Chapter Three: Cassidy

The librarian leads me into a storage room filled with manila file folders, all neatly organized into little rows. The room smells like fresh paint, and I see why: The walls are an odd khaki, which, if my suspicions are correct, means that they are newly painted.

“Here. Blog Identifications.” She hands me a skinny folder filled with yellowing paper. “Good luck finding the one you’re looking for.” This doesn’t reassure me much, but I continue with my mission despite her uncaring attitude.

I tear it open, and all the sheets fall out.

“Take it to your next class,” she says, grunting while trying to stifle her laughing, “Or you’ll be late.”

The bell rings just as I clack loudly into Mr. Ebderhart’s Advanced AP English class.

Jess, my Gamma, gazes upon Mr. Ebderhart with a look that moreover proves her major love for him. I don’t really see why he is considered attractive, because middle-aged men don’t appeal to me, but I guess that she can make that decision for herself. I don’t want to be the nagging Alpha, of course!

When I’ve passed up my verb conjugation homework up, he lectures us on the upcoming Poetry Frenzy. I take out the folder and breeze through the pages.

“1981, 1987, 1991, 2003, 2011, 2012,” I reach the desired page. I browse through webnames until I come across the late Bs.

“BJhummus1, Bjorkennsenthethird, Blackrose,”  I look across the row for student name confirmation, my fingers jittery with excitement.

“Student name...” it’s whited out. Of course! Why wouldn’t it be? I look closer, and see that they missed some of the name, probably in haste. It reads, ‘ose Da’, at least from what I can make out. I only think of the Titanic’s Rose Dawson, but that’s not even her real name!

I find Marigold’s Student Name, and it is whited-out as well.

After class ends, I rush to the library for our 30-minute study hall.

“Two of the names on this list are whited out on this list, Mrs. Lynx,” I report.

“How do I know that you didn’t white them out? You seem like the type to want to insult people in secret. Anyways, why should I care? It’s not vandalism, and I’m not an investigator. Leave me alone.” She snatches the file from my hands, whacking her tortoiseshell glasses off of her lumpy nose. I barely stifle a giggle.

“Ha-ha. Very funny, Cassidy Virginia Clark.” I whip around to find Ebony Darkwood staring right at me, holding a sharp nail at my throat as though to say, “Get lost.”

I push it away, holding her gaze.

“Are you a hair follicle, Ebony?”

“No.” She blows her bangs out of her dark eyes.

“Then why are you in my face?” In a snap, she moves away. Quickly enough she retaliates.

“Fuzz-legs.”

“Fake-tan.”

It’s obvious that my study time is over, because I know that what I do next to this tough-as-rubies Beta with this crowd gathered around is more like a final exam.

Chapter Two: Golda Cerulean

I am the observer. At least, that’s how I feel as I watch the ever-sparkly Cassidy Clark prance around, handing out the perfect little pamphlets involving her “Sassy Sixteen”.

“Oh, look now. Now she’s playing chase with Darryl Foster.” Violet, my Gamma, says in an obnoxious singsongy voice from my right side, her smokey blue eyes glancing back down at her book.
I’m icily silent as I watch Cassidy enter our school from across the lawn. My best friends and I, classified as the top clique the Pitchforks, lounge about on one of the front ground’s circular tables, reading, doing homework (probably just Ebony, who cares about her grades more than really anything), and talking in a friendly manner.
But not me, Golda Fleur Cerulean. I sharply observe my fellow high schoolers, the ones that actually matter, of course; people like Zee Tulip, Jess Opie, Charlotte Cross, and, most importantly, Cassidy Virginia Clark. Showing no indication of my presence, Cassidy struts inside, laughing with a cheerleader whom she just bestowed one of her “Golden Tickets” upon.

“I’m guessing we’re not going.” Ebony says blatantly, reading my thoughts yet again.

For the first time in thirty minutes, my head wheels around to look at my Beta and best friend in shock. “Do I sense waves of pessimism?” I ask angrily in my very British accent, leaning back in the bench while crossing my leather-clad arms.

