Ew. Ew. And Ew.

"Kamillah!" I whined, "Why do you have that picture of me up?"

Ninth grade conformist Amara looked out of the picture, her black hair in a conservative bun, her outfit altogether the blend-into-the-background kind. She was forgettable tucked under the arm of colourful, visibly brimming with personality Kamillah. The hair, outfit and the people who'd been cut out of the picture—those backstabbing, secret spilling, stepford clones who all looked exactly like old Amara—were all reasons I wished Kamillah'd let me burn the thing.

"I will never get over how cute the two of you were!" Lacey cooed.

Was she being sarcastic? No one liked or noticed the girl in that picture. That Amara had been a pretender, suffocating in a way of life forced on her by others.

Before I'd known how to be myself. Before I'd ditched the bullies in my life, who controlled things 'for my own good'. Before mermaid hair and chameleonic style changes had turned me from a noone to the most followed person at our school.

"We were all little cuties!" Kamillah squeezed my face. "Can you stop obsessing over this picture, Ames? It's ancient history, and frankly that little girl looks like her grandmother dressed her."

"She did." I grumbled. The thought of my Nani, and years of her conditioning me to be likeable and acceptable made me shudder. I'd dutifully done what she'd said, kowtowing to her, my relatives and my friends to keep them happy, to make them love me.

I shook the feeling off; I controlled things now, and I liked it that way. I looped my arm around Kamillah's, heading for my own locker. "And you're the one who insists on keeping it for me to obsess over."

"Because! That's our origin story, Ames!"

True, that was the only reason I hadn't destroyed the picture when she wasn't looking. It was the day Kamillah—back then, my newest friend—had shown me maybe friends could love you for who you truly were, and not because you were exactly like them.

Lacey side-hugged me. "That's the moment that our Amara emerged from her little cocoon and became the butterfly that gave so many the hope that we could be butterflies too!"

"Lacey, Honey, you were always a butterfly!" I laughed, gesturing at her glamorous makeup.

"True! But honestly, Ames, I love that your mission in life is helping girls be themselves. I wish I had that kind of confidence."

"Lace, you do."

"Sure, to be myself. But not enough confidence for everyone else. Everyone loves you! You have this kind of magic that makes people who have no business believing they're the shit believe they could be the shit! Aaaand, I just heard myself—maybe it's because you think before you talk?"

"Lacey, the motivational speaker!" Kamillah laughed as I yanked my locker open.

There was a small folded note on the shelf, my locker number written neatly on the top. While Kamillah and Lacey weren't paying attention, I unfolded it.

You'd like to kill her and I'd like to break her. Together we'll bring her down from her pedestal and make her wish she'd never been born. All contact will be through notes from now on. For this to work, we have to not know each other. Destroy note after reading.

Um, what? Glancing around at all the people who'd greeted me as I passed them in the hallway, I tried to see if anyone watched me. This had to be the work of Teddy, or one of the swim team guys who loved trying to scare me every Halloween. They were early this year.

"You done, Ames? We've got to go!"

Right. I jammed the note into my pocket. We all had clubs we needed to be at; I could plan getting back at the boys later.

-.-

"See you later Amara."

"Night, Alex." I called over my shoulder, running the rest of the way up the stairs after we separated. I hated how dark it was after Gem ended. The door at the top of the stairs was closed, and I slammed into it, shoving it open. I realised as my eyes adjusted to the dim power saving lighting that someone was at my locker. No. In my locker. Shaking out books and tossing my backpack, before running in the opposite direction.

Nope. Nope. Nope. I gripped the note in my pocket. If this was Teddy's doing, I would kick his ass! I stood there far too long, holding my breath. Move, Amara, get the heck out of here. I rushed to grab my things off the floor and ran from the school.

I spent the whole night awake, rereading the words that sent goosebumps creeping along my skin. The note was a little too clever for Teddy and that scared me. It wasn't meant for me, that much I knew. I was a Gem mentor, for fox sake; my whole thing was helping other girls, not tearing them down. It occurred to me the outside of the folded paper was neatly addressed, not to me, Amara Pierce, but to my locker; 166. Or, if I flipped it, 991.

