In Denver High School, this crazy popularity ladder existed.

At the top, you'd see Hannah Morret, sitting at the throne, practically manipulating the whole ladder itself.

Well at least for this year, she owned the title of the queen, passed down by her so called predecessors.

It seemed as if some sort of ceremony had made it valid that Hannah had the authority to do whatever she wanted, and with that, was actually a circle of people who belonged to the higher end of the ladder, supporting her back.

Hannah had everyone in the palm of her hands for who knew what illogical and evil reasons there were; that simply getting in bad terms with her was considered a taboo.

For instance, you wouldn't exactly want your textbooks swimming in the toilet bowl, or your locker dumped with trash. Neither would you like to experience a week full of insults and humiliation, and much especially not the bonus of having to go home all wet, as if you had been rained on.

But to me, that wasn't the delusional part. Not just yet.

Hannah Morret had a friend, a certain Elise Hale, who silently followed her around even if she knew how wrong everything was.

What I consider delusional, in this case, was the fact that this certain Elise Hale just also happened to be me.

Perhaps I cared more about my reputation, and I didn't want to suffer the repercussions of standing up against Hannah — which equated to receiving at least a week of hell and misery, if not the whole of your life in Denver.

So I kept a blind eye.

And maybe that was just the beginning — a fragment of my big mistake.