Lisa Chen's fork hovers over her wilted cafeteria salad, the lettuce as lifeless as her appetite. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across the standard-issue table where she sits alone, turning even the cherry tomatoes into sad, plastic-looking orbs. Three weeks ago, she would have been sitting at a different table - the one in the corner by the windows, where sunlight catches on jewelry and highlights.

Now she watches that table from exile, observing the careful choreography of Riverside High's elite like a anthropologist studying a foreign culture. Amber Rosenberg holds court in her usual spot. Susan Lawrence and Charlotte Whitman flank her like perfectly coordinated bookends, while Sarah Matthews leans in eagerly, desperate to catch every perfectly enunciated word.

Amber says something that makes the table erupt in practiced laughter - the kind that sounds like expensive wind chimes and calculated inclusion. Lisa remembers that laugh, remembers practicing it in her bathroom mirror until it sounded just right. Just rich enough, just casual enough, just cruel enough to belong.

The cafeteria doors swing open with practiced confidence, and Lisa's heart performs an unwanted gymnastics routine in her chest. A sea of letterman jackets floods in, royal blue like some kind of athletic aristocracy. Jake Woodland leads the charge, his swagger carrying that particular brand of entitled grace that makes freshman girls giggle in hallways. Jeff Thompson and Justin Moore follow in his wake, their matching jackets and carefully maintained haircuts making them look like catalogue models for privileged youth.

And then there's Nate.

Lisa's breath catches as she watches him enter last, something hidden behind his back. Even now, after everything, the sight of him makes her pulse quicken. He moves with that fluid athleticism that comes from years of catching perfect spirals, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that still features prominently in her daydreams.

The cafeteria's usual chaos dims slightly as other students notice Nate's purposeful stride toward Amber's table. Lisa sees phones appear like fireflies, their cameras ready to capture whatever's about to happen. Because of course - it's almost Winter Ball. How could she have forgotten? The social event that usually consumes weeks of careful planning and dress shopping and strategic date arranging.

Her stomach turns to ice as Nate approaches Amber's table. She knows what's coming - has imagined this moment a thousand times in her fantasies, only with herself in Amber's place. The entire room seems to hold its breath as Nate Brooks, star receiver and golden boy of Riverside High, drops to one knee beside Amber's chair.

"Amber Rosenberg," his voice carries clearly across the sudden silence, warm and sincere in a way that makes Lisa's chest ache. He produces a single red rose from behind his back, its petals perfectly unfurled like something from a fairy tale. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Winter Ball? Though I warn you - my dancing hasn't improved much since homecoming."

The joke lands perfectly, drawing appreciative laughter from their audience. But Lisa barely hears it over the roaring in her ears. Because Amber's face - usually so carefully controlled - transforms with genuine joy. Her smile isn't the practiced one she uses for Instagram photos or charity galas. It's real and vulnerable and beautiful in a way that makes Lisa want to scream.

"Yes," Amber says simply, but her voice carries a warmth that makes the word sound like a prayer. "Though I expect at least three slow dances without you stepping on my toes."

Nate's laugh is pure sunshine as he stands, pulling Amber into an embrace that looks like it belongs on a movie poster. The rose catches light between them, its red petals stark against Amber's cream sweater. The cafeteria erupts in applause and camera clicks, everyone eager to capture their own piece of Riverside High's perfect couple.

Lisa forces herself to look away, her salad suddenly even less appealing than before. She was so stupid - thinking that helping Nate with his essays meant something. That their conversations about books and dreams and futures were more than just polite interaction. That someone like Nate Brooks would ever see past her public school background and her parents' restaurant to the girl who's loved him since freshman year.

"You okay?"

Hannah's voice makes her jump. She hadn't noticed her friend's approach, too lost in her own misery. Hannah slides onto the bench across from her, her sensible shoes squeaking slightly against the linoleum floor.

"I'm fine," Lisa lies, stabbing a cherry tomato with unnecessary force. "Just watching another episode of 'Riverside's Perfect Couple: The Continuing Saga.'"

Hannah's eyes follow Lisa's gaze to where Nate and Amber are still wrapped in their picture-perfect embrace. "It's like watching a Teen Vogue photoshoot come to life," she mutters. "Complete with coordinated outfits and strategic lighting."

"They probably planned it," Lisa says, but the bitterness in her voice sounds hollow even to her own ears. "Amber wouldn't risk an unplanned moment ruining her Instagram aesthetic."

But she can't quite hide the longing in her eyes as she watches Nate brush a strand of hair from Amber's face with such tender familiarity it makes her chest physically hurt. Because she knows - even if she'll never admit it out loud - that what she's really jealous of isn't the perfect photos or the designer clothes or even the social status. It's the way Nate looks at Amber like she's the answer to questions he never knew to ask.

"Winter Ball," Hannah says suddenly, pulling Lisa's attention back. "I almost forgot about it with everything that's been happening."

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Lisa lets out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, well, between social exile and trying to expose sexual predators, formal dances haven't exactly been top of mind." She pushes her salad around her plate. "Not that it matters. No one's going to ask the girl Amber Rosenberg branded as desperate anyway."

"Has anyone caught your eye?" Hannah asks gently. "Maybe someone outside their circle?"

