BRANLEY - NOW.

It's another four days before Renee Jacobs attempts to speak to me again.

I sit there, pen in hand as I write down whatever it is Ms Clarkson is saying. "Alright," she says. "Discuss with your partner what you think the purpose of writing the same first sentence for every part of the book is."

I pick up A Clockwork Orange and flip to the different parts of the book, about to make annotations.

"I've already annotated mine," Renee says, and it's to no one's shock that she has. Renee Jacobs is just one of those girls who are destined for greater things. Half-Spanish and half-Latina, it's clear where she gets her distinct features – dark eyes and darker hair, spotless brown skin and long legs. While Alyssa – one of her best friends – is all about navy-eyed and blonde-haired greatness that will all tarnish by the time she's 50, Renee's classic features and sharp mind would likely outlast her High School Glory.

"Oh," I say. "Um, what did you write?"

She pushes her book towards me. "Sorry for the handwriting," she laughs with a sheepish smile. When all I do is twitch my lips into a half-smile, she says, "Branley, why are you afraid of me?"

My hand freezes at the question.

There are a million things going through my mind; is it fear that I feel? Is it sadness? And if it is, then why? Why am I so cautious of friendship? Why am I so guarded and hesitant of emotions? Is it because Renee was there that night? Is it because I'm afraid of that her friendship will bring more dangers? Is it that forming ties will only hold me back from the one thing I want – to get out of this godforsaken town?

"I'm not afraid of you, Renee," I finally say.

She arches a perfect, dark eyebrow. "Then why won't you talk to me?"

"I just..." I pause, trying to think of something intelligible to string into an excuse. "I just really need to pay attention for this class. I nearly flunked last sem."

Her brown-black eyes soften, and her lips pull into a small smile. "Oh," she laughs, brushing a strand of deep brown hair away from her face. "Well...I got an A. I could help you out if you want?"

I look at her as she waits earnestly for my reply. A part of me wonders why a girl like her would ever want to talk to a girl like me. A part of me thinks that this is all just a ploy. A part of me wonders what her game is.

But a part of me also wants to think that a person out there wants to befriend me. A part of me wants to be loved. A part of me wants to be saved.

And so I make a choice, and all of me prays that I made the right one.

"Okay," I say.

***

Renee tells me to meet her at 6pm later that night, atPetite-Rosé, a quaint café on 3rdStreet. It's the kind of café that Renee and her friends like to frequent, with its rose-patterned walls and marble tables and food with exotic names.

I run my fingers against the rim of my mug, wondering if I've been stood up. It's been awhile since I'd gone out with someone who wasn't Elizabeth or my parents, and I'd forgotten that swell of anxiety you get waiting for someone new to meet you. I forgot that weird mix of excitement and fear, that feeling of standing in front of your closet and wondering what to wear. I forgot how my father would pointedly ask who it was I was going out with before letting me through the door.

I take a sip of my coffee, almost convinced that Renee had done this on purpose. At the exact moment I prepare to take my leave, Renee barrels through the door, perfect hair a little mussed, backpack slung over one shoulder, dark eyes scanning the café before settling on me.

She walks towards me, a smile on her face as she slides into the seat opposite me.

"Hey," she says. "Sorry I'm late. I got off work on time, but then apparently Callan didn't, and he was my ride, so now I'm twenty minutes late."

The name Callan is foreign to me, so I ask, "Is Callan your boyfriend?"

"Oh," she says, a sheepish smile forming on her lips. "Yeah, he is. But he studies over at Ridges. You been there?"

I nod once, offering no explanation. A large portion of my childhood had been spent at Ridges, the town that was a thirty-minute drive away from Clarton, where I live. Ridges was where my mother had grown up, raised inside white picket fences and well-trimmed gardens and debutant balls. When I was younger, she had dragged my sister and I out there as often as possible, trying to raise us into a life of riches and soirees. Granted, we were more well-off than an average resident of Clarton, but my mother had gone from richer to rich, and it became clear what her biggest regrets were.

I decide to change the topic, the thought of Ridges bringing unwelcome memories. "So, how'd you guys meet?"

She smiles as she pulls her hair into a ponytail, eyes lighting up and white teeth flashing. "So, I volunteer at the dog shelter sometimes, right?" I nod once, even though I didn't know she did volunteer work. It's surprising for a second, and then not so much. "Yeah, so he comes over to Clarton to hang with his younger cousins every now and then, and he took them to the dog shelter once. I was the volunteer that weekend and, well," Renee smiles and shrugs, "that's that." There's a moment of silence, where her eyes are distant and there's a vacant smile on her face, like she's living in a distant memory. I lower my eyes, feeling as if I were intruding on something private.

The vacant smile is replaced by a shier one, as if embarrassed that she had spaced out. "So, what about you, Branley? Any lucky man?"

I feel a wave of revulsion wash over me, flashes of memories echoing through my mind – a ghost of a smile, dark brown hair, the pungent smell of alcohol. Him, I think. That lucky, nameless bastard who got away with it.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat, resisting the urge to get up and run off.

"No," I say airily. "No lucky man."

***

Renee and I find ourselves talking all the way until Petite-Rose closes.

