1. solar systems and party plans

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Dear Monica,

I don't know how you ever found Lola Davenport beautiful.

I'm sitting here now, in our spot by the fire exit where I can see over the cafeteria. It feels like an eternity since you've joined me here... I guess it has been. You hated this spot, it was too hidden from the glitz and glamour of the social scene.

But it makes the perfect place to spy.

Stars don't become planets unless they die. You know that better than anyone, right?

Chlo

Chlo

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Lola Davenport isn't beautiful. Her swirly caramel hair and plumped lips dipped in coral are all a part of her elaborate costume. Her beautifully deceiving mask. If our school were a solar system, Lola would be the sun, and the rest of level one would be made up of the planets that orbit her, some closer than others. The rest are the stars that watch on from afar.

The radiant sun sat in the middle of the level one table, between Sophie and Li, her best friends forever. In her manicured hand dangled a tub of yogurt, and she laughed daintily at something Sophie, the blonde bombshell of Arlington Prep, had whispered in her ear. She was perfectly primped, a picture perfect model of grace and charisma. That was the most frustrating thing about Lola. She was so likable.

I sat above them, on the fire escape on the mezzanine overlooking the cafeteria. It was the place I was least likely to generate attention, a small table Monica and I once shared together.

Opposite Lola was Francis Greene, the only one insane enough to have committed himself to Lola for a grand total of three years and eight months. But it wasn't difficult to tell how much they hated each other. Their conversations were through gritted teeth and plastic smiles. The way they showed attention was possessive, the looks they gave each other haunting.

But, the fact that their fathers graced the front of the financial newspapers with one of modern day's best business partnerships made it a little hard for them to break up. That's what I'd put together, anyway.

"Chloe Whittaker. That is not you."

I failed to stop myself from jumping as a foreign body positioned themselves next to me at the table.

"Jack Thomas. I can assure you that it is very much me," I said, my shoulders relaxing slightly and the corner of my lips raising in a small smile at the familiar face.

Jack's dark eyes zigzagged as he assessed my appearance. "Makeup? Since when."

I let my mouth curl further into a smile. "Do you like it?"

He snorted. "It makes you look like a baby playing dress up."

"Thanks," I responded sarcastically, letting a scowl settle over my face. I was reminded of the flash back I'd had that morning, of Monica coating my lips in crimson.

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