The air on the Davenport patio was so thick with tension you could practically slice it with a butter knife.
Chloe Davenport stood at the top of the steps like a queen about to announce a public execution, her golden gown shimmering as though it had absorbed the blackout power itself.
Her entourage fanned out behind her, whispering, smirking, waiting for blood.
And Amy Greene—dressed in her not-quite-Parisian black dress, clutching her soda like it was a weapon—stood in the crosshairs.
"Well?" Chloe purred, her voice carrying across the patio. "Care to explain, Greene? What's a nobody like you doing at my party?"
The crowd gasped like they were extras on a soap opera.
Amy's brain went into panic mode. Think, Amy. Say something clever. Something iconic. Something that will live in school history forever.
Her mouth opened. And out came:
"I… was invited by the chandelier."
Silence. Again. Someone coughed.
Ethan pressed his fist to his mouth to stifle a laugh.
Amy coughed too, as if that might make it better. "You know. Because it flickered at me? Like… an invitation."
The crowd burst into laughter. Not the good kind. The laughing-at-you kind. Phones were already out. Amy spotted the glow of Snapchat stories documenting every humiliating second.
Chloe smirked, basking in Amy's public implosion. "Cute. But jokes aside, Greene, this is a private event. Seniors only."
Amy pointed at herself indignantly. "Uh, hello? Senior. As of this very semester. Respect my status!"
"Please," Chloe scoffed. "You've been a walking punchline since sophomore year. No one even knows your name without adding 'the girl who fell at prom practice.'"
The crowd snickered. Amy's ears burned. For a second, she thought about running, about hiding in her dorm with instant noodles until graduation.
But then—out of nowhere—Ethan spoke.
"Come on, Chloe. She's not hurting anyone." His voice was calm, steady, cutting through the noise. "Let her stay."
The laughter faltered. Chloe blinked, thrown off. And Amy? Amy nearly fainted on the spot. He defended me? Locker Boy defended me?!
Chloe recovered quickly, flashing Ethan a sweet smile. "Of course you'd say that. But this isn't your call."
Then she turned back to Amy, lowering her voice so it dripped with venom. "You want to stay? Fine. But don't expect anyone to forget this little… performance."
She flicked her hair, signaling the end of her royal decree, and swept back inside, her entourage trailing like obedient puppies.
The crowd slowly dispersed, some still laughing, others whispering, already editing their captions: Amy Greene crashes Chloe's party.
Amy stood frozen, cheeks burning, fighting the urge to sink into the ground.
Ethan nudged her shoulder gently. "Hey. Don't let her get to you."
Amy forced a grin. "Me? Pfft. Totally fine. I wanted to be publicly roasted in front of the entire senior class. Builds character."
Ethan smiled, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously fabulous," Amy corrected weakly.
But inside, her stomach twisted. She had dreamed of her senior year beginning with confetti, applause, and maybe a standing ovation. Instead, it had begun with humiliation, laughter, and Chloe Davenport officially marking her as prey.
When Amy finally stumbled back into her dorm later that night, Sarah was waiting with a face mask on and a bowl of popcorn.
"Well?" Sarah asked, not even looking up from her phone. "Did you get in?"
Amy flopped onto her bed dramatically. "Yes. And I was socially assassinated by Chloe Davenport in front of fifty witnesses and three iPhones."
Sarah arched a brow. "So… Tuesday?"
Amy groaned into her pillow. "This is war, Sarah. War."
Because if Chloe Davenport thought Amy Greene was going to spend her senior year as a punchline, she had another thing coming.
Amy may not have been perfect. She may not have been graceful. And she may not have had a single clue what she was doing.
But one thing was certain:
Senior year had just started.
And Amy Greene wasn't going down without a fight.
**************
By sunrise, Amy Greene had already gone viral.
Not, like, actual TikTok viral—though she suspected someone somewhere had uploaded it. No, this was Westbridge Academy viral. Which was worse.
Because at Westbridge, news didn't just spread. It mutated. It grew arms, legs, and sparkly filters.
