It was the third dance of seventh grade when Calum first approached me. We had both gone to all the dances, but Calum usually had a date— he said yes to almost any girl that asked him, regulated by the "Calum Andrew Remington Fan Club" that was really just a posse of girls headed by Abigail Venet who, at the time, had her sights set straight and true on Calum.

    "I was thinking we could go to the dance together," he had asked with a grin. "As friends."

I felt like I was thrust back into the seat of the bus from so long ago at the time, but it was better this time. We had a title— friends.

"What was that?" Karen Windsor, the new addition to the forming posse that year, asked as Quinn and Whitney giggled like middle school girls do and Abigail pursed her lips. Whitney Lemaistre and Abigail Venet had joined our expansive group of friends in sixth grade, although the four of us were the closest.

"That, Karen, was Calum paying his dues to his secret girlfriend," Quinn said with a smirk. "Admit it already, Stella. You and Calum are secretly dating."

"We are not!" I had shot back fiercely, but of course no one believed me. They were all convinced that Calum had essentially professed his undying love to me, and I didn't have time to convince them otherwise before the bell rang to signal the end of lunch.

The dance—spring formal—had been held on a cruise ship per usual, and the air was a bit chilly on the deck. The sun was still a way before setting, and I remember needing a breather and excusing myself to gaze into the blue expanse of the sea.

"Here," Calum had said, interrupting my silence to drape his coat on my shoulders. "Don't catch a cold."

"We could just go back inside," I had said, clutching the coat tightly. I remember my confusion when he didn't follow me to the door back inside, how perfect he looked eclipsing the dipping star.

"We need front-row tickets for the sunset," he explained, head facing the lolling navy landscape as the sea winds ruffled up kicks of his hair. "I'll save the space, but come out here soon— I'm not that big."

"No you aren't," I remember saying, "so I'm helping you."

We stayed on the deck until the sun kissed the surface of the horizon, purple-orange gradients fading into navy. The girls had found us there with their respective dates, none of them serious, and continued teasing me. Calum seemed amused by it all, leaving me to the wolves.

It was the first time I seriously considered Calum as a romantic interest, but I didn't push it. I had time before I had to start searching. "High school would be ideal," my mother had told me one day over dinner, "but you don't need to start worrying until university. Although boys are equally immature there."

My father was present at the table, but he was tired per usual. Michael William Reyes was the head surgeon at one of the best hospitals in the world, and he usually came home drained if he came home at all. On better days he would inquire about my day, but mostly he would retire early and leave for work while I slept.

My mother "wore the pants" in my family, and she had to— Sheila Teresa Reyes was the CEO of her family's multibillion-dollar company since her elder sister couldn't "step up to the job." She was known as the 'Royce Steamroller' when she first started—unmarried at the time—rising to the top in a little more than two years even though she started with an internship. My mother's great-aunt had been the one to start the company in which her parents didn't hold high positions, but she managed carve her way into the interior with sheer determination. Her success made the Royce branch and, by extension, the Reyes branch the main branch of the family.

"There's no excuse for failure," she'd tell me when I didn't prove sufficient on tests. "It's your job to be ready."

Her advice was to be taken at surface value, but those values would stick. She was the one who, after hearing about Abigail's fan club, told me to talk it out with Abigail.

"If there's one unnecessary thing during school, it's romantic complications," she

She needn't have asked though— Abigail was leaving to study abroad in Paris, as I would learn sometime after. She was going to pursue her dreams of becoming one of the leading names in fashion like her mother.

"Take care of Calum, you hear?" she had told me with an almost wistful smile. "You should claim him before someone else does."

She had flatly refused to hear any denial on my part and had promptly departed the next day. Quinn still keeps in touch with her and I hear that she's currently fulfilling her dream on social media. "A wild success," my mother noted when I told her about Abigail. "I expect the same of you."

---

    November came and went quickly, and finals were just around the corner. I never went to any of the study meetings, always making some sort of excuse. There was no need— Kimberly wasn't going to win Calum by studying with him.

    Calum and I still spent lots of time together, albeit less than before. His father was pushing him to do better on this semester's finals since he needed to be able to justify Calum's future position in his company with something more substantial than blood ties, not that anyone missed the matching dimples and blue eyes. The stress was apparent on Calum even though football season had ended some time ago. I could tell by his disheveled hair and dark bags that he was working hard, although he always made time for me to come over.

    Surprisingly enough, I did actually start helping Kimberly Morgan with her campaign. She was running for president after the current president, a senior named Warren, graduates, so she still had a lot of time. I gave her a few tips about how to reel in certain groups like the gothics or the drama kids, but she was doing well on her own. I was mainly helping her with cheer— that girl was not flexible, but the effort she put into every session was admirable enough. I could almost see why Calum had given her such high praise— her effort and enthusiasm was contagious.

