“You make it sound like it’s no big deal.” Her jaw clenched, and she practically spit the words. “Do you know what it’s like to not be able to eat? I’d love to devour an entire slice of pizza, but I can only have one bite or else I’ll throw up. And isn’t that ironic, since the reason they did this to me was so I wouldn’t have to suffer like my mom did for her career. So I wouldn’t end up sticking my finger down my throat.”

“I’m sorry.” I focused on the sand. “I can’t pretend to understand.”

She softened. “Besides, same with you… Generic farmed girl rises to fame… It’s our parents who are in danger. Not us. We have the power here.” Her eyes were pleading, but the betrayal was too fresh, and I put up a wall.

“You have the power, and you know it. I’d never survive. I may be genetically Unrankable.” I shuddered.

“People love a rags-to-riches story, but it won’t come out. I promise. Lil and Kylie will protect you.”

“As long as I send that picture, as long as I ruin someone’s life!”

“It’s better than your life being ruined.”

The icy ocean swirled around our ankles, but the cold failed to penetrate. I was numb. “I feel like you robbed me. Maybe I could have been friends with Kylie and Lil without you paving the way.”

“With your numbers? You were ripe for a takedown. You’re a threat. I had to convince them it was safer to align with you.” Her cheeks flushed with anger. “I did you a favor, and don’t you forget it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

Throwing up her hands, she headed down the beach alone before whipping around, her voice sailing toward me on the breeze. “Ella, this isn’t the fairy-tale world we thought it was going to be. I hate to break it to you, but you’ll see. You’ll do things you never imagined.”

“Like send a dick pic?” I asked, scurrying to catch up with her, my feet sinking in the sand, slowing my progress.

“That’s just the beginning. You’ll do things that are much, much worse. The faster you realize you don’t have any friends, the better off you’ll be.” Her long, blond hair thrashed at her cheeks.

“Starting with you?” I came to a stop in front of her.

Her eyes filling with tears, she didn’t respond right away. I almost thought I glimpsed my friend, but in a blink, she was gone, replaced with the steely replica of someone I used to know.

“It’s how it has to be,” she said.

Sadly, she was right.

My head is spinning, my hand is cramped, and I can’t write anymore. Setting down my pen, I wipe my wet cheeks with the back of my hand, my stomach clenched with self-loathing. Drained, like reopening old wounds has bled me dry, I close the book.

And the worst is yet to come…