Daney Marshall knew perfectly well that “new year, new beginning” was a cliché, but that wasn’t about to stop her from treating sophomore year like a fresh start.

Over the summer her sister Jennifer’s music career had taken off, sending Jen’s new power ballad to the top of the charts and onto every major entertainment publication’s must-hear list. Along with her own slice of fame by association, Daney was armed with a brand new wardrobe, courtesy of the countless designers who had been sending free clothes to Genevieve in hopes that she would be photographed wearing them. Lucky for Daney, Jen had no interest in such fine things and happily surrendered them to her sister, counting her own 12-string guitar as her most prized possession. Daney, however, planned to take full advantage of her new resources.

Daney glided into Grover Cleveland High on the last Monday in scorching August with her head held high and her hair slicked back in a heat-defying ponytail. She could almost feel the awestruck stare of two freshmen girls directed at her impeccably crease-free satin romper…but wait, they were actually ogling at the trophy display behind her.

“I told you the math team was good. First place at regionals! Three years in a row, no less.”
Daney walked on, unfazed. She was sure that her fellow students would come flocking to her like a pack of geese—it was just a matter of time. After all, high schoolers were attracted to celebrity and expensive things like moths to a light.

She approached the crowd surrounding a poster of homeroom assignments on the wall and
waited patiently for someone to make way for her. A few former classmates threw her a curious look, but the mob hardly parted à la the Red Sea.

“Hey, aren’t you related to that singer or whatever?” a redheaded girl in a hoodie next to her asked. Finally.

“Yeah, that’s my sister,” Daney replied, trying her hardest not to let her calm, even tone betray her ecstatic feeling. “She used to go here, but she dropped out to be homeschooled.”
“I like her song.”

“I’ll tell her you said that.” Daney flashed her rehearsed smirk. Her plan was beginning to fall into place.

On her way to first period, Daney spotted Veronica Stone barreling down the hallway towards her with a genuine smile. Veronica was Daney’s neighbor and had been her best friend since third grade. Unbeknownst to Veronica, Daney thought she was overweight and awkward and clueless about the art of subtlety, but Daney had had become friends with her out of pure necessity because neither of them was outgoing or popular (as was still the case).
“Daney!” Veronica enveloped Daney in a hug. “Why weren’t you on the bus?”

“Jen drove me,” Daney answered nonchalantly, patting her on the back in return. “Her record label got her a Range Rover for her first platinum single.” She dropped her guard and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Have you seen Lucas lately?” she asked, not mincing words.
“Yeah, uh, he was in my homeroom.” Veronica’s eyebrows furrowed and she let out a sigh. “I thought you would be over him by now—”

Daney’s eyes narrowed. “Ronnie, stop,” she hissed. “It’s going to be different this year with him, and as my fuh-riend, you’re supposed to be supportive of that. Right?”

The guilt trip worked. “’Course.” Veronica nodded her head sheepishly. So, what class do you
have this period? I can walk with you there.”

Daney spun on the heels of her wedges, tossing out a deliberately icy “I’ll walk myself to English, thanks.”

***
Daney’s first three periods came and went in a blur of teacher introductions and futile attempts at icebreakers. She counted three compliments on her shoes and five questions about her sister’s songwriting, all of which she responded with calculated and decidedly ambiguous answers, inviting follow-up inquiries.

Schedule card in hand, she navigated the snaking hallways of the foreign language wing. Her Latin teacher was someone named Leona de Albineio. Daney frowned at the surname. Albe-nay-yo? Al-¬bin¬-nyo?

“Wow, working on your orals already?” came a teasing voice. “Someone really wants to get into Harvard.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize I was talking out loud.” Daney chuckled lightly. When she glanced behind her, her laugh got caught in her throat.

Lucas Sharp cut in front of her and walked into the classroom, holding the door open with a flourish. Daney blushed and ducked her head appreciatively, though she had a feeling Lucas’s gesture was not for her benefit but rather to ensure that he would walk into the room first.
There was something paradoxical about Lucas Sharp. His hair was the color of sun-soaked wheat, yet lacked the coiffed form that told of time spent in front of the mirror. He was easily the most popular boy in the sophomore class, yet no one was sure why they wanted to be around him so much. Bending the rules and making humorous comments out of turn in class were two of his favorite pastimes, but he still took great care to maintain his grades—he was every teacher’s favorite student and worst nightmare rolled into one. He was appropriately shallow for a stereotypical fifteen-year-old boy, but Daney had witnessed him hold intelligent conversation on several accounts.