She was amazing in that way, although it served no real purpose in the long run. Talent and brilliance always trumps effort. As B. J. Novak once wrote, "Slow and steady wins the race, till truth and talent claims their place."

In that regard, I was better than her.

I'm better in every way.

I'm better.

---

"Again!"

Again, Kimberly tried doing a backflip and ended up falling onto her side. I was beginning to feel impatient— I had clearly explained everything she had know about doing a backflip and demonstrated it multiple times before sending her home to try it out. She should have been able to do a backflip by now since she had two whole weeks to process and practice, but her terrible technique made me question whether she'd even been listening.

After groaning and dusting herself off, Kimberly stood up and got into position to attempt the flip again with her legs positioned unequally in respect to her shoulders and her arm muscles tensed for no reason.

"Kimberly," I said, trying to find words to express my frustration kindly and perhaps find out why she couldn't do what came so easily to everyone else I worked with. "Maybe cheerleading isn't your thing. You're already working towards being council president, so why not do something easier and more fit for you, like soccer?"

Kimberly looked at me and sighed, plopping down on the grass and laying down. She covered her eyes and, after a brief moment, uncovered them and looked at me, seeming both tired and determined.

"I said I would try out for both because the two were both things I wanted to do. Being a cheerleader is just as important to me as being council prez because the two activities let me experience different things," she said. I couldn't help but agree with her— being council president was exciting in that you were trying to manage everything at once, helping everyone in the process, but it was extremely taxing and tiring when there were stacks and stacks of papers to analyze and execute.

Cheerleading was almost the exact opposite. No longer were you thinking about others— you were now putting yourself first, channeling all your energy into yourself, your squad, your team, and your side in order to support the team towards victory. While being president required quiet contemplation, being a cheerleader required you to scream your lungs out if the situation required it. Perhaps I wasn't the perfect model of the robust, energetic captain people thought of in stereotypes, but my management skills allowed me to organize everything from workouts to game cheers, allowing the perfection that was once a far-fetched dream without forethought to be achieved.

Although it was true that I might be more suited for being the council president, I wanted to be the captain of the cheer squad. In a way it was pure selfishness— I couldn't not win either position with my skill set and popularity— but the atmosphere and the games were what I loved. The crowds that got riled up, screaming and shouting as the players played harder, ran faster, and hollered louder until they scored the touchdown— those were the reasons I cheered, and I could understand why Kimberly wanted to be a part of it.

"By the way," Kimberly said, turning around to face me in the locker room after the practice had ended. "Why did you quit being council prez? I can't imagine why anyone would give up one of the most wanted positions on campus after they got it."

I gave her a small smile. If only she knew the hours— days— even weeks that I spent grinding out game plans and workouts while simultaneously trying to plot out all the consequences and benefits of numerous suggestions given about a single action the council might touch upon during the weekly meetings. Perhaps I worked too hard for either position, but that was how I was taught to be from the day I could walk. Kimberly couldn't understand. One look would tell you that she wasn't brought up in a wealthy household to be disciplined, elegant, and perfect. She wouldn't be able to understand why I put so much effort into every one of my tasks, big or small, important or not.

"It was too much work, and I don't think I was cut out for being president," I said, keeping the small smile on my face as I retied my hair. Explaining it like this saved both time and effort since anything else would no doubt confuse her or incite more questions.

"Oh, I understand. Yeah, I was worried about that too, but I think I can handle it," she said, smiling goofily. I laughed and she joined in, smoothing the situation over and opening up a chance for me to ask her about her choices.

"So," I started, making her turn back around to face me as she slid on her sweater. "are you really going to try out for cheer? Speaking frankly, you're not flexible at all, and your hand-eye coordination needs a lot of work."

"Well, what's life without a few challenges? If I just give up and refuse to challenge myself, I'll never be what I wasn't and I'll only be what I am. Although it may not be the most efficient use of my time to not develop my strengths to the fullest, I want to be part of the cheer team," Kimberly said firmly. "I want to— so I'll practice until I drop and get up and practice again. The impossible is only what you label it, so don't."

I stared at her for a few moments, tempted to ask her whether any amount of wishing could help her grow wings. It was an elementary challenge to her equally dumb idea, but she seemed so determined to go through with it. She seemed... Happy.

When was the last time I was happy about pursuing something?

When was the last time I pursued something just because it made me happy?

---

    It was exactly two weeks from the start of finals season when I finally finished studying. It was the first time I finished studying so early, and I treated myself to the creamiest tiramisu I could find as a reward.

    It was ingrained in me early on to study long ahead of time— to read materials early and review long before the dreaded day. My definition of cramming was only being able to finish two days before a minor test, since that meant that I had only two days to review it all again. Thankfully it's only happened a few times in classes that didn't count much towards my major—business, naturally.

