what they were doing. Girls in trendy outfits exchanged knowing glances, boys chatted easily, and I stood there, an outsider with no idea how to fit in.
I adjusted my bag, suddenly hyper-aware of how out-of-place it looked—faded canvas, a far cry from the sleek leather backpacks slung over the shoulders of the students around me. The girl in front of me turned briefly, her eyes flicking over me before she offered a tight-lipped smile and turned back. It wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t welcoming either.
I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the nerves twisting in my stomach. It was just a line. Just a schedule. But it felt like the first test I was already failing.
I scanned the crowd again, my eyes catching on a trio of girls who seemed to dominate the space around them without even trying. Each of them looked like they had stepped out of a fashion editorial, their appearances curated with an almost maddening level of precision. The first girl stood with a relaxed elegance, her curly blonde hair catching the sunlight as though it had been styled moments ago by a professional. Her outfit though, made me wonder if this was a high school or some night club. She wore a cheetah print halter top, just a little too low cut. Her shorts, just barely long enough to cover up what mattered, were a dark blue,adorned with a studded belt and playboy bunny details. What stood out to me the most was her black platform boots. Her accessories gleamed subtly: small gold hoops, a thin chain bracelet, and a designer clutch that seemed effortless in her manicured hand. Her nails were almond-shaped and painted a pale blue, blending refinement with a casual charm. She was the picture of grace, even as she adjusted her sunglasses with a practiced gesture. The second girl had a different kind of energy—bold and striking, with straight brown hair that shimmered with golden-brown highlights in the sun. Her outfit balanced casual with an edge: a cropped top that showcased her toned stomach, paired with tight flare jeans that hugged her figure and flared dramatically at the ankles. The back pockets of her jeans sparkled with a rhinestone pattern, and her expensive white sneakers were impossibly clean, their designer logo catching the light with each step she took. She leaned slightly on one hip, exuding a confident ease, her smile a little sharper, like she knew she was being watched and didn’t mind in the least.
Then there was the third girl. She was striking, an undeniable focal point of the group. Her bright blonde hair fell in sleek sheets down her back, the kind of perfect, glossy texture that hair commercials aspired to. Her outfit hit the sweet spot between chic and playful: a low-cut, string-tied pink halter top that highlighted her figure, paired with low-rise, light bluish-grey cargo flare pants that added an effortless cool. She wore black-and-pink DC shoes, each detail of the bold design gleaming as if brand new. Around her neck hung a delicate Vivienne Westwood necklace, a subtle yet unmistakable nod to her wealth. Completing the look was a pink, bedazzled handbag that she carried as if it were an extension of her hand. Her nails, a shiny shade of baby pink, were shaped to perfection, matching the soft sheen of her expertly blended makeup. Together, they were immaculate. Their hair, nails, and makeup were flawless, the kind of perfection that didn’t come cheap. They looked like they spent hours being pampered and prepped by the best salons money could buy. Their laughter—sharp and melodic—carried through the air, catching the attention of anyone nearby. It wasn’t just their appearance that set them apart; it was the way they held themselves, as if they knew the world bent a little in their favor. I lingered for a moment too long, staring, before I quickly turned my gaze back toward the schedule table. These weren’t just girls; they were a whole different world, one I wasn’t sure I’d ever belong to.
I tugged at the hem of my simple sweater, suddenly all too aware of how plain it was. Compared to the shimmering rhinestones, glossy fabrics, and effortless elegance of everyone around me, I felt... invisible. Back in Montana, my wardrobe had been enough. There, people didn’t care about labels or designer tags. Here, it was like everyone had stepped straight out of a fashion catalog, each outfit carefully curated to scream status.
Even the way they walked was different—confidence radiated off them like a second skin, as though the world owed them its attention. My shoes, comfortable but scuffed from years of use, felt loud against the polished pavement as I shuffled forward in the schedule line. I wondered if I’d made a mistake wearing them. Would they notice? Would they care?
