High school is much more complicated than middle school. The social structure is more winding and diverse; it takes a true master to understand all of its twists and turns. Middle school is rather simple: there are jocks, second tier populars, geeks, and normals. And then of course the elite few who control it all. High school, however, does not abide by such simple rules. You have many separate groups of elite, who all control their various sects. There is inter-competition between these groups, but alliances also exist. Then there is a second and third tier of popularity. There are good jocks and bad jocks; there are good geeks and bad geeks. There are some cliques that rise and fall in popularity, sometimes being in command while other times being at the bottom of the ladder. Few people realize that high school is an intricate society all its own.

Claire was intimidated by this social structure. She, like me, was used to being the top dog bad-ass. However, rather than cower before the system, I was pleased to take on the challenge. I executed a brilliant plan. Step one: get on the cheerleading squad. That one was a no-brainer. Step two: join yearbook. In middle school, I entrusted that role to Claire. By the time we reached high school, I realized I was going to have to step forward myself if I wanted to make the right connections. Step three: befriend upperclassmen without alienating my own peers. I stayed true to my fellow Freshman, but I also did not hesitate to make it "in" with strategic upperclassmen. Step four would have been snag the perfect boyfriend, but as I had already acquired Ethan in middle school, that was unnecessary.

Surprisingly, yearbook was not as simple a class as I thought it would be. I assumed it would be nothing more than a means of earning respect from my peers, and of course securing plenty of my pictures in the yearbook. Turns out, there was actually some skill and effort involved in it all. Claire and I sat alone at our own table, sifting through the class photos ("mug shots", as we called them) and trying to alphabetize them. It was dull and grueling, the kind of task always assigned to Freshman staff members. Penny, who was of course the editor, approached us.

"Kate," she said, giving an involuntary flip of her burnt-red hair. "I need a word with you." There was a pause, and she glanced impatiently at Claire. "Alone."

Claire was clearly suppressing the urge to argue. Penny gave her a simple look, and Claire was reminded of her place. She left the table without a word or so much as a glance at either of us.

"I have a project for you," she told me airily.

This was news indeed. I tactfully hid my sheer enthusiasm. "Okay," I replied neutrally.

"We're experimenting with a new section for the yearbook. We want to focus on what unites the student body. We want to include collages, quotes, student art and poetry-- the whole bit. Something that will reach everyone. We're thinking of calling it 'The Spirit of Hillridge'."

Who was she kidding? I thought. The student body of Hillridge was anything but united. The "spirit of Hillridge" was nothing more than competition. Everyone wanted everything they couldn't have. I knew that Penny knew this better than anyone. She was quite familiar with the true spirit of Hillridge High School, as she had fought her way to the top. She wasn't interested in reaching anyone but herself.

"That sounds nice," I said, lacing my words with false innocence. "But is anyone going to but it? It sounds sort of like propaganda to me."

She grinned. "That's why I like you, Kate. You understand the way it is. Of course it's bullshit, but administrators eat this stuff up. The yearbook isn't meant to be a reflection of the way things really are, my dear, but a reflection of the way we'd like to see them."

I nodded. "So what do you need me to do?"

"Your job is to run the polls." She flipped through her stack of paper and handed me a sheet. "Monday, I want you to go around and take down people's responses at lunch."

"Sure." My enthusiasm was false; I had hoped for something much more important than going around with a poll.

She picked up quickly on my displeasure and snapped at me. "Hey, you should be thankful. This is a much bigger task than most Freshman could ever be trusted with."

"Of course." I smiled my patented Kate-Sanders-smile, and she seemed to buy it well enough. She walked away.

Claire returned when Penny was a safe distance from me. "Well?" she asked as she resumed her seat.

I handed Claire the poll. "You can help me with this on Monday." I certainly wasn't going to meander the courtyard all by myself.

"Oh. So that what was so important?"

I resented the comment. It's true, it wasn't anything big at all, but I didn't appreciate Claire's tone. For some reason I had this need to always keep Claire thinking that I had more than she did. It was my way of keeping her subdued.

"Of course not," I lied. "But I obviously can't tell you what else we talked about. Why would she talk to me alone if it was something I could just share with anybody?"

