The Whisper Seekers

Fashion Police

The next morning, I hear a car horn outside my window, and as always, Derek's Jeep sits on my driveway right on time. I apply a quick coat of clear lip gloss, pop my lips, and approve of my wardrobe choice for the day. 

I carefully run down the stairs and out the front door, trying my best not to trip in my tall wedge sandals. I pull at the bottom of my Free People skirt as I make my way down our long driveway to Derek's idling blue Jeep Commander.

"Good morning!" I beam as I yank the door open. My outfit is not the best to have on while hopping in a lifted Jeep, but I still try to gracefully climb inside while Derek's eyes remain on my face. He smiles at me and then reaches over to give me a small peck on the lips.

"Oh gross, your lips are sticky." He grimaces as he smacks his lips, trying to get off my residue.

"At least it's clear today and not hot pink," I shoot back with a flirty smile. He puts his hand on my exposed knee and leaves it there while we drive toward the school.

Derek Atwater is, by far, the best-looking guy at Highland Park High. He transferred at the beginning of our sophomore year, and every girl was curious about the new golden-haired, green-eyed hottie, myself included. Harper was also quick to notice, and I knew it was going to be a race for his attention. I nearly died from excitement when I heard he had moved in right down the street from my house. Harper, Lily, and I would casually wander that way after cheer practice, and it wasn't long before we were all hanging out.

One night, while we were at Lily's house, Derek pulled me aside and asked me out. Our new relationship officially solidified our position at the top of the social hierarchy. Unfortunately, Harper walked in on our first kiss, and her eyes immediately welled up with tears. Even now, our relationship is a sore spot for her, and she still tries to flirt with Derek every chance she gets. I know that if we ever broke up, she'd pounce on him without hesitation. When it comes to cute boys, Harper has no loyalty.

His face already looks less boyish than when we first met, but his wide green eyes and full lips are still the same. His pretty face comes with a brain I know will get him into any college he chooses. He's a trust fund baby, but the trust comes with strings attached: he has to graduate from a college of his parents' choosing and land a full-time job before he can touch a dime. My parents adore him and his trust fund. My father has already offered him an internship at his company, just as long as he stays in Texas for college.

As we pull into the school parking lot, Derek grabs my hand, and I let my eyes trail down his flattering new polo. I catch a glimpse of his sleeves pulling tight against his toned arms and blush at how ridiculously attractive he is. Girls at Highland Park are smart enough not to flirt openly with Derek, but even when I'm clinging to his arm, they still sneak glances. We strut toward the large glass windows that line the main entrance of our school like a runway, just waiting for us to make our entrance.

Our cafeteria sits on the other side of the glass, so students are able to stare at everyone walking into the building while seated at the tables inside. It makes every morning feel like a red carpet entrance since most girls eye what other girls are wearing while they strut down the glass hallway.

At our school, labels are everything. We proudly call ourselves label whores. More than half of our student body is the offspring of deep-pocketed families who made their fortunes off oil generations ago. The other half are rodeo riders and ranchers' kids, stomping around in tight Wrangler jeans and gleaming belt buckles the size of dessert plates. Derek and his crew call them "dirts," and they call us "tories." The two groups do not tolerate each other.

Even though our high school sits in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the country, we still find ways to make one rich group feel superior to another.