Paulina had always been a beautiful child. She'd won several of those baby and toddler photo contests and for as long as she could remember it was simply a fact that she was prettier than everyone around her.

She loved her raven hair and starlight eyes, her cherub smile and dancer's legs – but there was one thing she couldn't stand.

She was three when the idea of beauty made her preen and spin for the adults just to hear their praise but more than that, she wanted to understand. Everyone loved smiles and Paulina had an extra nice one. Her hair was like her mother's, silky and strong. She was told over and over what a perfect, beautiful little angel she was.

Until she found something wrong.

Nails were disgusting. They stuck to the end of her fingers, semi-transparent and turning the skin underneath pink in contrast to the smooth mocha caramel that contrasted perfectly with her sapphire eyes. The ends grew out a hideous off-white that clearly showed where her fingertips ended with a jagged line of dirt she could never get rid of while on the other end a vile ridge of skin grew over the end trying to swallow the offending scale.

So she tried to get rid of them.

When her mother first caught sight of Paulina chewing her nails down to get rid of the ugly overhang, she'd been giving a short lecture not to do that. The second and third times her mother was stern. By the time Paulina turned five and still hadn't stopped, her mother took physical measures to make her stop: she dipped Paulina's fingernails in vinegar to discourage her. The fact that the reason she bit them in the first place was that nails were disgusting was only exasperated by the vinegar. Manicurists filed her nails to the quick before putting a clear coat to protect them. Paulina could be found glaring at her nails for days until they grew out enough to start biting again.

It was when she was six that she finally tore half of her nail clean off. It hurt. Her sensitive skin was stung by the fresh air and her cuticles were bloody and raw – trying to clamp down on something that wasn't there. But it was better. Her finger would heal and then it would be just as smooth as the rest of her skin and then it would be pretty - just like the rest of her.

Her parents had been horrified and taken her to a psychologist. Upon his recommendation, her parents proceeded to buy stick-ons. They were pink with silver fireworks and for the first time, nails were pretty. She admired them day after day and when they grew out a bit and she could see the disgusting plastic plated pink of her regular nails, she tried to rip them out, starting from the base.

She'd made a bloody mess of three of her fingers before her mother caught her and rushed her first to the doctor and then back to the psychiatrist. This time when the night sky was applied to her delicate fingertips it came with instructions to replace them in two weeks and once her nail had grown back, Paulina could learn to paint them herself.

So that's what she did. A cosmetologist was hired to teach Paulina everything she knew about hair care, skin care, and, most importantly, nails.

The only people privy to her bad habit outside of her parents was her enforced childhood playmate Samantha Manson. She and Sam disliked each other from their first meeting and only tolerated each other because that was their station in life. Their parents were both rich socialites who necessitated the best behavior from their children at any social gathering to make their parents look better. Being the same age, they were pushed together to be good friends so that no matter who they were married off to a strong bond would unite their families.

The two of them were forced into lessons on etiquette, pedigree, and personal safety side by side for years and it wasn't until Paulina was seven that she realized that Sam (as she insisted on being called) was 'other' and someone she should put up appearances for. At that point it was too late to hide her bad habit.

Middle school came around and social status was about to overtake similar likes and dislikes. Sam had made it a habit to disappear from social functions as much as possible ages ago so, even among other students with socialite parents, she wasn't particularly well known.

It went without saying that they avoided each other like the plague at school.

It was the day before they entered Casper Junior High that Sam decided to strike a deal. "At school, I don't want anyone to know I'm rich." That was different. Paulina had assumed that they would avoid each other as usual but to hide the fact that you had money entirely? Paulina couldn't understand it. People liked money and having money meant she could impress her friends. Why not tell them?

Paulina glared over crossed arms at the budding goth. "Not that I'd ever talk about you in the first place, but why should I?" Animosity hung heavy in the air. Paulina didn't need to understand Sam's reasoning to know that she had just been given a weapon.

"Because if you let that slip, I might just 'slip' and let everyone know the real reason you wear nail polish." One hand was on her hip and every inch of her said that she'd do it.

Her eyes narrowed in contempt. That was playing dirty and they both knew it. "So all I have to do is never mention that we've met outside of school? Never bring up that our parents know each other or that we share even remotely similar social status and you'll forget about my nails? You'll never tell a soul?"

"Yes."

"Like I would have mentioned I was forced to associate with you, anyway." The latina scoffed.

Their eyes held in a strong understanding. Paulina may not have liked Sam but so many years of forced company meant the girls knew each other. Sam wasn't simply asking her to ignore her at school, she was asking Paulina to ostracize her; to help push her as far away from her parents' world as she could get and in exchange, Paulina's secret went to the grave.

It was less than two hours into the new school year when the girls passed each other in the hall. "There's that Manson girl. It's like she's gotten even more lame. Who wears that much black?"

Sam stopped and glared back at her. "It's called 'Goth'. It's a movement."

"It's called 'no sense of style', Loser." And with that, Paulina spun away, Star following closely behind. As she rounded the corner, their eyes caught and that was enough to say they were both satisfied with the arrangement.

Six and a half weeks later, the worst happened.

It was an accident but Paulina's fingers got caught in a closing door. It hurt, but that was nowhere near enough to explain her impending breakdown at the sight of the scratched nail polish and, on her ring finger: broken nail. All she could do was stare. She didn't know if she would scream or if she would skip straight to trying to tear the hideous thing off her finger.

There was barely any comprehension as she was roughly grabbed by her upper arm and dragged to the bathroom. "Hold on a minute." Whoever had brought her there started rifling through their backpack. "Breathe Paulina. We're going to fix this." A set of acrylic nails in pink with small rhinestones was shoved in front of her face.

Taking a gasping breath, she focused on the salvation she was being offered. It took her a couple moments to drag her attention to her savior. Sam Manson: the girl who mutually wanted nothing to do with her.

"We have a deal. You keep everyone from the popular crowd away from me and no one finds out about your nails." She waved the package around again. "I thought something might happen so I've been prepared."

That was all that was said before the goth went about the tedious process of treating the injured fingers, removing the old nail polish, cutting them all down to match, filing any rough edges, and then gluing on the fakes.

As her nails were drying, Paulina felt reason returning to her. Sam had gone above and beyond to help her keep her secret. Carrying a miniature manicure set was not something the girl would ever do for herself and spending so much time and effort on getting it just right (and Paulina of all people knew how much effort it was to get it just right) was mind-boggling.

Did her paltry insults truly mean that much to this girl?

She couldn't bear to look the other girl in the eye as she muttered, "Thank you."

Eyes fixed on the (almost) perfect pink nails, she saw Sam shrug in her peripheral. "It's fine. I know how much it means to you. And what you do means the same to me." Paulina looked up at her in disbelief - the first time her gaze had moved from her nails in over an hour. "I mean it. I'm not you - I'm not some little princess who wants to be flocked all over. Having you against me puts me as far away from that as I can get and it lets me be myself. It means a lot." She offered a small, half shrug.

Holding Sam's gaze, Paulina can see nothing but conviction. She didn't truly understand but, for this event alone, she'd ostracize the goth all she wanted. She would draw a line so clearly, everyone would scoff at the idea of Sam Manson being 'one of them'.

Besides, she meant every word she said. Sam was a loser and one good deed didn't make her Paulina's best buddy.

Sam Manson was her childhood playmate and honorable beyond belief.

She was still a creepy, goth, know-it-all Loser.

*Whew!*

That was a lot of work! So, I retconned this chapter (for old readers) to better match the quality and tone of the rest and will be retconning chapters as I go.

Thank you so much for reading and giving this story a shot! ^.^