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.
“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.
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?
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