This school wasn’t just new; it felt like another planet. The sprawling campus, with its separate buildings and lush courtyards, was nothing like the one-building school I’d grown up with in Montana. Back home, you knew everyone’s name, their siblings, their dogs, their favorite ice cream flavors. Here, I doubted anyone even noticed I was standing in line. Or maybe they did, but just long enough to judge me and move on.
I kept glancing back at the trio of girls, their bright laughter slicing through the buzz of morning chatter. They looked so at ease, like they belonged to this world in a way I never could. The truth was, I didn’t belong. Not here, not in this fancy new school, not in Gregory’s polished house. Montana might not have been perfect, but it was home. It was where I knew who I was. Now? I wasn’t sure of anything.
I couldn’t help myself; my eyes lingered on the them again, my curiosity a strange mix of awe and unease. Their presence was magnetic, pulling my attention even as I told myself to look anywhere else. The girl with the curly blonde hair casually reached into her designer bag, her movements languid and precise. The other two shifted subtly, their postures aligning to form a sort of shield around her, blocking her from prying eyes.
I frowned, craning my neck slightly, unsure what I was seeing. My breath hitched as a thin wisp of smoke curled upward from the small circle they formed. The faint, sweet-smelling haze spiraled above their heads, catching the sunlight like a signal to anyone paying attention.
Was that... allowed here? My stomach twisted as I glanced around the courtyard, half expecting a teacher or security guard to come charging over. But no one seemed to notice—or care. Other students were laughing, chatting, and gathering in small groups, as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
The girls exchanged a quick laugh, the sound so carefree and deliberate, as if this was just another part of their untouchable world. I shifted my weight uncomfortably, wondering how rules could seem to bend for people like them while the rest of us tiptoed on eggshells.
I shuffled forward in the line, clutching the strap of my bag like it was the only solid thing in this unfamiliar world. The person in front of me grabbed their schedule and hurried off, leaving me face-to-face with a tired-looking woman seated behind a folding table. She barely glanced up before handing me a crisp piece of paper and a folded map of the campus.
“Next,” she muttered, already addressing the person behind me.
Stepping out of the way, I unfolded the schedule and map, staring at the clutter of names, numbers, and arrows.
First period: English Literature.
Room 214.
The words seemed straightforward enough, but the map was a different story. Buildings sprawled across the paper like some labyrinthine puzzle. I squinted at the tiny labels—“North Hall,” “South Hall,” “Student Center”—but nothing aligned in my brain. Back in Montana, we’d had one big school building; here, it looked like I’d need a GPS just to make it to class on time.
With a sigh, I refolded the map and tucked it into my bag. I found my locker number printed near the bottom of the schedule: #372. At least that was something tangible I could focus on. I scanned the hallway signs, my sneakers squeaking slightly on the glossy floor as I walked. Eventually, I spotted the row of numbers and zeroed in on mine.
Just as I reached the locker, I noticed two girls standing nearby, deep in conversation.
One had deep brown hair that fell pin-straight, almost too perfect to be natural. She wore a soft cream sweater tucked into a plaid skirt, paired with black tights and glossy Mary Janes that clicked faintly as she shifted her weight. Her entire outfit screamed “effortlessly chic.”
The other girl had lighter, curly brown hair that framed her face in soft, unruly waves. Her outfit was a stark contrast: a loose white off-the-shoulder top paired with pajama pants that trailed slightly on the ground, and tan Ugg slippers that looked like they’d been worn to death. Despite the casualness of her look, she carried herself with a kind of quiet confidence.
Their voices floated toward me as I fiddled with my locker combination, trying not to eavesdrop but unable to help but catch snippets.
“So your first period is in South Hall?” the straight-haired girl asked, her tone light but clearly engaged.
“Yeah,” the other replied, pulling out her phone to check something. “At least I think it is. The map is a nightmare.”
“You’ll figure it out,” the first one reassured, offering a small smile.
As I glanced their way again, the straight-haired girl caught my eye. Her gaze flicked over me, taking in my probably too-basic outfit and the obvious confusion written across my face.