Ebony’s onyx eyes narrow. “No. It’s just logic. We’re going to be the only important people not there, and that’s because we’re her worst enemies. Where are we going to be on the social ladder after the party, Golda?”

Violet laughs while I try to even out my breathing. I have been thinking about this for a while. A very long while. Cassidy’s bashes are always huge, if not sometimes a bit too pre-planned and tight for some’s liking. Cassidy, living in a four-story house in the Chicago suburbs, has a lot of money for all the party rubbish of her liking, and she always invites exactly 200 people. When she was 13, it was 150. But when she was 14, it was 200. It has been since then. She doesn’t like to yammer about stuff like that she’s planned, but I know because her mom says so.
“Eb, we’ll be just fine.” I say lamely, but before I can say more Ebony and Violet start laughing hysterically, Violet slamming her fists on the table for proof of her bafflement.
“Oh, Golda, that’s funny.” Ebony’s tone suddenly turns as dark as her eyes. “The only reason the Pitchforks stayed on the social map last year was because a group of losers crashed C’s 15th birthday party.”
“Making it less enjoyable.” Violet unnecessarily states, tucking a bit of dirty blond hair behind her ear.
“Meaning that, if this year’s party is as perfect as Cassidy is acting like it will be, we’ll be dead.” Eb smirks, her dark pouty lips suddenly looking in need of a glossing.
I manage to get in a word before Violet does. “Come on, Eb. Just trust me on this. I won’t let you down.”
Chuckling at her wordless response, I get up from the table, muttering about how it’s about time to get to class. The clique ignores its Alpha as she swaggers into the building alone, her five-inch Prada heels clicking on the linoleum. I don’t look back, but I know they’re talking about comeback plans for after the party. Knowing that they can’t see me now, I straighten my ever-present tiara perched atop my dark locks and fix my shirt.
After hitting my crimson locker to grab my stuff, I stumble into the school’s warm and humid greenhouse a bit early. Just as I’m thinking about how nice it is in here and how much I’m going to be distracted during class, my best buddy walks up to the mahogany workspace in front of me and slaps down three shiny envelopes like me at a Starbucks with a fresh twenty.
This is when Ebony chooses to arrive in class, seeing Cassidy Clark and Golda Cerulean sharing smiles and a casual conversation. I can’t tell if she’s panicking about the complete wrongness of this picture.
I quickly slide the invitations off the table and into the inside pocket of my pure leather jacket as my Beta glares at Cassidy.
“What are you doing here?” Eb asks, distributing the danger in her tone as she taps her long fingernails on the table.
Oh no. I say mentally. Don’t break down.
Luckily, Cassidy remains cool as she sarcastically apologises and ambles away, over to her own table where she automatically starts up a conversation with her science partner, whom I recognise as the Halos’ Beta.
When I turn back to Ebony, she does not look amused. “So what was she doing over here?” She asks calmly... Or as calmly as a snake would hiss at you right before it snaps your ankle, injecting its venom into your bloodstream.
“I-I-I’ll tell you at lunch.” I stammer, shocked that the image in my head was related to my best friend of six years.
Ebony smirks at me, looking almost deadly, and I just about back up. “You better.”
She turns to her science textbook, and I sit in stunned silence. Well, that was a bit scary.
I can’t help but look back over at Cassidy and wonder--Why did we end up as enemies? Not that I don’t like being enemies with someone, I do, it’s just that a chain of events led up to me not liking Cassidy, then eventually hating. Then recently, being able to stand. Some of these events were uncontrollable. Some, or most of them, were completely freak chance. As for the constant ones, the ones that just had to happen, these probably wouldn’t have affected us at all. In fact, the ones that happened seemingly by accident, that’s what brought us together (then stretched apart, then gradually together again). Although we made up, those friendly yet dangerous bonds still have been so drawn out that there’s no way to net them together, no matter how many hours of girl talk and spa visits. That’s why we’ll never be friends. It just doesn’t work.

Sibling rivalry is an uncontrollable force, is it not?

Chapter One: Cassidy Clark

My name is Cassidy Virginia Clark. I don’t know how I escaped from the green Mini that my mom had me encased in for our 12-minute ride, but I doubt that it matters now. What matters now is presentation.