Claire rolled her eyes and said nothing. I had won. However, it was a bittersweet victory. The competitive, greedy nature in me was pleased. But the softer side of me was pained by Claire's silence. I felt bad for her. As the weeks in high school progressed, Claire's sociability was becoming less and less prominent. She was getting lost in the mix. She was quickly becoming hidden by my shadow; as I grew stronger, she grew weaker. She knew as well as I did that I could easily lose her like a bad habit. I was doing so well in high school that I no longer needed Claire. But I clung to her, because despite everything, she was my friend. Once before, I had been so determined to be a social goddess that I lost my three best friends forever. I didn't want to make that mistake twice.

* * * *

Nic hit on me again in science class. What an absolute buffoon. What amused me the most, of course, was his unfazed confidence. He seemed to think that he was infinitely smooth, that I was dense enough to buy into it all. It's the curse of playing the dumb-blonde. His efforts of "wooing" me were particularly strong on Fridays. It had to be the cheerleading outfit. People can't resist hitting on a cheerleader.

What's more, his confidence in his smoothness seemed to also make him think no one else could see through him, either. I, however, was ever on the alert. I was well aware of the watchful eyes of Miranda Sanchez. She seemed to be taking in the whole situation in awe. She must wonder how I do it, I thought to myself. How I attract them all to me without even trying. I allowed him to keep babbling for no other reason than to enjoy the disgustingly envious look on Miranda's face.

Science was quickly becoming my least favorite class for several reasons. Larry Tudgemen, my lab partner, had lately developed a crush on Rachel Farse. He spent most of his time gawking at her, which made it extremely difficult to coax him into doing all the work. I ended up giving up all together. It was easier to just do the damn work myself than waste time sweet-talking Tudgemen. The down side of working alone, however, was that Nic took it as an opportunity to pester me even more. Meanwhile, Gourda and Esmerelda were constantly giving me cold scowls and hissing racial insults at me whenever the teacher wasn't looking. So as a means of comforting myself throughout this god-awful period, I took to coming up with ways to piss off Miranda. It wasn't quite as much fun as it was in middle school, because she didn't fight back as much as she used to, but it was better than nothing.

The bell rang, and I wasted no time to gather up my things and haul ass out of there. I moved as quickly as possible out the door and into the nearest group of friends I could spot; Gourda and Esmerelda were hot on my tail. If I was ever alone, I knew they wouldn't hesitate to jump me. Luckily, there was almost always someone somewhere that I could hang out with (yet another perfect example of why connections are the secret of my success.)

When the two lesbian thugs had gone on their way, I went to Claire's locker. We always met up there and walked to Mythology together. I was utterly shocked to find that not only was Claire not at her locker, she was nowhere to be seen. This ripple in the normal flow of a school day frustrated me. The predictability of my schedule was a necessity to the way I organized things. I didn't want to be seen waiting around in the hall all alone, so I quickly proceeded to Mythology without her.

I was startled yet again when I arrived. Claire was already in the classroom, hovering over Miranda's desk. The two of them were engaged in excited conversation. Miranda watched with intense fascination as Claire spoke. They spoke in low murmurs, as though they wanted no one else to hear them. But the thing that truly made my jaw drop was one, simple detail: they were both smiling.

What the hell? I thought to myself. Since when do Miranda and Claire speak on civil terms? I couldn't help but feel both angry and insecure. I knew everything that Claire did. There were no secrets to her. But as I watched her, I got the horrible sensation that she was keeping something from me.

"Claire?" I said firmly as I approached.

Their conversation was abruptly silenced, the smiles wiped from their faces. That was another bad sign. Claire moved to her desk, and the two of them acted as though they hadn't been talking at all.

I eyed her coldly as I took my seat beside her.

"What?" she asked, unable to shake off my gaze.

"Don't try playing the 'what?' card, Claire," I said. I had to use all my strength to mask the angry I felt. "As I recall, Miranda Sanchez is on the list of people we don't associate ourselves with. What were you two talking about?"

For the first time in many weeks, Claire matched my gaze with a defiant glare. "I'm entitled to my own little private conversations, too, aren't I?"

She was talking about Penny, I realized. "That is different!"

Her face remained confident. "Is it?" There was a frustrating finality to her tone. We didn't talk much for the rest of the class period. I found myself consistently glancing at Miranda and Claire, wondering what they were up to. As we left the class, I was angered even more when I saw Claire slip her a note.

I was beginning to rethink my whole plan of keeping Claire around.