Daney couldn’t put her finger on why she liked him, given everything she knew and didn’t know about him. But at the very least, she knew that he didn’t pay attention to quiet girls who ate lunch with the same friend every single day and kept their heads down, blending into the background and burying themselves in schoolwork like it was the only thing that gave them satisfaction. When her sister had put out “Bright World”, Daney had seized the opportunity to reinvent herself. Jen didn’t care much for fame anyway, so Daney could felt that she might as well reap the benefits for the both of them. Already, more people had spoken to her in her first three hours of sophomore year than in her entire freshman year. Hopefully, Lucas, too, would be lured by the siren song of fame.

“Okay, everyone, free seating for the day,” Mrs. de Albineio announced as her students trickled into the classroom in clusters. “Make nameplates for yourselves and set them up on your desks.”

Daney waited until Lucas had sat down in the back row, waited a beat, and then chose a spot two desks to his right so as not to make her intentions obvious.
Lucas had struck up conversation with a brunette cheerleader in a revealing crop top and hot pants, whose nameplate read “Elise” in obnoxiously large, loopy letters with a heart over the i. “How was your summer?” Lucas asked in a tone drastically different from the taunting one he had used with Daney moments earlier. Elise leaned into Lucas and whispered into his ear, bursting into raucous laughter. This response elicited a grin from Lucas.

The teacher clapped her hands twice, shushing her class with a finger to the lips. “Settle down, ladies and gentlemen. That goes for you lovebirds over there, too.”

As Lucas and Elle exchanged amused looks, Daney sank in her seat, the possibility of wrinkling her romper the furthest thing from her thoughts.

***

Sweltering August cooled into September, and September into chilly October. The notion of her “new start” ambled like a sulking loiterer in the back of Daney’s mind, with no progress and no hope in sight. Every day before Latin class, she braced herself for forty-five minutes of Lucas and Elise’s lively exchange pelting her ears like lead bullets. To Daney’s great disgust, Elle was the kind of girl who flipped her hair repeatedly as she talked, flinched at the slightest disturbance and always reacted by grabbing the arm of the nearest male in her vicinity just to play the needy victim. Daney asked herself every day why Lucas had to be attracted to a girl who so flaunted herself so shamelessly and needed attention the way insomniacs needed sleeping pills.

Homecoming week arrived, and the entire school was abuzz with rumors of who would be going with whom and who had been rejected, topped off with the girls’ discussion of dresses, makeup and flowers. Fortunately, this gave Daney the opportunity to bond with several classmates, to whom she promised to lend her sister’s Marchesa cocktail dresses.

Daney stalled on purchasing her ticket for the dance, not wanting to go until she knew for certain that Lucas was going, and not taking Elle as his date. If he wasn’t going, and going solo at that, Daney saw no point in her own attendance. This was possibly her last chance to prove that she could be one of the extroverted, flirtatious girls he was drawn to.
When she proposed the idea of a second ugly-duckling transformation to her sister, all Jen had done was shake her head and smile wryly, offering, “You know, there are a million songs out there that warn against naivety but none that say putting on new clothes is the way to get a guy.”

Finally, Daney got the answer she had been both anticipating and dreading when Lucas drew an intricate heart with “HC?” written in its center on the back of Elise’s hand, to which she had reacted with a piercing squeal. After a near-breakdown in the girls’ bathroom, Daney fumbled through the rest of her periods in a muddled state of mind and practically flew to the parking lot when the final bell rang, wanting nothing more than to burrow into something comforting.

“Hey, wait!” someone called just as Daney spotted Jennifer’s black Range Rover. It was Aimee Garcia, the student body president, who had been Jen’s friend pre-fame when they were both juniors at Grover Cleveland. Aimee was clutching a brown paper bag. “Daney Marshall?”

“I’m sorry, Aimee, this really isn’t a good time.” Daney refused to meet the senior’s gaze, fearing that doing so would prompt would an outpouring of tears.

“All right, I’ll be quick. This is for you.” Aimee handed the brown paper bag to Daney. “I was told to deliver it on the last day homecoming tickets were available for sale.”

Daney accepted the paper bag hastily and peered inside, her curiosity piqued. It contained a handful of torn-up scraps and a handwritten note scrawled in blue ink.

These are the remains of your HC ticket. We bought it for you days ago, and trust us, you won’t be able to buy another one.

Please stop doing this to yourself. Forget Lucas—we’re going to an album launch.
Love, Jennifer & Veronica