Pretty When We Fall

2 - How to Meddle Effectively

Nick Owens

"Please, Meghan. You've got to switch seats with me. Pretty please!"

Two hours into the flight and Emiline Barker was already causing chaos.

Something about a mum who couldn't control her feral five-year-old, and how it was ruining her chance to nap and 'mentally prepare' for school. I leaned forward from my seat, just close enough to catch Meghan's face. She looked torn - caught between being a good friend and self-preservation. From the look in her eyes, she was choosing the latter.

I leaned in a little more, probably enjoying the drama a bit too much - until Emmy spotted me.

"Connard, if you're going to eavesdrop, you might as well help."

She gave me that look. The one that dared you to say no.

Then she launched into some low-grade French threats laced with dramatic English. Something about migraines and motherly incompetence. I caught tête d'ampoule and figured I should step in before she hexed the child or started quoting Voltaire.

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll switch with you."

Her grin could've powered the plane.

"But remember this, Barker," I added, already grabbing my things. "You owe me."

I swapped seat numbers with her like we were signing a contract of mutually assured destruction.

As I passed Meghan, she tapped my arm with a grateful smile. "Thank you. I think I might've strangled her if I'd given in."

I gave her a nod and kept moving, dodging swinging backpacks and aisle elbows until I reached 43C.

She was already there - head dipped, curls spilling forward like velvet curtains, posture perfect even in sleep.

Scarlet Collins.

Of course.

I dropped into the seat beside her, shoved in my earbuds, and started flicking through the film catalogue. Something loud. Explosive. Enough to drown out the engines - and Emmy's voice echoing in my brain.

Then she shifted. Her head dipped sideways... and landed on my shoulder.

I froze. Briefly considered elbowing her off.

Then I didn't.

Because of course it was Scarlet. Perfect, polished, always-one-step-ahead Scarlet. The girl who made effort look effortless. Who got praised for being bold while I got told off for being loud.

She wins everything.

Perfect grades. Perfect timing. Perfect image. Even when she messes up, it's spun as ambition or brilliance. Me? I get 'disruptive' and 'concerning energy'.

She's the kind of girl who wins awards for speeches she didn't write and still manages to look modest while accepting them. Like she hadn't spent weeks obsessing over it. Like it just happened.

I hate that about her.

Maybe because I tried it once - played it straight. Did everything right. Aced the project, shut up in class, wore the blazer the right way.

No one noticed.

Then she arrived. Louder. Sharper. Shinier. And they handed her the crown in week one.

Scarlet Collins always needs to win. And this year? Her final year? It's all going to be glossier. Bigger. More perfect.

I could almost admire it - if it didn't make me want to tear it down.