"God no," Lisa's fork clatters against her plate. "I can barely look at guys right now without..." She trails off, her mind automatically shying away from memories of Hampton Beach - of Jake's hands, his weight, his laugh that still haunts her dreams.

"Hey," Hannah reaches across the table, squeezing her hand. "What if we went together? As friends?"

Lisa blinks, surprised by the suggestion. "I never even thought about that."

"Think about it - no pressure, no expectations. Just two friends showing these trust fund babies that we don't need their validation to have a good time."

A smile tugs at Lisa's lips - her first genuine one all day. "That actually sounds... nice."

"So let's make a deal," Hannah proposes, her eyes sparkling with something that looks like hope. "If neither of us gets asked by someone we actually want to go with by the week before - we go together. Dance badly, eat all the fancy hors d'oeuvres, judge everyone's dresses..."

"Deal," Lisa says, feeling something loosen in her chest.

Then, lowering her voice: "Did you find anything? At the Rosenbergs'?"

Hannah's expression shifts, something flickering across her face too quickly for Lisa to read. "No," she says after a pause that feels slightly too long. "Nothing useful."

Lisa's eyes drift involuntarily to where Jake sits holding court among his fellow athletes. His charm is firmly in place as he tells some story that has his audience captivated, his hands gesturing animatedly. Looking at him now, it's hard to reconcile this Jake - the charismatic quarterback - with the other Jake. The one from Hampton Beach.

"We need to get closer somehow," Hannah says, following her gaze. "Find a way inside their circle."

The memory hits Lisa like a physical blow - Jake's breath hot against her neck, his weight pinning her down, the sound of waves through the beach house window mixing with her own desperate protests. Her hands begin to shake, and she shoves them under the table.

"How?" The word comes out barely above a whisper. "How do you get close to someone like that without..." She can't finish the sentence.

"We need leverage," Hannah says quietly. "Something concrete. Not just stories they can deny or twist."

"They're careful," Lisa replies, watching Jake laugh at something Jeff Thompson says. "They know exactly how much money and influence protects them. How do you fight that kind of power?"

Hannah's expression hardens with determination. "By being smarter. By understanding that their biggest weakness is their own sense of invulnerability." She leans forward, lowering her voice further. "They think they're untouchable. That makes them careless."

Lisa watches as Jake rises from his table, his movements carrying that casual grace that once made her heart flutter but now makes her want to run. His path to the trash cans takes him past their table, and she forces herself not to flinch as he passes.

"The Winter Ball," Hannah says suddenly, her eyes lighting up with an idea. "That's our chance. Everyone lets their guard down at dances. The alcohol, the drama, the need to show off..." She trails off meaningfully.

Lisa's stomach turns as she catches Hannah's meaning. "You want to use the dance to get evidence?"

"Think about it - they'll all be there. Jake, Nate, the whole crew. And they always get sloppy at these things. Remember homecoming? When Jake and Justin snuck that flask in?"

"That's dangerous," Lisa whispers, but her mind is already racing with possibilities. "If they catch us..."

"More dangerous than letting them keep hurting people?" Hannah's voice is gentle but firm. "More dangerous than knowing what we know and doing nothing?"

Lisa pushes her abandoned salad aside, leaning closer across the table. "What exactly are we trying to accomplish here, Hannah? What's the endgame?"

Hannah's fingers trace patterns in the condensation left by her water bottle, her expression thoughtful. "Honestly? I don't know. I just know that doing nothing feels wrong. Like being complicit in their games."

"Brookswood keeps coming back to me," Lisa says suddenly, her voice dropping even lower. "That fight at the game - something happened on that field. Did you see Jake's face? I've never seen him lose control like that. Whatever that Brookswood player said to him..." She shakes her head. "It was like he'd seen a ghost."

"What do you think it was about?" Hannah frowns.

"I don't know exactly, but think about it - the timing, the way Jake completely lost it, how Nate had to practically drag him off the field..." Lisa leans forward, energy radiating from her words. "And those girls we couldn't find at the game - Megan and Victoria - of course they weren't there. How could they be, with Jake on the field? With all of Riverside's elite watching their every move?"

Understanding dawns in Hannah's eyes. "Away from Jake's influence. Away from the money and the power and the carefully maintained lies."

"Exactly." Lisa's voice carries an urgency that makes Hannah lean closer. "We gave up too easily after one failed attempt. But think about it - if you'd been through what they went through, would you show up to a football game where your attacker was being celebrated as a hero?"

Hannah's expression shifts as the implications sink in. "We need to try again. But differently this time."

"No games, no crowds," Lisa nods. "Just us finding them where they feel safe. Where they might actually talk to us."

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Around them, students begin gathering their things, their chatter creating a buffer of white noise. Lisa watches Jake's table disperse, the letterman jackets moving as a coordinated unit toward the exit. Her hands shake slightly as Jake passes near their table again, but this time there's something different in her fear - a steely determination underlying the tremors.

"So," Hannah says quietly as they gather their own belongings. "Brookswood?"

Lisa's eyes meet hers, and for the first time in weeks, she feels something like hope stirring in her chest. "Brookswood."

Because some answers can't be found in carefully maintained mansions or exclusive parties. Sometimes you have to leave the gilded cage of Riverside behind to find the truth that lives in simpler places, where money doesn't buy silence and power doesn't guarantee protection.

And maybe, just maybe, the girls who escaped Jake Woodland's world might be ready to help tear it down.