    Two weeks. What was I going to do in that time while everyone around me finally started cramming?

    The simplest thing would to just join them. Yes, it was boring and unnecessary, but studying with the clique was a norm before finals. However, this year Calum would be studying with Kimberly...

    Should I? After missing five consecutive meetings? Even Kimberly stopped bringing it up when I met her in the hallways. Also, my sole purpose for being there would to be with Calum. Was that even a reason when I still spent a few hours every thursday night curled up with him in his dorm?

    As I idly spooned another spoon of creamy tiramisu into my mouth, savoring the rich, rum-spiced slice of perfection, my phone vibrated with another text.

'Hey, stuck again. Can u plz explain the theories in Jones' lecture last tues?'— Cal

    I sighed, spooning another piece of tiramisu into my mouth. Deciding that if I had to help them figure out things over the phone again— I helped them roughly once every meeting so I was practically at the meeting even if I wasn't— I might as well attend the meeting. Calum had always known that I scored highly, and Kimberly accepted the fact rather easily. Attending their meeting today would be fine, as I had told them that I was busy going over the tryout schedule for cheer next week even though I finished that a week ago. It also really didn't take that long— just a good two hours or so of thought—so I could make the excuse work.

    I suppose that meeting up with them to explain the problem wasn't that bad of a deal. Besides, there wasn't anything better to do with my time.

    Slipping on my jacket, I grabbed my keys and headed out.

---

    I pulled my white porsche into my usual parking spot at the front of the school— parking spots were a must for everyone in the clique— and climbed out, shutting the door behind me.

    The porsche was a gift from my father for my nineteenth birthday, something that my mother had advised because, according to her, "No lady should have to drive anything less worthy." It was a little over a year old now, and I was thinking about replacing it soon.

Our main library wasn't hard to spot, being the biggest building on the campus. Our school had gathered numerous texts over the years, being a distinguished private school and all, so it wasn't surprising that the library was so big.

    As I opened the door to the study room, Kimberly immediately grabbed my sleeve and thrust me in front of her.

    "I have a shield!" she shrieked as Calum came to an abrupt halt in front of me, grinning crazily. I was so surprised that I momentarily lost my balance, plunging to my left and onto Cal's waiting arm.

    "Whoa, are you okay?" he asked, catching me with ease and lifting me up. Flustered, I immediately straightened up and readjusted my bag in hopes of calming myself.

    "So, studying huh," I asked, cocking an eyebrow. Kimberly had the sense to look momentarily embarrassed to be caught off-task, while Calum just grinned and shrugged.

    "She said that she wasn't ticklish, and I had to test that out," he said, smirking at her. "Clearly there must be something to hide if she doesn't let me test it out."

    "Or maybe I just don't want you touching me," Kim said, making Calum smirk wider.

    "Babe, if I wanted to touch you, I would," Calum said, causing Kimberly to slap his arm lightly.

    I stood there watching them, not knowing what to do. The two seemed so close that I felt like an intruder watching them.

    "So, Stell, about that theory Professor Jones talked about yesterday?" Kimberly asked, turning to face me. I was still trying to shrug off the ugly feeling that welled up when she slapped Calum's arm so playfully earlier, and I had to take a moment before responding.

    "Ah, yeah. Customer centricity right? Let me get my notes out," I said, sliding my binder out. "What was the part you didn't understand?"

    "Oh it was—Hey—Hahaha," Kimberly burst out as Calum finally managed to get a grasp on her sides, tickling her relentlessly.

    "Now what did you say about not being ticklish?" Calum asked as he tickled her, grinning again. The two of them looked so happy, so lost in their own moment. Again, I felt a stab of something— annoyance?

    "Hahahaha— Stop— Cal—" Kimberly said between gasps, trying to grab Calum's hands as he continued to tickle her. Deciding that the least awkward thing to do would be to continue setting up my stuff, I pulled out my notes one by one and laid them out on the table, mentally mapping where I would start and end my explanation. After a minute or two, Kimberly finally conceded to bring ticklish and the pair finally calmed down and sat down at the table.

    "Okay. Calum and I will focus now, right?" Kimberly said, narrowing her eyes at Calum who simply smirked at her.

    "Yes we will, until Kim denies something obviously true again," he said. Not dropping his smirk, he turned to face me. "Can you believe her? It was like she was asking me to check whether she was ticklish."

    I shrugged, deciding that it wasn't wise to pick sides in this argument. Except that would be no fun.

"Well, that's Cal for you— he's handsy, so don't tempt him," I told Kimberly, sighing and shaking my head dramatically. "If he stopped being such a womanizer for once, I think he might actually be a decent guy."