“Hey,” she called out, her voice warm and inviting. “You look like you might need a little help.”
For a moment, I froze. The invitation was unexpected, and I didn’t want to come off as hopelessly lost—but the relief of being noticed outweighed my hesitation.
“Uh, yeah,” I admitted, clutching the paper in my hand. “I’m trying to make sense of this.”
The straight-haired girl’s expression softened as she stepped a little closer. “It’s okay to be confused,” she said, her voice calm and understanding. “This place is like a maze, even for people who’ve been here a while.” She tilted her head curiously. “Are you new?”
“Yeah,” I replied, feeling slightly more at ease. “I just moved here—from Montana. I’m Savannah.”
“Angelina,” she introduced herself, offering a friendly smile before gesturing to the other girl beside her. “And this is Genevieve.”
Genevieve gave me a quick nod, her relaxed posture and easygoing vibe almost contagious.
“Well, Savannah,” Angelina continued, glancing at the schedule in my hand, “let’s see what you’re dealing with.” She reached out, and I handed it over, grateful for the help.
Angelina scanned the paper for a moment, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing slightly as she studied the room numbers and times. “Okay, good news,” she said, glancing up at me with a smile. “We’ve got the same first period—Mrs. Pendleton’s in North Hall. I can show you the way if you want.”
“That’d be great, thanks,” I said, relief flooding through me. I glanced at Genevieve, who was scrolling on her phone, clearly still listening but less concerned about schedules and logistics.
“No problem,” Angelina said, her tone breezy as she handed back the schedule. “Let me just finish helping Genevieve figure out her first period, and we’ll head out. Trust me, you’ll get the hang of it here in no time.”
Genevieve let out a dramatic sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I wish they’d give us a whole day just to figure these stupid schedules out,” she complained, her voice carrying a distinct, faintly British lilt that caught me off guard. It wasn’t heavy, but it was there, rounding out her vowels in a way that made her words sound almost melodic.
“Seriously,” Angelina agreed with a small laugh, glancing at Genevieve. “You’d think they’d know how overwhelming this is, especially for people who are new—or people who don’t even know where their first class is yet.”
Angelina’s head snapped toward the hallway just as the trio of girls I saw earlier strutted in, instantly drawing the eyes of nearly every student around. They were unmistakable, their aura demanding attention, even without trying.
I followed her gaze, my eyes locking on them.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, furrowing my brow.
“That,” Angelina muttered, her voice dripping with a mix of distaste and exasperation, “is Rachel, Alicia, and Brooke. And trust me, they’re the three biggest bitches you’ll ever meet.”
Genevieve continued, her voice laced with bitterness. “Rachel? Ugh, don’t even get me started. She’s the biggest gossip in this school. You’ll never find out anything without her knowing about it first. I’ve heard rumors she’s a major nicotine addict. She’s always got a vape or a pack of cigarettes on her—always hiding it under the table in the cafeteria.” She sneered. “And she’s always jumping from one relationship to another, just for the drama. If you’re not talking about her latest ‘thing,’ you’re just not in the loop. And, well, she’s Brooke’s right-hand woman.”
I stared at Rachel, who was busy flicking her hair and laughing with the other girls, trying to process all of this. "She sounds... like a lot."
Genevieve gave a dry chuckle. “Oh, believe me, she’s a lot. And, fun fact—Rachel’s my cousin,” she added with a roll of her eyes, as if that was the most annoying thing about her.
“Your cousin?” I raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“Yeah. It’s a family curse,” Genevieve muttered, looking at Rachel with an expression that was anything but fond.
Angelina leaned in, shaking her head. “And don’t even get me started on Alicia. She’s super sweet... in the most annoying way possible. Like, she’s always pretending to be this innocent little airhead, but trust me, she’s not.” She paused for a second, a knowing smirk on her lips. “She’s a massive liar. I’ve seen her lie about the dumbest things just to get attention. If she says she got a new pet bunny, you bet that bunny probably doesn’t even exist.”