Empty hallways hadn't bothered me before, but now they seemed sinister. Even in the morning, scurrying through school a little earlier than normal so I could check out locker 991, my heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. God, if it was this bad during the day, I'd need someone to stay after school with me every time I had Gem. What if they thought I read the note? What if they came after me?

I really hoped Teddy, Frankie or Mike would pop out of somewhere laughing about their prank. Except I saw them all and got nothing but sleepy greetings.

Fiddling with my phone, I watched the locker a little ways down from where I sat, but no one seemed to visit it. Eventually, I gave up. The trainwreck going on nearby was way more entertaining. Some poor sweet boy asked Eden McLaren out. She was so cold, she made my friend Cece and her permanently attached bestie, Michelle, seem like the sweethearts they weren't.

"Me? Go out with you? Have you been hit in the head too many times?" Eden smirked, ever the unoriginal mean girl.

"Wrong sport." He corrected her, sounding annoyed, "but, apparently..."

I liked that he didn't crumble under her rejection; that alone would have made me reconsider refusing. But Eden just shook her perfectly maintained blonde hair, and spun on her heel, loudly proclaiming, "He couldn't pay me enough to go out with him!"

Ouch!

"That went well." I don't know why I said it, or why I was at his side, bumping his arm with mine.

"Were you watching the same thing I was?" He scoffed, turning to look at me. "Who are you?"

Ignoring his question, I sized him up since I could see what he looked like now. He was tall with dark hair that fell to his shoulders and the slightest tan—an adorable every boy.

"You're not that bad," I decided. "Cute enough, you look kinda athletic, so I'd guess you're on a team. I mean, isn't that like what all the girls want? Her reaction barely makes sense."

"Who are you?" He asked again, his eyes trailing down the length of my wavy hair. He'd figure it out in about two seconds; my constantly changing look made it difficult for people to place me.

"So she's the girl, huh?" I raised a brow at him. "Nothing special if you ask me, and a little too predictable." I never understood why boys tortured themselves trying to get with Eden. Sure, she was tall and probably rich enough to buy the entire neighbourhood our school was in, but no amount of money would buy that girl a personality. Or make her likeable. "Wait, I get it! You're like, budget brand aren't you? And, no surprise here, she's one of those won't-date-down girls."

"And you know this how?" His hazel eyes were surprised and vexed at the same time; I completely understood the sentiment, annoyed I'd noticed the colour of his eyes at all. Noticing things like that only led to annoying crushes, and I didn't have time for that right now.

"I know how they operate," I shrugged. "Sad really, because they just overlook nice guys like you. If it makes you feel better, I would've said yes."

"What if I'm not nice?" His gaze travelled down my body as he checked me out, and a corner of his mouth lifted. "And what if you're not my type?"

I raised an eyebrow at his teasing question; he definitely had a delectable grin. I decided to play along, some harmless fun to take our minds off our respective things. "And what type is that? Let me guess... tall, blonde editorial model type body." I listed Eden's qualities and then gestured at my own average height curves, that he seemed to not be able to look away from. "Yeah no, I might be too much for you."

His eyes travelled back up to meet mine quickly. Damn, this was fun. "Question, though; is it her popularity and winning personality you like? Because if that's your type, then I've got her beat."

"How so?"

Did he really not know who I was? Seriously, who didn't know who I was? With my large reputation, it had been too long since I met a person my age who knew as little about me as I did them. Interesting. Refreshing. Kind of super endearing.

Too bad that he was the kind of idiot who was into Eden. Well that and I wasn't looking to add a boy—no matter how cute—to the already long list of things I had to juggle this year. But as the bell rang, I smiled anyways, a little flirty and a little smug, because I was sure my name would hold some meaning to him.

"I'm Amara Pierce." I winked and grabbed a friend's arm as she walked by. "And we're late for homeroom. Byeee."