"Hey! I am a gentleman— I know my way around girls better than anybody," he boasted, puffing his chest out in pride.

"Yeah, that's why you chase and attack innocent, defenseless girls," Kimberly said, rolling her eyes.

"Don't tempt me," Calum teased, licking his lips hungrily. Kimberly immediately blushed, making him laugh.

"Okay Calum, I think you've teased the poor girl enough," I said after seeing how Kimberly reacted. Virgin— rarely seen these days but typical considering how conservative she was when it came to the bedroom. Somehow this reassured me that Calum wouldn't be serious with her. There was no way a random virgin would catch his eye after years of experimentation. "Let's get started. So, customer centricity is one method of establishing a competitive advantage. More customers means more funds, which leads to opportunities to improve other advantages. As you can see, customer centricity is extremely important for any company, big or small."

"Oh, that's what Jones was talking about when he mentioned the phone company's excellent customer service— it was to show how an positive atmosphere leads to higher ratings and more customers, right?" Kimberly asked, cocking her head in thought.

"Yes, that's right. One of the main points of CC is to find out who your most 'best customers' are— that is, your main consumer market, usually a balance between size and stability. One type of customer may be the largest group of customers for one product, but they are not your 'best customers' in the sense that they may not want to buy the next product," I explained as Kimberly furiously jotted down notes. "Your goal as a business is to find and exploit your 'best customers'— to hook them and keep them on the line. They are your best and safest bet, so you should focus most of your available resources to please them rather than wasting them on other customers that may skimp on you."

    "Wait," Calum said, brows furrowed. "Shouldn't you focus more funds on customers that aren't as attracted in order to round out your consumer market?"

    "That would be ideal," I said, acknowledging his question. It was the same concept I went through in my head after reading the assigned reading. "However, there will be times when you simply cannot focus your limited funds on everything. That's why so many companies cater towards specific classes like the upper or middle class— they're your main source of money, so you should always invest the most funds into them in order to ensure that they stay that way. Also, sometimes it's simply not worth it for you to invest in other niches— some niches just won't take. You don't see Ferrari catering towards the lower class, just like how you don't see McDonald's trying to draw in the upper class. It doesn't work that way."

    The discussion went along for quite some time, with me explaining topics and Calum asking the questions. Kimberly knew more than I had expected, so I usually let her explain what she knew to Calum. He was smart and caught on fast enough, but if he had just put more effort into his studies, he would be fine on his own.

    Just when I finished explaining the last part of the lecture, my phone buzzed with a text.

    'Stell— Stacey's. Picking outfit for Stace's date with Chad tmrw. You in?"— Quinn

    "Do you need to go?" Kimberly asked, looking at me. "It's fine if you do— you explained the whole lecture already, so all we have to do is go through the reading and continue prepping for finals."

    "Are you sure?" I asked, not sure whether I trusted them to be on task. I honestly would trust them to study alone, but together? They would never get anything done. It was clear that Kimberly couldn't lecture, and Calum couldn't sit still for long amounts of time, nor did he study enough to even begin explaining things to Kimberly. But I couldn't babysit them forever— finals was in just over two weeks.

    "It's fine Stells," Calum said, smiling at me reassuringly. "I promise that I'll stay on task and get work done."

    "Okay, but 'work' means everything you two planned for— no exceptions just because someone didn't finish, okay?" I asked, picking up my notes. They were on their own— besides, I could use a break from studying. I was literally cooped up in my room the whole weekend compiling materials for a final run-through, and I deserved a break.

    "We promise!" Kimberly said, taking her textbook out. "But we might bother you if we get stuck again."

    "Okay, but I'm explaining it over text if that happens," I said as I closed the door. The two worked well together, I suppose, in the way that they had similar questions, but that meant that neither of them knew how to answer the other person's questions. That meant more wasted time spent trying to figure it out. I needed to get them to get an actual study partner, not just some kind of study buddy.

    I was honestly just really tired of explaining everything to them— I wasn't one to lecture, but it was all prep for the future. Stand up straight, project, and be a picture of confidence and reassurance even if you're wasting away inside. Project perfection and perfect you will be.

    As I made my way back to my porsche, I couldn't help but wonder whether Kimberly liked Calum. Judging by her naive personality and openness to almost everyone who talked to her, I would have to say no.

    Calum, however, was a different story. Maybe he was into Kimberley right now— even if he wasn't exactly making his moves on her— but even if he was into her, he would get over her.

    Virgins weren't rare, and neither were nice, outgoing girls like Kimberly.

    She's not special or unique.

    She's just a fling.

---

Author note:

Hello everyone! How are you liking the story so far?

I'd love to hear from everyone reading— thoughts, comments, suggestions? Point out errors too, 'cuz I can never catch too many of them.

Thanks for reading! (As always, I hope)

—LittleWhims