Chapter 3 Oh Great! Guess Who Am I Now?

In the shadowed corner beside the dingy sink wall, a couple of figures crouched, shrouded in a haze of white powder. Their frantic movements became more pronounced as Brooklyn and I approached, their hands shoving clear Ziploc bags filled with the same white substance into their backpacks with desperate haste.

"Move!" Brooklyn's command sliced through the thick air, echoing off the tiled walls.

"Crazy bitches," one of the addicts muttered under their breath as they scrambled to their feet, blocking our path. The stench of marijuana was overpowering, sending my head into a dizzying spin. As one of them, her face adorned with silver studs and a glowing silver tongue stud in the center, stuck her tongue out mockingly at us, she bumped against my shoulder, leaving a trail of the intoxicating powder on my clothes.

Involuntarily, I coughed as some of the powder made its way into my nostrils. Frantically, I shook off the remnants clinging to my fabric, a bitter taste of humiliation filling my mouth.

Pathetic.

Brooklyn reached out, brushing off the lingering white powder from my shoulder with a gesture that carried more weight than it seemed. "Now you know that power is everything."

POWER

Brooklyn's mention of power forced me to ponder its true essence in high school. Power, in this microcosm of society, seemed to exempt one from the consequences of bullying. To the inconsequential and the overlooked, like myself, "power" was a distant concept, the difference between visibility and obscurity. We were the underdogs, the misfits. Who would dare defend us against the social hierarchy? Even if the elites despised each other, they would unite in their disdain for us first.

Becoming as popular as they were seemed the only escape.

I understood the stakes. But was altering my very nature the price of admission into their ranks? Was I willing to trade my authenticity for a semblance of their power?

Yet, one truth remained starkly clear to me:

Escaping my nature was impossible.

The Brooklyn I knew seemed a stranger now. The girl who once embodied kindness and compassion was lost, replaced by the fervor of a cheerleader's ambition. This transformation was why I loathed the very idea of cheerleaders. Unknowingly, Brooklyn was morphing into someone akin to Penelope—domineering, entitled, and increasingly indifferent to the manipulation of others for her gain.

Admittedly, I was fearful and timid, yet my greatest fear was becoming a reflection of Penelope. Brooklyn had lost herself to the rivalry, obsessed with outmaneuvering Penelope for the crown of prom queen. Such aspirations held little allure for me; my concerns were more academic, hoping only for a decent score on the first SAT practice test.

I wished to remind her that our future lay beyond high school, that college was our true horizon.

Despite Brooklyn's convictions, my options had dwindled to none. Fleeing would only embolden Penelope further.

"If you can't beat them, join them," the adage echoed in my mind, a fitting mantra for this twisted scenario.

Yet, my reluctance to join them stemmed not from a desire for fame or power. Brooklyn, too, had succumbed to this relentless transformation.

The influence we exert over one another is profound, dangerous even. Without vigilance, one can easily be swept into the maelstrom.

Caught between Brooklyn and Penelope, I was but a pawn in their game—a testament to the privileges that popularity conferred. Joining the cheer squad was presented as the first step towards reclaiming some semblance of control.

"You can't decide that for me," I murmured, more to myself than to Brooklyn. Despite the inadvertent marijuana haze clouding my senses, my resolve remained unshaken.

Being coerced into popularity and the cheerleading squad was not my chosen path. My clarity on this matter was unwavering, my mind clear despite the circumstances.