Facade of the Echoed

Shadows Behind the Crown

I stand back to examine myself in the full-length mirror, applying the final touches of lip gloss to complete my look - flawless, as always. My name's Chloe Harrington, reigning queen bee of Brooksdale High, not that I need an introduction. Everyone knows who I am. Running a hand through my blonde waves, I nod in approval before grabbing my Chanel bag and heading downstairs.

"Morning sweetie! I made a fresh stack of whole wheat pancakes with berries if you're hungry," my mom calls out cheerily from the kitchen. She's still in her silk robe, not a hair out of place or a smudge in her expertly applied makeup despite just having cooked an entire meal.

I scrunch my nose, eyeing the platter disdainfully. "Hard pass. I'm trying to drop five pounds before summer."

My dad peers over the top of his newspaper, eyeing me over the rims of his reading glasses. "Chloe darling, you look perfect just as you are. You definitely don't need to lose anything. Just focus on keeping up those straight A's - that's what truly matters."

"Dad, we've talked about this," I reply with an exaggerated eye roll. "School is just a stepping stone to the real world. Right now, being queen of Brooksdale High is my full-time job." I give him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, then lean down to kiss my mom on the cheek, careful not to smudge my flawless lip gloss application. "Gotta run!"

I grab a low-fat yogurt cup from the fridge and hurry outside, the early morning sunlight momentarily blinding me. As my vision adjusts, I spot my older brother Ethan loading up his flashy white Jeep Wrangler. Even in just a t-shirt and board shorts, he looks like a Hollister model who just stepped off the runway - all tanned skin, tousled blonde hair, and a jawline carved from marble. Of all the major hotties in this neighborhood, Ethan takes the crown for sure. But it's not just his Greek God-like looks that make him my favorite person. He's the only one I fully trust in this world besides our parents. We clash over stupid things sometimes sure, but Ethan has never lied to me. And he's always there when I need him, no questions asked.

"Hey Chlo-bot, need a ride?" he asks, using the dumb nickname he gave me as kids that has annoyingly stuck.

I let out an incredulous laugh. "With my baby? No thanks." I saunter over to the garage and run a perfectly manicured hand along the gleaming hot pink exterior of my BMW convertible. "You remember Lucy, right? Dad surprised me with her last year for my sweet sixteen."

Ethan raises an eyebrow, letting out an impressed whistle. "Wow sis, when did you get a Beamer?"

"When you abandoned me to go drink beer and cozy up to sorority girls at State U," I retort, blowing him a playful air kiss. "Ciao!"

I put the top down, back Lucy out of the garage, and cruise toward Brooksdale High, relishing the warm spring sun on my skin and the wind through my long blonde hair. I casually wave at a few neighborhood moms power-walking past our house who stare admiringly as I drive by. Just another day in the fab life of Chloe Harrington. But little do I know, everything is about to change...

I strut through the front doors of Brooksdale High and all eyes turn to me, as if I'm walking in slow motion from the final scene of a teen movie. Everyone wears the usual looks - envy from the girls, longing from the guys I've rejected, and respect tinged with fear from my mere minions. Several people rush to greet me, but I flash just the hint of a smile and keep walking.

My royal court scrambles to catch up, falling into polished formation behind me. There's Ava Lindberg, whose mother is famous in the contemporary art world - I keep her around because her house has a sick pool. On my right is wildchild Bianca Kowalski, whose parents own an extreme sports empire; we've been besties since kindergarten. Bookending my entourage is our gossip guru Grace Tannen and sweet yet boring diplomat's daughter Sophie Varma. My clique, simply known by our school as the B-Gals, rule these halls with perfect hair, sharp eyeliner, and killer stilettos.