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her way through the remaining hours.
If anyone knew how much she hated all of it, they’d probably be
shocked.
That wasn’t why she was mean. She couldn’t explain it, even to herself.
She had enough attention at home. It wasn’t that. She’d always been
effortlessly pretty and had a body that most people could only achieve
through rigorous exercise, a lot of praying, and maybe even a few plastic
surgery touch-ups here and there. Her family was well off. They’d given her
a brand-new car for her sixteenth birthday. She went on expensive vacations
with her family. She had the best clothes, got regular manis and pedis with
her mom, and always had the trendy stuff that everyone wanted. She was
smart enough. She got decent grades. Mostly B’s, which her parents were
fine with. She was captain of the cheer team, was dating a handsome
football player, and was probably going to be voted homecoming queen.
On the outside, she was like every other popular girl. Put together by a
very tenuous amount of glue that could fail at any time, exposing the gaping
cracks and the mess of churning, wretched emotions underneath.
Not only did Arabella not know why she was mean, she didn’t know why
she did half the things she did. She didn’t have any explanation for it. She
just picked an easy target and didn’t let up. It was the expected thing to do
and to be. If you were popular, you were generally also mean. That’s how
most books and movies made it seem. She was just following suit. She was
at the top of the food chain, and to get there, you had to crush your way up
without mercy.
The wind whipped past Arabella and she walked faster. Her hands were
frozen since she’d also forgotten her mitts. She stuffed them into her
pockets and felt her annoyance rise at ha
ving to walk all the way back out
here.
Closer to the bleachers, she heard a soft hum, then ragged breaths and the
