disclaimer: don't own the clique or katy perry's "if you can afford me."


if you want me, the cherry on top, the pick of the pack, the crème de la crop
if you want me you're going to have to break the bank, tonight

She liked Cam.
Cam liked her.

Then why was she dating Derrick Harrington, self-proclaimed "star" of the Briarwood Tomahawks, who didn't have the sense to wear pants below the knee in below freezing weather, or the style to know that cargo shorts didn't qualify as black-tie?

The answer, the one she told herself every night before the tears started to flow, the one that she pretended made sense, was simple: she lived for appearences. Sure, gummy worms and homemade CDs were cute, but Octavian Day's socialite deserved lavish gifts of diamonds and dangling jewelery. She needed someone whose popularity measured her own, who understood the stress of leading her peers. Derrick, though he didn't hold a prime position in her heart, knew why she needed the latest Coach clutch before anyone else, why she could never come to school with her hair flat and wearing shoes that clashed with her belt. He didn't made her feel guilty for putting her social life before her grades, because he did the same himself. He never fought with her or ignored her in public, because he was just as shallow as she was, and cherished his image more than he did his Xbox 360. Derrick could affod her, whereas Cam Fisher could not.

Massie Block wouldn't be caught dead buying clothing on sale, but she played cheap with her heart.

cause some don't have the patience, some call me high-matience
but you pay the bill, cuz that's the deal