The Perfectionists

Chapter 1

On a sunny Thursday morning, Mal Moors fought her way through the crowded halls of Auradon Prep High, a school that handed out MacBooks like they were, well, apples, and boasted the highest average SAT scores in all of Auradon. Overhead, a blue-and-yellow banner read CONGRATULATIONS, AURADON PREP! VOTED BEST HIGH SCHOOL IN THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST FOR THE FIFTH YEAR IN A ROW BY U.S. NEWS & WORLD REPORT! GO KNIGHTS!

Get over yourselves, Mal wanted to shout—though she didn't, because that would seem crazy, even for her. She looked around the corridor. A gaggle of girls in their tennis skirts congregated around a locker mirror, diligently applying lip gloss to their already impeccably made-up faces. A few feet away, a guy in a button-down shirt handed out flyers for the student government elections, his smile blindingly white. Two girls came out of the auditorium and brushed past Mal, one of them saying, "I really hope you get the part if I don't. You're just so talented!"

Mal rolled her eyes. Don't you realize none of this matters? Everyone was striving for something or clawing their way to the top . . . and for what? A better chance at the perfect scholarship? A better opportunity to score that perfect internship? Perfect, perfect, perfect, brag, brag, brag. Of course, Mal used to be like that. Not long ago, Mal had been popular, smart, and driven. She had a zillion followers on Instagram and Twitter. She made up complicated polls that everyone participated in, and if she showed up at a party, she made the event. She was invited to everything, asked to be part of every club. Guys would escort her to class and beg her for dates.

But then It happened, and the Mal who rose from the ashes a year ago wore the same hoodie every day to hide the scars that marred her once beautiful face. She never went to parties. She hadn't looked at Instagram in months, couldn't imagine dating, had no interest in clubs. Not a single soul glanced at her as she stomped down the hall. If she did get a look, it was one of apprehension and caution. Don't talk to her. She's damaged. She's what could happen if you aren't perfect.

She was about to walk into the film studies classroom when someone caught her arm. "Mal. Did you forget?" Her best—and only—friend, Evie Grimhilde, stood behind her. She looked perfectly polished in a crisp white blouse, her blue hair gleaming and her eyes round with worry.

"Forget what?" Mal grumbled, pulling her hoodie tighter over her face. "The assembly today. It's mandatory." Mal stared at her friend. Like she cared about mandatory anything.

"Come on." Evie led her down the hall, and Mal reluctantly followed. "So where have you been, anyway?" Evie whispered. "I've been texting you for two days. Were you sick?" Mal scoffed. "Sick of life." She'd bagged class for most of this week. She simply hadn't felt like going. What she'd done with her time, she couldn't quite recall—her short-term memory was a tricky thing these days. "It's contagious, so you might want to keep your distance."

Evie wrinkled her nose. "And were you smoking again? You smell disgusting." Mal rolled her eyes. Her friend was in what Mal had always called Mama Bear Mode, fierce and protective. Mal had to keep remembering that it was endearing, especially because no one else cared whether she lived or died. Evie was the only remaining vestige of Mal's old life, and now that Mal was shrouded in shadow, Evie was Auradon's new It Girl. Not that Mal begrudged her the title. Evie had her own demons to battle; she just wore her scars on the inside.

They swept down the hall, passing by Randy, the hippie janitor, who was working his hardest to keep the school squeaky-clean at all times. The auditorium was ahead, and Evie pushed open the heavy wooden door. The large room was filled with kids, yet it felt eerily quiet. A lot of people were sniffling. More shook their heads. A knot of girls hugged. As soon as Mal saw the big picture of Ben on the stage, her blood pressure dropped. The letters RIP were spelled out in flowers beneath his photo.