The Sixty Lies Of Alison Hart

1

As usual, the halls of Winston High have reached maximum capacity, and then some. The crowds don't immediately part for me like they used to, and I have to resort to pushing and shoving to even get to my locker. It's homeroom rush, at it's finest. My (ex) best friend Elise used to call it "survival of the fittest". I'm just now realizing how true that is.

It didn't used to be this way. Go back a year, a couple of months, even. I was on the top of the food chain, with Elise as my right hand man and her twin, Lauren, as my left. Brady Buchanan was my football star boyfriend, and everyone, from the brown-nosing freshman to the gangly seniors, practically worshipped the ground I walked on.

Meaning they fully worshiped me.

But there are bound to be some storms in paradise, right? Well, this was a Catagory 5 hurricane. And it's name was Lucy Morris.

Lucy was a short, stumpy sixteen year old (we later found out she skipped a grade, because of her 'intellectual talent') in desperate need of zit cream when Brady first started to fall for her. She had practically nothing going for her, except for her secret stash of witty comebacks and sassy remarks. And sometimes even those failed. (You think your PMSing was bad? Take look at Lucy's) But for some reason, Brady decided that I wasn't 'the right fit' for him, and that 'he needed some time to think'. It was like ditching a perfectly nice pair of Chanel pumps for hideous pleather flats. Either way, Brady's feet would be nice and warm. And mine would be left out in the cold, brand new manicures be damned.

And then it was time for the pretty girl to face the ugly truth. When you're in a relationship with the star player of the Winston Wolverines, it doesn't matter that your eyes are the color of rotten peas, or that your hair looks like it's never met a brush. Lucy was replacing me, as Elise and Lauren's best friend, as Brady's girlfriend, as the most popular girl in Winston. And I, Alison Sabrina Hart, was turned to the shadows.

The Chanel pumps had been placed in Goodwill.

"Ali!" Through the hoards of students clammoring to get to their lockers, a small girl emerged. She was about 5'2, with short brown hair fastened with an aardvark barrette. Her faded jeans hid her dirty purple Converse, but her top, (a green tank embroidered with shooting stars) barely concealed her large stomach. Anyone who had even glimpsed at a style magazine, or oohed at a Gucci display would know that this girl was fashion challenged, to say the least. She had no place at Winston, where we practically used Hermès scarves as tissues.

Normally, a girl like her avoided me, even after Lucy's takeover. Normally, I made girls like her burst into tears after even a few outfit shaming sentences. But normally, girls like her weren't my younger sister.

Chloe Kate Jordan Hart leaned against my locker and adjusted her sneakers, tightening the dirty laces. The aardvark barrette grew loose, threatening to fall on the muddy linoleum.

"Why are you here?" I asked, maintaining my cool posterior in the chance that it would intimidate Chloe Kate, and she would leave. The only thing that could make my social status worse was standing next to the most annoying girl in school. Any second now, Lucy, Lauren, and Elise would walk by and notice. I could already feel the sting of their mean jabs.

Instead of answering, Chloe Kate whipped out a tube of peach Burt's Bees. She was just moments away from smearing her lips with the smelly balm, but I knocked it away at the last second. It clattered to the floor, and was immediately swept away by the hundreds of students coming through.

I took some lavender tinted lip gloss from my bag. Thirteen dollar Chanel wasn't something most girls refused, but Chloe Kate shrugged away the metallic tube like it was full of dog drool, not expensive designer makeup. It just figured that my sister was immediately drawn to almost everything unstylish, but practically allergic to anything even remotely cute.

I stuffed the gloss back in my purse.

"What. Do. You. Want?" I asked stonily, reapplying my signature pink lip tint. Despite being dumped, embarrassed, and teased, my lips were still perfect Angelinas. The only difference was that they weren't locked onto Brady's.

"Well, hello to you too, sister dear." Chloe Kate replied. Her voice seemed teasing, one of the reasons why she annoyed me. Even after my downfall, I could crush her social status in one stomp. But yet, she acted like she was above me. "And stop acting like you're in such a rush. It's not like you have any friends you need to meet." It was sort of true, but at the same time, it made me want to push her into the oncoming student traffic.

Of course, I couldn't. (Chloe Kate was an expert in playing the victim. One look at her hurt puppy eyes, and I'd be in twice as much trouble.) So I settled for breaking the ugly barrette. I carefully slammed into her head with my Coach tote, and it fell to the floor. Where it was instantly shattered into six plastic pieces.

"Um, rude. Anyway, I was going to say that mom switched our lu—"

"Go away."

"—nches. But if you're too cool—" she made air quotes on that word. "to be seen with me, then fine. Enjoy your full fat bread and Double Stuffs!" Chloe Kate merged back into the hoard, and then she was just another face in the crowd.

Right in time.

"How's it going, lo-sah?" Lucy strutted up to me, her enormous posse behind her. Lauren and Elise had been joined by at least five ninth graders, making me snicker softly. Only sheer desperation would force Lucy to let freshman into her ranks. It was a typical B-list move.

And even then, they were no match for me. I could tell that their tops were last season, I could see that their micro-minis were choking their size eight thighs. One comment, and I knew I could reduce at least one of those girls to tears. After all, why take the high road when the low one had so much drama?

"Nice of you to drop by, Lucy." I replied. "Still trying to gloat about stealing the football has-been?"

"All she did was ask a question, Ali. Paranoid much?" Lauren's retort projected confidence, but I could tell by the way she immediately glanced at Lucy that it was all an act.

"And all I did was ask one back. I'd say you're the paranoid one, Laur. And by the way— those jeans? So not your size. I'd maybe try something in a ten." On of the freshman girls took a step back. Apparently I wasn't as lame as Lucy had told her.

But the supposed 'queen bee' still had one trick up her sleeve. A 6'4 trick with abs of steel and perfectly tousled blonde hair. A trick named Brady Buchanan.

He strode up like the entire world was waiting for him, with a Draco Malfoy esquè smirk that complemented the mole in his right cheek. Everything about him screamed TEEN ROCKSTAR!, from his tastefully ripped jeans to his dark green and white striped sweater. My heart still felt like a rolling ping pong ball whenever he looked at me. But now my anger, red hot and flaming, was melting the ping pong ball. Melting. It. Down.

"Nice of you to show up, Brady." My words seemed to lash at him. They were much sharper then they made been when I was exchanging insults with Lucy. "Long time, no see."

"Listen, Ali. Stop causing trouble with Luce, okay?" A short freshman in too small jeans gave an awkward laugh. Lauren squeezed her arm to get her to shut up.

"God, Brady. I thought maybe you'd be smarter, but evidently not."

"What do you mean?"

"Figure it out, football star." I retorted. "Or better yet; ask your girlfriend." And, holding my gold notebook and white monogrammed pen, I walked down the hall.