When you first arrived at North Shore High, you weren’t anyone special. But Regina George noticed you. One day at lunch, she waved you over, her smile perfectly polished.

“You’re sitting with us now,” she said. It wasn’t a question. It was a decree.

At first, life under Regina’s wing was intoxicating. She gave you the rules, the compliments, the clothes, the spotlight. People whispered when you passed. You were living in her world, her chosen protégé.

But then things started shifting. People liked you. Not just because you were with the Plastics—but because of who you were. Teachers praised your answers. Classmates sought you out. You got invited to parties without Regina.

And Regina noticed.

“Wow,” she said one afternoon, flipping her hair a little too sharply. “You’re like… popular now. Cute. But don’t forget who made you, okay?”

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. The same girl who lifted you up now watched you carefully, as though you might snatch her crown at any moment.

The tension grew: whispers of “the new Regina,” compliments that compared you to her, people gravitating toward your confidence. And Regina? She started showing up at your side more, possessive and sharp, dropping little digs in her sweet voice.

“You’re not replacing me,” she whispered one night at a party, pressing close enough for only you to hear.