It’s been a constant over the last six weeks, ever since the first day of school, when she tried to bid on my bluff and failed when I called Ransom to our table.

My mom had sent me a new prototype handbag from one of her designer friends and she insisted I use it for a set number of days to test the ‘audience,’ so Amy went out and tracked down a limited-edition Louis.

Days after I showed up with my new car, she traded hers in for a foreign one, a darker version of red than mine, one she likely had to pay a shitload to have expedited.

I didn’t care, considered it a coincidence in my head, which is ridiculous in itself, but yesterday, I had a hair appointment right after school. I added some darker streaks into my hair, which she saw at the club last night for a whole five seconds, and what do you know... someone showed up with a new do today.

She must have her people on speed dial.

Not that we all don’t.

I should pull a Britney and go bald, see what she does then...

A smile tugs at my lips at the thought, but I rein it in when Cali speaks.

“Good, because I was about to say.” She laughs. “I’m tired of you being MIA all the time.” She poses in the mirror, smiling as she would for a camera. “And since you already have yours, don’t let us buy the same color! I don’t want to walk in looking like some twister sister shit.”

I wiggle my brows instead of responding, pulling my phone from my purse when it vibrates. It’s a text from Beretta.

Beretta: we’re outside.

My brows pull and I slowly sit up.

Outside?

Beretta: dress-up ended an hour ago.

A laugh spurts from me, and I type away.

Me: dress-up never ends around here. I thought you knew?

Beretta: educate me.

Beretta: when you get in the car.

My lips quirk.

Me: I didn’t even tell you where I was going...

His name flashes across my screen then, and I push to my feet.

I walk over to the window, scanning over the street ten stories below, as I bring it to my ear.

“It’s cute, in an annoying way, how you have no idea the power social media gives assholes like us.” He pauses a second, and then says, “There, look at what I sent you.”

I pull it from my ear, my eyes cutting up to the girls briefly.

The photo is a screenshot of Jules’ Instagram Story.

It’s a picture of her and Cali standing back-to-back, blowing kisses at the camera, the words at the bottom reading “Lovely in Los Angeles.”