Prologue: My Name is Lucy Dunn and —

If I could go erase one moment from my life, I know exactly what moment I would choose.

The very moment my dad kissed his twenty something secretary. The moment my life went to hell.

My name is Lucy Dunn, I live in New York, I'm an AP student, I have friends, I'm the star in chorus, I'm the drama club's favorite possession, I'm the head cheerleader, I'm popular, and I'm moving to Appleton, Indiana. Where I know no one, and no one knows me. A month before the start of 8th grade. And I turn 13 in December.

The worst part of your parents getting a divorce isn't the screaming, or the "darling, it's not your fault's," or any of that. It's the lawyers. They tell you to go to your room when it's about to stop being your room, they talk like freaking Mufasa, they glare at you like you're some little kid getting in the way while they negotiate how to screw up your life. Like. Hell.

I hate them. I hate them all.

I wish they could just suck it up and stay together. I wish Mom wasn't moving us to the freaking middle of nowhere.

It's one thing for your parents to get a divorce, it's one thing to move, it's one thing to start the 8th grade — but all of those at once? Forget it.

It's so freaking selfish of them. What about me? How am I supposed to become the most popular girl in school again in 4 months? Do you know how long that took me? Years of building up a reputation and social experience. I can't just recreate that in 4 months! And if I can't get enough people to my birthday party, I'm screwed for the rest of my crappy life in Indiana!

Sure, I can get a handful of the popular girls and a spot on the cheerleading squad and maybe even a boyfriend, but I won't be able to become the most popular girl in school again! That spot will be filled by now, and if that spot is filled, the most popular boy in school is taken. It's a rule, the 2 most popular people in school have to date.

That's. How. It. Works.

And if the most popular boy in school is taken, I can't get him without scheming. And scheming for him so early could get me labeled as a whore or a bitch or everything I can only afford to get labeled as when I'm popular!

This is giving me a headache.

Or maybe I just feel nauseous from the altitude.

Ugh, who cares?

"Sweetie, wake up, we're here," Mom shakes me awake.

I groan, sitting up in my seat. Good, my headache is long gone.

"C'mon, Lucy, we have to get off soon, Aunt Darlene is waiting," she whispers as I blink myself awake. Ugh, what's that smell? Isn't first class supposed to be nice? Whatever.

Getting off the plane is hazy, it reeks of vomit and peanuts, and all I can hear is my mother promising living here will be just fine — I decide she's just experiencing anxiety from her antidepressants. Or maybe she's doped up on so many meds she's high as a kite. It doesn't matter, I can barely make out a third of her cracked up promises anyways.

Aunt Darlene has gotten fatter since we last saw her and it's all going to her thighs.

I almost laugh at the thought but shove it to some dark corner in my brain, not wanting to deal with it. Not now, not ever. I have to focus on this hellhole I'm in, I have to memorize the place. Which, I decide, won't be particularly difficult. The things that really stick are the Dairy Queen, a Walmart, and a rundown graveyard. Yippie.

We pull into a big house's driveway, my head still buzzing and them still chatting away.

I already know I'm going to hate this.

After everything is all settled in, I climb into my bed, not caring that it's still light out and not caring that I slept almost 2 hours on the plane ride. My head is alive with buzzing and numbers and rumors from my old school but my eyelids are heavy and the world is killing me to live in.

Ding dong!

The cliché of all clichés. The doorbell. Fantastic.

I can hear my aunt greeting whoever is there with enthusiasm that makes me want to drown her. And then I can hear her shouting for me in a singsong voice that makes my breakfast rise to my throat because there's no lunch to poor out of my mouth.

"Coming!" I shout, brushing out my hair because first impressions matter and we could've moved in next to someone popular. I check my makeup and soothe the crinkles in my outfit before sauntering downstairs like I don't hate whoever's disrupting my would be slumber.

"Hi, I'm Kendra, your neighbor," a pretty blonde girl smiles, reaching out a hand to shake.

"Lucy, but you already knew that," I say, shaking her hand.

"So, your aunt tells me you're from New York, that's cool," Kendra nods, walking with me to the living room.

"Yeah, I guess, I just hope my post as head cheerleader gets filled by Kelsey, girl deserves it," Kelsey was my best friend. We were inseparable, you know, until my parents split.

"You were head cheerleader? That's amazing, I've been trying to get the role and it just opened up because our head cheerleader moved to New Jersey after her parents split," she explains.

"Wait, her parents split and she moves from here to New Jersey but my parents split and I move from the greatest city in the world to here? God, that's unfair," I complain.

"If it makes you feel any better, she got hit by a car," Kendra offers.

"Now that is karma," I laugh, "how big a bitch was she?"

"The biggest, she made the nicest girl in school so unpopular she moved to Africa because she got partnered with Brett Sampson on a History project, and they weren't even dating, they never did The Tongue," oh, my God, I love this girl! I should take a page out of her book. I'll have to ask what "The Tongue" is later but I get the feeling I know.

"Seriously? How cute is this "Brett Sampson?"" I ask, sure to use sarcastic air quotes.

"He's so cute — he's the quarterback, you know, but he's not even the most popular boy in school, no, that's Evan Goldman — " she sighs dreamily " — Evan is dreamy, and he can sing, he comes up with the best plans you know, and he's so dreamy!"

Evan Goldman. Evan Goldman. Evan Goldman.

The most popular boy in school.

"Is he taken?" I ask, casually.

"No, he and Charlotte broke up at the end of last year," she squeals, "I mean, I feel terrible because Charlotte and I are friends, but oh, my God!"

"Really now?" I ask, feeling a smile coming on.

Oh, this is too good.

xoxo

The favorites be screwed,

and trade 'em for a review,

the follows can fall in a ditch,

they make us want to slap a bitch,

kisses dead bitches 💋

- Lucy & Ari

xoxo