But what was she doing, dressing up as Ariana? Was she trying to look like the girl? Because she
was succeeding. She was even wearing an aqua scarf--Ariana's signature accessory. Suddenly I
realized that this was why that weird deja vu had hit me the other day in the conservatory when
Amberly had frantically attempted to clean her coat of the latte stains. With her softened look, her
straightened hair, her slightly boho clothes, Amberly had slowly started to morph into Ariana.
But why? Why would she want to look like a murderer? Did she think that Noelle would somehow
like her more if she emulated the girl's former best friend? It made no sense.
Suddenly, Amberly turned toward the window and did a double take. She touched Noelle's arm as
if to alert her and I sprang out from behind the tree and ran. I ran straight across the snowy quad,
forgoing the icy walkways and cutting my own erratic path through the snow. The last thing I
wanted was for Noelle to see me standing out there like some pathetic Oliver Twistian waif.
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But it wasn't just that. It was also Amberly. Her transformation had me officially freaked. The girl
had to be seriously disturbed if she was purposely trying to emulate a cold-blooded killer.
Maybe, just maybe, Ivy wasn't the only person on campus worth looking into after all.
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SIDEKICKS
The freshman girls always gathered in the bathroom on the first floor of the class building after
fourth period. They would scurry in there in a loud, giggling, gabbing clump and spend at least
fifteen minutes doing God knows what before reemerging and heading off to lunch. The rest of us
avoided that bathroom like it was the source of a festering boil plague. Honestly, freshman girls
could be really annoying. They all dressed alike, they all sounded alike, they all looked alike. I could
hardly wait for a few of them to mature, grow their own personalities, and infuse a little variety
into the group.But on Monday after fourth period, I broke the upperclassman rules. I walked
downstairs and straight into the freshman bathroom. Instantly all their shrieking and laughter died
down. There were at least ten of them in front of the long mirror, fixing their liquid eyeliner and
brushing their super-straight hair, but at my entrance, they
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had all frozen in place like members of some kind of freak, designer-clad mime show.
"I'm looking for Lara and... her friend," I said.