The first thing Amy saw when she walked into the dining hall that morning was her own face—wide-eyed, mid-sentence, captured in a blurry Snapchat screenshot—projected on someone's phone. The caption?
✨ "Invited by the chandelier 😂 #AmyGreene" ✨
The table erupted in laughter.
Amy froze in the doorway, tray clutched to her chest. "Oh no. Oh no no no. I'm a meme."
Sarah, who had warned her of this exact outcome, sipped her orange juice calmly. "Congratulations. You've joined the hall of fame. Right next to 'Spaghetti Slip Girl' and 'Fire Drill Fainter.'"
"Spaghetti Slip Girl transferred schools, Sarah!" Amy hissed, shuffling toward their usual corner table. "This is catastrophic. My reputation is in ruins. I'll never recover. They'll put this on my tombstone: Here lies Amy Greene. Invited by the chandelier."
Sarah didn't look sympathetic. "Better than nothing on your tombstone."
Amy groaned, dropping her forehead dramatically onto the table.
Unfortunately, her misery didn't go unnoticed.
Because of course—of course—Chloe Davenport chose that exact moment to glide past their table, latte in hand, her entourage trailing behind.
"Oh, Amy," Chloe crooned, loud enough for the whole room to hear. "You really lit up the party last night." She mimed flipping a light switch. The cafeteria burst into laughter again.
Amy peeked up from the table, her face red. "Funny. Ha-ha. Original. Did you rehearse that?"
Chloe didn't miss a beat. "I don't need to rehearse. Some of us are naturally funny."
She flicked her hair and moved on, her squad cackling like evil Disney sidekicks.
Amy clenched her fists. War, she reminded herself. This is war.
By third period, the chandelier joke had evolved into full-blown chaos:
A doodle of Amy dangling from a chandelier appeared on the whiteboard.
Someone programmed the school printer to spit out flyers that read: Need a party invite? Ask Amy's chandelier!
And worst of all, her chemistry teacher casually said, "Amy, please don't blow a fuse like you did at the Davenport party," to the roar of the class.
Amy sank into her seat. "The universe hates me," she whispered.
Ethan—who sat two rows over—turned in his chair, catching her eye. He mouthed: You okay?
Amy straightened, flicking her hair like she hadn't just been publicly roasted by an entire institution. She mouthed back: Totally fine.
Then promptly spilled her pencil case all over the floor.
By lunchtime, she had reached one conclusion: Chloe Davenport wasn't just out to humiliate her. She was out to destroy her.
And if Amy Greene was going to survive senior year, she needed more than just glitter pens, dramatic speeches, and blind confidence.
She needed a plan.
A big one.
Preferably one involving revenge.
***********
Amy Greene had never been much of a strategist.
Her idea of planning usually involved glitter pens, sticky notes, and blind optimism.
But after surviving twenty-four hours of Chandelier Girl memes, hallway giggles, and a math teacher who said, "Careful, Amy, don't short-circuit," she'd had enough.
It was time to strike back.
Step one of her revenge plan? Brainstorming in the cafeteria with Sarah, who had the misfortune of being her unwilling accomplice.
Amy shoved her notebook across the table. "Okay. Options for taking Chloe down: one, sabotage her morning latte so she gets oat milk instead of almond. Allergies are funny, right?"
Sarah stared. "No."
"Fine, fine. Two, bribe the PA announcer to play fart noises whenever she's called to the office."
"No."
Amy scribbled again. "Three, release a family of raccoons in her dorm room."
Sarah looked horrified. "Amy!"
Amy groaned, dropping her pen. "Ugh, fine. What's your brilliant idea, Miss Buzzkill?"
Sarah sipped her soda calmly. "How about you… don't?"
Amy gasped like Sarah had just proposed shutting down Netflix. "Don't?! Sarah, this is war! Do you want me to spend senior year as Meme Girl, the human chandelier? No. I need a dramatic moment to turn the tables. A power move."
Sarah muttered, "You mean a train wreck," but Amy wasn't listening.
Because that's when inspiration struck.