Chapter 1

My deskmate, Elara Vance, was a pathological liar.

"My parents are closing a huge deal in Zurich," she'd say, her voice a low whisper that barely carried over the scratching of pencils in our AP History class. "They're buying me a MacBook to make up for canceling our ski trip."

I' d just nod and keep my eyes on my textbook.

The truth was, Elara Vance was a ghost. She was skin and bones, lost inside a faded green hoodie that probably came from a church donation bin. Her hair was a tangled mess, and she carried a smell, a sour, unwashed scent that clung to her and the air around our shared desk.

We were forced together by an alphabetical seating chart. Vance and I, Chloe. For an entire year, I was stuck with her stories. Stories of a sprawling mansion with a personal steam shower, of designer clothes her mother bought her in Paris, of a guaranteed full-ride scholarship to Yale that her father, a powerful alum, had already arranged.

The reality was a girl who I once saw digging through the cafeteria trash for a half-eaten apple.

The reality was a girl who washed her single, gray t-shirt in the girls' locker room sink, scrubbing it with a sliver of soap she kept in her pocket.

She was a social pariah. The popular kids, led by Jessica, treated her like a bug to be squashed. They'd laugh when she walked by, loudly whispering about her smell or her "designer" clothes.

Elara never seemed to notice. Or if she did, she just built her fantasy walls higher. Her lies weren't just lies; they were a fortress. And I was trapped right beside it.