Genevieve laughed, her eyes rolling in the direction of Alicia, who was now hopping around and spinning in circles. “I swear, Alicia could get caught in a lie about which color the sky is. She’s always all over the place—looks like she’s daydreaming half the time. But that doesn’t stop her from pretending she knows everything.”
I glanced over at Alicia, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if she was serious about anything.
Angelina, seeming a little more annoyed, then turned her attention to the third girl—the one who, despite standing a few feet away, still managed to command the most space. “And then, there’s Brooke.” She spat the name like it was a bitter taste she couldn’t swallow.
Genevieve added with a scoff, “She’s literally the richest girl in school. I swear she funds everything. The library? Named after her family. The school’s sports program? Probably thanks to her parents.” She shook her head, her expression venomous. “She’s on the cheer team, has over 100k followers on Instagram—like she’s some kind of influencer or whatever. Picture-perfect. Perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect everything.”
Angelina cut in, almost mocking her. “But don’t get too close. If she even acknowledges you, it’s a gift from the gods.”
I frowned. “She sounds like... a piece of work.”
Genevieve grinned. “Oh, she is. You think that’s bad? There’s a rumor going around that when she got caught underage drinking a while ago, her parents just bought her out of the charges. I mean, it’s pretty obvious she’s got everyone wrapped around her finger.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Wait, really?”
“Oh, yeah,” Angelina replied with a shrug. “Money talks. But don’t even try to talk to her unless you want to get your feelings crushed. She doesn’t waste her time on anyone who isn’t ‘useful’ to her.”
Genevieve rolled her eyes again, glancing over at Rachel as she giggled with the other girls. “And Rachel? Don’t get me started. She’s the school’s biggest slut. Jumping from one guy to the next, acting like she’s the queen of it all. Honestly, I don’t even know how she gets away with half of the stuff she does. If she’s not hopping from relationship to relationship, she’s busy telling everyone about it like it’s some kind of achievement.”
Angelina added, a smirk curling at the corners of her lips. “Honestly, she’s just a walking drama show. She’s like a magnet for attention, but in the worst way. Always stirring up something, always acting like she’s so innocent, but we all know the truth.”
Genevieve chuckled darkly. “She’s basically known for being a man-eater. She doesn’t care who she hurts just as long as she’s getting what she wants. I bet half the guys here have been used and discarded by her, but it’s whatever.”
I stood frozen for a moment, still watching the trio make their way toward their lockers. Brooke, Rachel, and Alicia moved in synchronized steps, the way they effortlessly commanded attention like they had done this a thousand times before. It wasn’t until they were about halfway down the hall that something clicked in my mind.
I watched Brooke’s confident walk, the toss of her hair, and her unbothered attitude. Then it hit me like a cold shower.
“Wait, what’s her last name?” I blurted, my voice nearly lost in the noise of the hallway.
Genevieve gave me an odd look, one eyebrow arched. “Hayes.”
My heart skipped.
“Brooke Hayes?” I repeated, barely recognizing my own voice. That was it. I had a flashback to our childhood, to those days when we were inseparable—before she left. Brooklyn Hayes. How had I not made the connection sooner?
“That’s... that’s the Brooke I grew up with.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
My heart raced as I processed the revelation. Brooke Hayes. The Brooke Hayes I had grown up with—my childhood best friend who had left Montana without a word. I remembered our endless summer days, playing in the creek behind my house, making friendship bracelets, and talking about our dreams. How had I not recognized her? It felt like the world had just shifted beneath me.
Genevieve gave me a sidelong glance, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. “The one you grew up with, huh? Well, good luck with that.” She shrugged, looking disinterested, but there was something in her voice that made me wonder if there was more to Brooke's story than I knew.
I stared at Brooke, who was now at her locker, flicking her hair over her shoulder in that same, familiar, flawless way. Her back was turned to me, but I could feel her presence like a magnetic pull. Memories of our past—our friendship—rushed back, but so did the anxiety. What would she think of me now? Would she even remember me?
