Author's Note: I'm in the mood for Cassie. And angst. Expect an update for Dusk and Summer soon, loves. Until then, this'll have to do.

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything of or relating to The Clique or any brands mentioned. Just stole that from another of my fics. Song lyrics are from "Vacation" by Katy Rose and "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M. respectively. The lyrics in the title are from Maroon 5's "She Will Be Loved."

BEAUTY QUEEN OF ONLY EIGHTEEN

-A Clique Fanfiction by: Honour Society-

CHAPTER ONE: FIVE MINUTES TO HEARTBREAK

000

Oh, I don't need an education,
Just a microphone's intoxication.
And I can't deal with concentration,
Give me tongues and stimulation.

000

"More mascara," I direct the stupid bimbo who's doing my makeup. Her gentle application of pearly pink glosses and subtle bronzers and other such beauty queen-type items will be the death of me, honest to God.

"Okay…" The woman is pretty, but in that conventional way. Her sand-coloured hair had been blow-out, probably by a professional, and swept into an artfully messy, Kate-Austen-from-Lost-style bun.

She's probably under strict orders from my manager not to a) ignore everything I say and b) make me look more "marketable." That's our manager's favourite word. "Marketable." It's the word that sent Kemp to the hairdresser's after years of not cutting his infamous brown locks. It's the word that made Derrick ditch his shorts for designer jeans. It's the word that made Josh take off his Yankees cap during performances. It's the word that made Plovert quit burping after every set.

And now, it became the word that's seperating me from my favourite smoky eye look.

A mirror hangs on the wall of my dressing room, directly in front of me. I hate the girl staring back. Gently curled hair, soft makeup, becoming smile. I hate her. That's my sister. That's Claire Block. That's Kendra Block. It's not me.

"You're done." Somewhat abruptly, I remove myself from the chair. The makeup artist — if you could even call her "artist" — looks confused. But in the end, I'm the one paying her. She picks up her bubblegum-pink Sephora makeup cases and makes for the door. She's just about to leave and I feel myself relaxing when she calls out: "Wait!"

"Yeah?" This ought to be interesting. I place my hands on my hips — too slim, and not at all shapely like fitness magazines encourage, but I don't really care — and raise an eyebrow at her.

"I was wondering — If you have the time..." She bites her pale pink lip. "Would you sign an autograph for my daughter? She completely idolizes you. Paperback Romance is her favourite band ever."

"Absolutely." I flash her a sparkling, toothy grin. She smiles back at me. "On on condition." Her smile falters.

"Yes?"

"Fix this." I point towards the girl in the mirror, who looks so delicate and fragile and not at all like Massie Block, lead singer of Paperback Romance.

I see hesitation in her ocean-blue eyes. "I don't know if I should... Missy told me that —"

"Who cares about Missy? She's just my manager! She's practically brain dead! You don't want to disappoint your daughter, do you?" Playing the guilt card always works, especially on working mothers. I appear to have struck a chord with her, as her face wrinkles in deep concentration.

"Done."

"That's what I like to hear."

000

Every whisper of every waking hour,
I'm choosing my confessions,
Trying to keep an eye on you.
Like a hurt, lost and blinded fool

000

"I told you my sister would get us free tickets to her show." Claire Block grips my hand so tightly, I think I've lost all blood circulation to my wrists. Is this how cutters feel? Maybe I'll become one after tonight. Why did I say yes?

"That's..." I look for the right word, but come up empty, "cool of her."

Claire and I are currently in the longest line ever. Somewhere up ahead is the "coolest club ever!" (Her words, not mine), called Flow. You'd think that Claire, being the sister of the lead singer, would be able to pull some strings, but no. The rocky relationship between the Block girls is legendary. Us Weekly and People and Star chronicle the daily ups and downs of their sisterhood.

Obviously, today is a down.

There are no similarities in appearance or personality between the Block sisters at all. Zero. Zip. Nada. Massie is fire, Claire is ice. While Massie's flawless, porcelain skin, slightly upturned nose, waist-length inky hair with side-swept bangs and punk-chic look nail the covers of top magazines, Claire's gentle, beauty queen-esque blondness only make her the brunt of blonde jokes at school.

That's right. I go to school with Claire Stacy Block, sister of Paperback Romance's lead singer, Massie. Up until seventh grade, when Massie formed the band, I used to go to school with her, too. Strangest of all, Massie had a crush on me. A massive one. But so did her twin sister, Claire.

I picked Claire. Over Massie, who currently clocks in at number twelve on Maxim's Hot 100 list.

Not my proudest moment.

"Look, Cammie!" Claire tugs on the sleeve of my Hollister henley. I fake a smile for her and bring my eyes up to whatever's caught her short attention span. "The line's moving.

"Terrific."

Anyway, ever since Massie penned Paperback Romance's (or simply, PR's) first hit single, Blue, Green and Everywhere In Between, I've been sort of...a major fanboy. As most American teenagers are. PR has a cult following, with Massie's now world-famous amber eyes smack dab in the center of it all.

And for the first time since I'd blatantly rejected her for her younger-by-twelve-minutes sister, I would be seeing America's hottest rockstar under the age of twenty.

000

Don't give me words of hard degration,
I only accept infatuation.
I'm a fragile kind of glass,
I won't wear your stupid mask.

000

We're on in five. This is when my non-alcoholic buzz starts revving up. Just before a big show, I get the tingles in the bottom of my stomach. The makeup lady, who I'm now proud to call an artiste, gave me a whole new look. This one involves a lot less bronzer, some blood-red lipstick and about five pounds of black eye makeup. I changed into my stage outfit not long after that; a pair of black skinny-legged jeans, an off-the-shoulder white t-shirt that lets my lucky purple bra show through in a completely non-slutty way, and some wedge heels.

I don't know why, but I was practically came out of the womb loving expensive shoes. No Keds or Converse for me; that's Claire's thing.

"Ready, Block?" Derrick Harrington, our lead guitarist and back-up vocalist, smirks at me crookedly. I roll my eyes. The tumultuous relationship between us is epic. While one magazine is proclaiming our love story, another is detailing our breakup. But that's just life. I've learned to deal with it.

"Always, Derrington." I use the nickname our fans have given him. I know he loathes it. Take that, blondie.

"Don't fight it, Block. You know we're meant to be."

"Kiss my ass."

"Gladly."

"Ugh! You are such a —"

" — Great guitarist with male model-like good looks? I know. Thanks, though."

"That's so not what I was going to say! You make me —"

" — Sick with lust and attraction? Again, I know. Always a pleasure to hear it, though."

With as much contempt as I could muster on short notice, I scowled at him. It was arguments like these that always lead to our best preformances — he knew it, I knew it. We also knew, that whenever we got into banter battles like these, I always ended up knocking on his hotel room door at some ungodly hour of the night.

I wrote a couple more chapters after this one, so expect regular updates. Odd from me, I know. I know you love music, Hannah, so I randomlly thought of writing a music-inspired Cassie OneShot, which turned into THIS!! Everyone! Please! Request songs for later chapters! It's gonna be about five chapters long, with one update every day!