The lights of Hillcrest Academy’s main hall gleamed like a runway in Milan. Chandeliers hung so low you half expected them to whisper secrets, and the red carpet ~yes, actual red carpet stretched from the entrance to the stage, where a live band was awkwardly trying to play jazz while also being Instagram-ready.
I, Zara Collins, stood in the corner, balancing a plastic champagne flute in one hand and a sense of impending doom in the other. Wearing a dress that cost less than Mila Harris’ hair extensions, I scanned the room. Every detail screamed perfection: designer dresses, polished shoes, and smiles so fake they could qualify for a beauty contest.
And there she was.
Mila Harris.
Queen Bee. Hillcrest royalty. A human highlight reel. She floated across the hall, tossing hair that probably had its own stylist team. And of course, she looked directly at me.
I smiled. Not because I liked her, God no but because I had to. A smirk that said: Yes, I see you, and yes, I’m still alive.
Her eyes narrowed. The universal code for: Zara Collins, don’t even think about stealing my spotlight tonight.
I didn’t. Not tonight. My plan was simple: survive, entertain myself, and maybe catch someone embarrassing themselves on camera so I could post it later.
“You coming, Zara?” Toby Reed’s voice jolted me out of my inner monologue. My best friend was trying to adjust his bow tie, which somehow had developed a life of its own and threatened to strangle him. Typical.
“Coming,” I muttered, shoving my phone in my clutch. Toby shrugged and followed me to the dance floor. Not that I dance. I just like to watch everyone else make fools of themselves while pretending I’m above it all.
The gala was in full swing, Ivy Bernett was loudly announcing she was the best-dressed new girl, Nia Morgan was live-streaming every awkward dance move for her followers, and Logan Prince was somehow juggling his date, his phone, and his popularity all at once. Multitasking should be an Olympic sport for him.
Then came the first sign that tonight wouldn’t be as boring as I thought.
A loud crash echoed from the buffet table. Forks flew. Chocolate mousse landed on someone’s sequined dress. Gasps and laughter erupted simultaneously.
Ivy, ever dramatic, shrieked, “It’s a disaster! The perfect gala!”
I exchanged a glance with Toby. He whispered, “Bet someone did it on purpose.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Probably Mila.”
Before I could roll my eyes properly, the lights flickered. Just once. Then steadied. But for a heartbeat, the entire hall went dark. A collective ooh filled the room. People laughed nervously, phones lit up like tiny flashlights.
When the lights returned, Mila was smiling perfectly calm, hair flawless, eyes sparkling but I noticed something. Something small. A glass of red wine tilted ever so slightly in her hand, spilling not onto the table, but almost pointedly toward… me.
I froze.
Was it an accident? Maybe. Probably. Or maybe, just maybe, it was a warning.
Before I could decide, Jayden Cole strolled by, grinning like he owned the world. Of course, he did or at least he thought he did. “Hey, Zara,” he said, leaning closer than necessary. “Enjoying the gala?”
“Fascinating,” I said. Tone dripping with sarcasm. “Never seen so many people fight over hors d’oeuvres.”
He laughed. Too loud. Too knowing.
And that’s when it happened.
Someone shouted. Loud. Sharp. Something about “the prank!” I barely had time to look up before a cascade of glitter rained from the balcony above, like a sparkling waterfall aimed directly at the assembly of the elite. Chaos erupted. Students screamed. Adults shrieked. The band froze mid-note.
I took a step back. Toby grabbed my arm. Ivy shrieked. Logan tried to act heroic but tripped over the same red carpet he strutted down earlier.
And Mila? She laughed. Pure, triumphant, terrifying laughter.
“You’re impossible,” I muttered under my breath.
Someone was filming it all. I knew it because every school event at Hillcrest had a camera somewhere, and tonight would be no exception. Nia’s live-stream was probably capturing my death glare in HD.
“Perfect alibi,” I muttered. And then I laughed. Dark, sharp, sarcastic. Because at Hillcrest, survival wasn’t about avoiding trouble. It was about surviving it… with style, wit, and a camera ready to capture your face when you inevitably lose.
And I had a feeling tonight was just the beginning.
ns216.73.216.254da2
and then Add to home screen.