The morning air bites against my skin, sharp enough to wake but not sharp enough to matter. I stand at the edge of the curb, staring up at Wisteria High like it’s a cathedral built just for me.
Red brick, tall windows, banners snapping in the breeze - all of it waiting. Waiting for me to step inside and turn the day into something worth remembering.
Because today is not any day. Today I pull a thread and watch a girl’s life unravel, and the quiet exhale in my chest is not relief; it’s anticipation.
My lips curve. I savor the weight of the moment, the way it swells like a held breath. Students trickle through the frontdoors, their chatter spilling out in waves. They don’t know what’s coming. Not yet.
I push through the glass doors, knowing every single pair of eyes is going to be on me, just like always. As I strut past, they part ways, giving me space to truly glide.
The lobby lights turn my reflection into a haloed apparition as I pass the glass trophy case, and I don’t need to look to know my hair is immaculate, my posture sublime and my bone structure worthy of a literal goddess.
Kass peels herself off the wall near the attendance office as if she’s been there all morning. She always waits somewhere. She has lips like a valentine, and lashes like small domestic animals. She adores me in the manner some people adore a god—fearfully, imaginatively.
“You look insane,” she breathes, which is our code for perfect. “Your skin is like… are you actually airbrushed?”
“Sleep and money,” I say, flicking my hair.
My mother sang it through a tousled kiss before my driver opened the car door for me; perfect princess, don’t let the peasants scuff your shoes.
“Tell me,” Kass says, vibrating with gossip the way little dogs vibrate with excitement at a new bone. “What happened after I left? You texted those dots and I didn’t sleep.”
I tilt my head so my hair spills in a calculated, careless cascade, and we both pretend we don’t hear the stingy scrape of Ms. Little’s flats on the tile.
“Not here,” I murmur. I may play the game better than anyone, but I also know when to admit it and when I should play dumb. Right now, there are too many sycophants. Too many eyes.
She pushes me for more details, so I give her just another to tease.
“Maya Ortiz,” I whisper the name like a sugar cube dissolving on my tongue. It’s always more delicious to say it sweetly. “Poor thing had quite a night.”
Kass’s pupils expand. Maya is the new girl. Well, new this year anyway. She’s bookish, plump, and prim as hell. She’s the kind of girl who mistakes careful politeness as some sort of a shield. She thinks if she keeps her mouth shut and her head down, no one will bother her.
Such a shame she had to cross paths with me, isn’t it? Such a shame the stupid bitch took the last pink doughnut when I wanted it.
“What did you do?” Kass asks, the question itself an offering.
I grab her arm, yanking her into a nearby bathroom and tell all the girls inside to fuck off.
Kass watches them with equal amusement and amazement as they all duck their heads and do as they’re told. As soon as they’re gone I pull my phone from my bag, feeling my own excitement at the fact I’m about to show off my hard work.
Half the school must have seen it by now, but this will be the only time I can truly relish in my accomplishments.
For a moment, all you can hear on the video is laughter and bass shivering through someone’s already-ruined subwoofer. The phone’s camera lurches across the patio; showing fairy lights strung like entrails, a beer pyramid, the pool sparkling, before it finally settles on Maya.
Stupid fool was only too desperate to tag along when one of the boys messaged her. Of course, I encouraged him to do it. To flirt, to bring my little target out to play.
She’s smiling too hard, trying to be included. Her mouth forms a little pink oval around a red cup. She tips it, drinking the contents so easily. She doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t even question it. Why she’s here, why we invited her. But then, whywould she? People like her are raised to be trustful. It’s adorable. It’s pathetic too.
Kass inhales. “God.”
“She was thirsty,” I say. “I was generous.”
Kass cuts me a look; half-accusation, half-arousal. “Briar.”
“What?” I shrug, smirking. “I told her she looked pretty. I put my hand on her arm, and I slipped something in so easily it was barely worth the effort.”
On the screen the party’s noise cracks open into a different sound; Maya’s voice is wobbling between a laugh and cry, like a bowstring frayed and about to snap. Hands come into frame—not mine, obviously. I don’t need to get mine dirty when I have enough minions to do it for me.
There’s a silver flash of clippers and someone says “hold still” in a voice young men use when they’re pretending to be in charge. The sound of hair coming off is intimate in a way I wish I could bottle; a tiny, hungry buzz that begs for more, more, more.
