Black Eyeliner and Varsity Jackets

Chapter 1: MySpace top 8

Angela slammed her locker shut, the metallic echo drowning under the chatter of Eastview High’s crowded hallway. A strand of her dark hair fell over her eye, black eyeliner smudged just enough to make her mother roll her eyes that morning. Good. That was the point.

She adjusted the headphones hanging around her neck—Fall Out Boy humming faintly from her CD player. It was like armor. No one messed with the emo kid with eyeliner sharp enough to kill.

Almost no one.

“Hey, Angela!”

The voice sliced through the noise like a cheer captain’s whistle. Angela froze. Of course she knew who it was. Everyone did. Courtney Miller didn’t just walk down hallways—she owned them. Blonde hair glossy like a shampoo ad, Abercrombie hoodie hanging perfectly off her shoulders, and that smile… the one that made teachers bend the rules and boys trip over themselves.

Angela turned, trying to mask the way her stomach twisted. “Uh. Hey.” She hated how awkward she sounded.

Courtney grinned like they were best friends. Like Angela wasn’t a shadow in the corner of every classroom. “You didn’t answer my IM last night,” Courtney said, lowering her voice just enough that the cheer squad walking ahead wouldn’t catch it.

Angela blinked. Her throat felt dry. Last night’s conversation flashed in her mind:

CourtneyMiller23: Wish u were here rn.
DeathxCabForCutiex: Yeah?
CourtneyMiller23: Yeah.

Angela shrugged, feigning boredom. “Didn’t see it.” Lie. She saw every word. Reread it until her computer screen burned into her retinas.

Courtney stepped closer, and the faint smell of vanilla body spray hit Angela like a punch. “Liar.” Her smile was all teeth, but her eyes told a different story. Hungry. Wanting.

“Court—” Angela started, but Courtney’s boyfriend—Shayne, of course his name was Shayne—threw an arm around her shoulders. Varsity jacket, smug grin. The football god himself.

“Babe,” he said, pulling Courtney close. “Party at Keiths’s Friday. You in?”

“Of course,” Courtney chirped, slipping effortlessly into her role. Perfect girlfriend. Perfect girl.

Angela looked away, forcing her gaze to a poster for prom on the bulletin board. As if that mattered to her. As if she’d even go.

But then Courtney’s hand brushed Angela’s—quick, so quick Angela wondered if she imagined it. A spark zipped up her arm, and her heart thundered against her ribs.

Before Angela could react, Courtney was walking away, laughing at something Shayne said. Her blonde ponytail swung like a pendulum, hypnotic and cruel.

Angela pressed her headphones tighter over her ears, but even Fall Out Boy couldn’t drown out the truth clawing at her chest.

She was screwed