Renee's presence is a charming one, that I can say for sure. She's all big smiles and breathy laughs and witty remarks that I can't help but smile at, even if I'm trying as hard as I can to have the second-worst night of my life. I can't pinpoint what it is exactly about Renee Jacobs that makes people so drawn to her – she's neither sultry nor sweet, and has the strangest blend of charisma and girlishness and mystery. Maybe it's the way she leans in when you speak, or how her whole face lights up when she smiles, or how she laughs before she's finished telling the joke.

Either way, in the short span of the three hours that we'd gone from awkward chatter to choking laughter, one thing is clear to me – Renee Jacobs is undoubtedly better than Elizabeth Blanchard.

"Renee?" I ask. We're perched outside Petite-Rosé in the freezing cold, waiting for Renee's boyfriend, Callan, to pick her up.

"Hm?" she asks, tilting her face just the slightest, pulling the cigarette away from her lips.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

I shrug a little, looking away from her intense stare. "This. Going out of your way to befriend me."

Renee pauses, taking a drag of her cigarette like she's been doing it all her life. I don't tell her that I can't stand the smell of smoke. "If I tell you the truth, you won't tell anyone else?"

"Who's there to tell when you've no one to talk to?"

"Like your best friend, Elizabeth Blanchard, school's biggest gossip?"

I snort. "Lizzie's only my best friend in name," I say. "We've been friends since we were little, so we just grew with the labels."

"Huh," she says. "Well, we've got more in common than I thought. Anyway, the abridged version is this; my friends are fake bitches." She glances at my face. "You don't seem surprised."

"Because I'm not," I say bluntly. "I'm an expert in the field of fake friends."

Renee leans back, dark hair escaping from her ponytail and flicking across her cheek. "It wasn't always like that, though. There was a time when we were all actually good friends. Some of us best friends. And then Alyssa got a boyfriend, and so did Meg, and so did I. So suddenly, we're the cool girls and we're getting invited to a bunch of parties, and our friendship is all about our looks and boys and parties and popularity." A wry smile crosses her lips. "I don't even like them that much, and I'm pretty damn sure they don't like me, but whatever."

"Jesus," is all I say.

"Right," she says with a shrug. "I'm not surprised, honestly. I just wanted to find some genuine friends, y'know." She glances at me with a small smile. "Which I did. I can't wait to get the fuck out of here, though."

"Ditto," I say. Renee talks a lot, I've noticed, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I decide that I quite like it, actually. It's different from the kind of chatter Elizabeth provides; it's the distinction between music and noise.

She leans back, eyes fluttering closed. "I don't know why girls in our school worship us so much," she confides before laughing, "Okay, wow, that sounded way more snobbish than I meant." She shakes her head, and the smile fades. "What I meant to say is that we're all not even friends. We're all bitches, whether to each other or as a person. Oh, and you'd be surprised to know that Alyssa's the nicest of the lot. Just a bit of an airhead. Honestly.Sometimes I don't know how she qualified for APUSH."

I let Renee complain about her friends, laughing at some of the stupid things Renee shares, just glad that someone is beside me for once. Talking to her is so easy, so simple, that I'm almost tempted to reveal my own secrets.

Almost.

"I miss them sometimes," she says. "The real them." She glances at me. "I'm sure you feel the same way about Elizabeth?"

I purse my lips. It's one of those things I ask myself too, wondering whether there was a distant time and place that we were actually friends, and what point in our lives that organic friendship had faded into plasticity. "I don't know, actually."

"Well –" her thought is interrupted by the sound of a car horn. Renee turns, already grinning as she eyes the cool grey Jeep. "That's Callan," she says with a smile. "He can drop you off too, if you want."

I open my mouth to protest, but Renee takes my momentary hesitation as consent, and she's gripping my wrist and pulling me towards her boyfriend's Jeep.

She slides into the front seat, leaving me to sit at the back.

"Hey babe," Callan says smoothly, giving her a small kiss on the cheek. He turns around and looks at me, smiling a soft smile, and says, "You must be Branley."

I can immediately see what Renee sees in him, just like I can see what he sees in her. He has a soft mop of dark brown hair, somehow the right blend of messy and stylish, as well as cool blue eyes hidden beneath a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. The two of them look annoyingly perfect together; with his geeky, boyish charm, and her enigmatic allure.

"Yeah," I say, attempting a small smile. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," he says, turning back around with a smile. "This girl can't shut up about how there's this chick in her AP Lit class who refuses to talk to her."

"Cal," Renee chides with a laugh, propping her legs onto the dashboard so naturally you know they've been together awhile.

"She's said lots about you too," I laugh, glad that there's no tension between in the air.

"Well, in general, she does say...a lotand my God, all the time!" he exclaims, only for Renee to smack him painfully across his shoulder. "Jesus, Ren. You are heavy-handed."

"Oh my God, Callan," Renee says, placing a hand over her eyes. "Please, just drive. Like – oh shit,it's so late. Bran, where do we drop you off?"

I shrug, knowing full well that my mother wouldn't mind what I do, as long as I'm ready for school at the stipulated time. "Um, just 'round the corner's fine."

"No curfew?"

"Nah," I say. "My mom doesn't really care much."

Renee glances at me. "My parents care too much," she says as the car pulls over to a stop in front of my house. "It gets suffocating."

"Yeah, well," I say, swinging my bag over my shoulder. "Stifling on the other side too."