"Yeah, good luck," Genevieve repeated, snapping me back to reality. "Brooke doesn't exactly have a long list of people she wants to hang out with these days. She’s… different."
Angelina, who had been quietly observing, added with a raised eyebrow, “She’s like... the queen of this school, you know. The Hayes name is everything here.”
I shook my head, trying to block out Genevieve and Angelina’s warnings. I knew they were just trying to protect me, but something about the way they talked about Brooke made me feel like they didn’t understand. Sure, she might’ve changed, but this was still the girl I grew up with, the girl who used to make me laugh until my stomach hurt. How could she have turned into... this?
As the group moved down the hallway, their laughter echoing like a pack of wolves, I pushed through the crowd to catch up. I wasn’t going to let them control the narrative of who Brooke was to me. The hallway was a maze of lockers, bustling students, and the hum of voices, but all I could focus on was the cluster of girls ahead. The trio.
Rachel and Alicia were too wrapped up in their conversation to notice me, but Brooke... she was standing a little further from them, her back slightly turned as she fiddled with something in her locker. This was it. I was finally close enough to make her see me.
“Brooke!” I called, hoping my voice didn’t shake as I stepped toward her. The sound of my own heartbeat was almost deafening in my ears.
Brooke turned her head slowly, locking eyes with me for a brief second before looking me up and down with that signature disgusted gaze. It was like I was nothing more than a passing fly, unimportant and irritating.
“Who the fuck are you?” she asked, her voice dripping with annoyance as she flicked her hair over her shoulder, clearly unbothered.
I stood frozen for a moment, trying to process the icy indifference in her voice. "Brooke, it’s me... Savannah. Don’t you—?”
She blinked at me, her face completely blank. "Uh... do I know you?" she asked, her tone so condescending that it made my chest tighten. She glanced over at her friends, barely acknowledging my existence.
I could feel a growing lump in my throat. “Brooke, come on. We used to be best friends, remember? Movie nights, sleepovers, all of it...”
Brooke rolled her eyes, leaning back against the locker. “Sorry, babe. Don’t know who you’re talking about. Must’ve been someone else.”
Rachel, who had been casually watching from behind her, let out a snort of laughter. “Ouch, that’s gotta sting,” she said loudly as if it were some sort of joke. She had an accent, just like Genevieve.
I could feel the eyes of other students on me, the whispers starting to rise around us. My stomach turned, the reality of the situation hitting me like a ton of bricks. Brooke wasn’t just ignoring me; she was acting like she didn’t even care.
“Are you seriously acting like you don’t remember me?” My voice was quieter now, barely above a whisper, but the words still hung in the air, hanging between us like an unspoken truth.
She didn’t flinch. “Whatever, babe. Not interested. Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The sting of rejection burned deep, deeper than I had ever expected. I couldn’t understand it. This wasn’t the girl I used to know—the one who had once shared secrets and laughed with me in the middle of the night. But now... now she barely even remembered my name.
I took another step forward, my voice cracking slightly. “Brooke, please. It’s me... We—”
She cut me off once again, her expression showing no trace of recognition. “Honestly, I don’t know who you think I am, but I really don’t have time for this.”
And just like that, she turned her attention back to her locker, completely dismissing me as if I never mattered at all.
I stood there, my heart sinking into my stomach as the hall seemed to close in on me. The sound of laughter from Brooke’s group echoed in the distance as Rachel and Alicia whispered to each other, clearly entertained by the scene unfolding in front of them. The whispers turned into soft chuckles, and I could hear them growing louder, more pointed.
My throat was tight, and I felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up my neck, but I couldn’t back down now. I had to say something, do something—anything to make this feel less like a nightmare.
But before I could muster the strength to speak, a cold voice came from behind me, sharp and cutting. “You really think she’s going to remember you, huh?”
I turned to see Genevieve standing there, her arms crossed over her chest, her face twisted into a mix of pity and annoyance. “She’s not the same person, Savannah. You have to realize that.”