I straighten out my Ralph Lauren Collection Garnet skirt as I do a quick mirror check of clothes. Miu Miu beige kitten heels (free ankle)? Check. Skirt? Check. (Obvi!) Paris-purchased knit cowl-neck sweater in Noire (Black) with Marina (Navy) scarf at neck-base? Check. Skin-tight beige Silk Generation long sleeve underneath in case I get hot? I hope so! Oh yes... and my gem. My lucky gold glitter diamond. I never take it off. Today I need it. I finger for it...and soon it is encased in my palm.

I begin my walk across the pavement that glitters with cleanliness, handing out golden invitations to the chosen ones. They are bound by a simple purple ribbon and have glitter letters hand-drawn on them: ‘Open with Pride. Bragging Rights are Contained in this Envelope.’
One by one, they open their golden, glittering surprises. I turn around at just the right time to hear a symphony of oohs, aahs, and, “You’re so lucky!!”s. I smile at the recipients, and they begin deciding how they will make time to come to my party...and what the heck they will have to buy to please my clothing taste (for them to wear, not to buy for me. I despise presents.)
I choose the Darryl Foster Crowd to deliver to last. I hand him and two of his basketball teammates invites. (They are in forest green, tied with a black ribbon. I know how to invite a boy!)

“Cassidy, what is this?” Darryl asks playfully, smiling at me. The one thing that tipped me off a week ago about him being my kind of guy was that he always brushes his teeth.

“Find out yourself!” I yell, poking his shoulder. I kick off my shoes and grab his invite from him. He takes off as soon as I do. After playfully chasing me for a bit, Darryl grabs the envelope from me and tears it open.

“Later!” I call, and he tosses my shoes over. I catch them with one hand, yank them on, saunter up the steps, into the semi-crowded hallway, and to my locker.

As it swings open, I take out three more invitations. Even though they’re for Golda and her gang, I feel comfortable delivering them today. Today my word-of-the-day is DECISION.

“Hey, Cass,” Golda smirks at me, her dark hair shining under the sunlight in the greenhouse, where Science is being held today. I quickly lay down three Golden Tickets down on the mahogany workspace in front of her before she can say something witty.

“Just thought you’d like to cause some drama, Golda,” I wink. She winks back, which I take as an ‘opportunity waits for no woman’.

“You can’t expect me to arrive on time, though, “ She snarls at me in her slightly obnoxious poker face (I can’t tell if she’s playing or being serious) as her Beta arrives, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

“Hi, Cassidy.” she says, narrowing her eyes. “What are you doing over here?”

I want to kick myself. We both thought that our two cliques would finally make up after years of fighting, but now I see how wrong we were. Angels and demons aren’t meant to mix.

You see, Golda and I are the Alpha females of two rival cliques. I, the leader of the Halos, generally stay put in my comfort zone; being a good girl. Golda, however, isn’t scared to cause trouble.

Over winter break, Golda visited my four-story home in the suburbs for Christmas through New Year’s. Let’s just say that we bonded over mani-pedis and shopping. Now I know that it’s a bad idea to try to weld our valuable metals together.

Let’s just say that dark silver and gold don’t combine evenly. Not now, not soon.

I apologise while rolling my eyes, strutting away from their table as I take a seat at mine. I can sense them still staring at me but I ignore it.

Beep! My diamond-encased phone buzzes. I take it out of my pocket. The Blackberry 4Gs Dancer. Aah, the luxury of sonic-speed internet.

The Devil Queen is at it again, smoothly turning down Cassidy’s birthday invite with style. Only thing is, they exchanged more than invites over vacation. In fact, insiders have insight that the two rivals are now...friends?!? Check for more gossip by subscribing to our website!!

~Anonymously Personified, Marigold and Blackrose

The blogging queens are back, and this is the year that they get banished from the blogosphere... Or at least the one that matters.

I run up the the library’s front desk between periods and ask to see the school email database, in search for the bloggers’ names. When I find this out, they’re more dead that an Ermine Haute Elle scarf-wrap.