Plonking second, votes deadlock at neck and neck—tomato, toma-toe, no such difference. For a queen bee, these jiffies were hiccups to her streak—gnawed away at her ascendancy. Camera's successive flares, immortalizing this first in North Shore High's history, said otherwise, though. They gobbled this forced camaraderie between two darlings.

Click! Instagram, TikTok, Snapchat.

The totality of social medias, the flies on the wall, witnessed the gleaming spotlight on a pizazz duo, poising equally flamboyant teeth. A duo for the Spring Fling Queen.

See what's wrong with this? Duo, when it should've been solo, her, alone, conjuring this position. The Regina George at the sideline, laterally distant from the preferable center.

Ringing pathetic couplets of her fingers on this plastic diadem hardly considers her a victor, too. Far from it when a distinct grip conquered the other end: your damn hands.

"Look here, please, lady at the right." Azure globes veered to glower, internally, at the snapper. "Lady at the right," you parroted, a titter, that tweaked throbs in her cheeks to flames.

"What's so funny?"

Slantwise, she caught sight of that biggity perk, snugly on your lips' ends. "Nothing... if you were so distracted by me, I could've just given you a better view."

Bitch.

"Your dress is just so..." her voice receded, hunting a decent descriptor, "different. You're, like, not afraid to take risks, even if they don't always pay off," concluding with a sneering, "love it."

"Different?" Offense etched wrinkles on your visage. "You're just jealous that—"

"Jealous?" A snort passed, a warmth invasive with a step closer. "Of you? Get off your high horse."

"Maybe..." You mirrored her approach, teeth baring at nose-to-nose vicinity. Regina gripped the crown, opposing the urging recoil. "You should take your own fucking advice."

"You..." and her heart carked along with her voice, pathetically warping to a gulp upon a flicker to your lips. Ear-piercing when all else is quiet.