The words hit harder than I expected, but there was no denying the truth in them. Maybe I had been holding onto some foolish hope that things would go back to the way they were. But this wasn’t Montana anymore. This wasn’t the Brooke I remembered.
I glanced back at Brooke one last time, but she wasn’t looking. She was already deep in conversation with Rachel and Alicia, completely absorbed in her own world.
And I felt completely invisible.
As I stood there, feeling more humiliated with every passing second, Rachel’s voice cut through the air like a blade.
“Oh! Ginny,” she called out, drawing the attention of anyone nearby, her voice dripping with that condescending sweetness. “Are you friends with the new girl? That’s cute. You’ve always liked the fat and ugly ones.” She let out a fake, saccharine laugh, her eyes flicking from Genevieve to me with a smirk that could’ve made anyone shiver.
Genevieve’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t answer immediately. I could feel the heat rising in my face. The sting of Rachel’s words was like acid, burning through my skin. I wanted to say something back, something that would hurt her like she hurt me, but my voice was caught in my throat. I was still processing the coldness of Brooke’s dismissal. Rachel’s comment was like the final push, sending me spiraling into a place I didn’t want to be.
But Genevieve, to her credit, wasn’t about to let Rachel have the last word. She shot Rachel a glare that could’ve frozen anyone in place.
“What the hell is your problem, Rachel?” Genevieve snapped back, her voice firm and unwavering. “Why don’t you take your little insults somewhere else?”
Rachel shrugged, tossing her hair back in an exaggerated motion. “Oh, come on, Ginny. You know I’m just joking,” she said, but the venom was still clear in her words. “Some people are just too sensitive, I guess.”
A chuckle from Alicia was enough to make my blood run cold, and I felt their eyes on me, all of them sharing that same cruel amusement. But I wasn’t going to let them see me break, not in front of them. I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. The hallway felt suffocating, like it was shrinking around me, and I wanted nothing more than to escape.
Genevieve took a step forward, her stance protective, but I knew she wouldn’t be able to shield me from everything. Not from the whispers, not from the pointed stares, not from the suffocating weight of the social battlefield I’d just walked into.
Genevieve stood tall, her posture hardening as she glared at Rachel, unflinching. "You should probably work on keeping your legs closed, Rachel," she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You’re not exactly setting a great example for anyone, are you?" The words hung in the air, as sharp as the look she gave Rachel, daring her to retort.
Rachel’s smirk faltered for a moment, but it didn’t take long before she shrugged, feigning indifference. “Whatever, Ginny. No one’s perfect,” she muttered, before turning her attention back to her usual audience.
Genevieve didn’t back down, but with a frustrated sigh, she grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the confrontation.
Genevieve led me back toward Angelina, her hand a steadying force on my arm as she guided me through the bustling hallway. My mind buzzed with what had just happened—Brooke’s rejection, the way Rachel had mocked me, and the feeling that the whole school was silently judging my every move.
When we reached Angelina, she didn’t hesitate to meet my eyes, her soft smile offering a sense of calm in the storm I was feeling.
"Don’t let them get to you," she said quietly, her voice low but unwavering. "They’re not worth your time."
Her words hung in the air, simple yet powerful, and for a brief moment, I believed them.
I nodded, taking a deep breath, my pulse still racing. "Thanks," I murmured, though I didn’t feel any less vulnerable. The hallway, the school—it felt like a foreign land, and I was standing in the middle of it, unsure if I’d ever find my place. But with their reassurance, I clung to the hope that maybe things could get better.
Angelina glanced at her watch, her expression shifting slightly. "We’ve only got a few minutes before English," she said, her voice smooth but laced with quiet urgency. "We should get going."
I nodded, realizing how quickly time had passed in the chaos of the morning. The weight of everything—Brooke, the weird tension with her friends, the unfamiliarity of the school—settled back into my chest as we moved toward the classroom. It was like stepping into the next chapter of a book I wasn’t sure I was ready to read.