╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗
— DAY ONE —
season one, episode one, part one

❝...𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥.❞

─── • ───

LEAH RILKE

"Early this morning, we made contact with your parents," came the voice of the middle-aged law enforcement agent, Daniel Faber, as he studied the case file of his subject intently in his hands. "We'll bring them here as quickly as possible. And the quarantine order will be lifted soon, not just for you but for all the victims. At which point, you'll be free to see each other."

Faber looked up and glanced towards the end of the long table in front of him. There was a young teenage girl sat across from him, who's physical appearance matched that of the photograph in the case file: it was seventeen-year-old Leah Rilke.

Leah had bright brown eyes, bob-length hair. Her beauty was unlike anything seen before; it wasn't breathtaking per se, though she had a strange, stirring appeal. Her eyes shined with the same intelligence on display in the photograph, but in every other way she seemed transformed. Now Leah was emancipated, with a hospital gown hanging on her fragile frame. Her hair was wild, her skin weathered as though exposure had taken its toll.

"Just to be clear," Faber cleared his throat, meeting Leah's eyes with heartfelt sentiment, "our primary goal is to conduct an investigation. There's a lot of haze surrounding your circumstances that we just want to clarify. So I cannot stress this enough, but... this is just a conversation."

Leah said nothing in return. Her gaze merely shifted between the agent in front of her and his case file. Then, as though on cue, another agent entered the stark room; the cinderblock walls and antiseptic lighting seemed to catch Leah's attention as the second agent strode over to his partner and took a seat. Out of the corner of her eye, Leah could tell the second man was nervous; his authority seemed etched in the frown lines of dark skin, though his eyes held the smallest glimmer of reservation. Clutched in his arms, Leah noticed, was a handful of convenience-store beverages before he set them down in front of her.

"This is my colleague, Agent Dean Young," Faber introduced the second agent, much to Leah's curiosity. "He's going to be running point on this. He's the investigator in charge. Brass tacks guy, if you will. But me, uh... I'm here for you, Leah, to make sure that you feel safe. As a trauma specialist, that is my sole and sacred duty. Which is why, we've opted to give you some beverage choices today — you thirsty?"

"Didn't know what you'd like," said Agent Young gruffly, his eyes avoiding Leah's as they snapped towards him. "So I just got one of everything."

Faber gestured towards the beverages.

"Is anything calling your name?"

There was pause for a moment as Leah stared at the beverages in front of her, nostalgia filling her eyes. Her eyes scanned over each of the options: Coke, Sprite, Gatorade, fizzy water... Mango Jarritos. Without second thought, she reached from the Mexican soft drink and turned it over in her hands.

"I used to drink these all the time," she whispered softly.

"That's great. Don't hesitate to ask for seconds," Faber offered kindly, "or thirds... or anything at all, really. After everything that you've been through, we want you to feel as comfortable as possible."

Leah leaned back in her chair, narrowing her eyes.

"What have the others told you?"

"Nothing as of yet," responded Agent Young. "You're the first one we've brought in."

"Then you don't know what I've been through, do you?" said Leah bitterly, glancing between the two agents. "You're just assuming trauma. You're just assuming that it was a living hell."

"Listen, Leah, no one's assuming anything," Faber raised his hands as a means to calm the teenager down. "It's just... you have presented some fairly common signs of trauma."

With a deep breath, Leah cleared her throat and thought for a moment or two, eager to make herself clear.

"Look, I don't mean to say that what happened to us wasn't traumatic," she corrected herself. "Obviously, it was traumatic. To end up where we did, in the middle of nowhere — completely cut off from the lives we left behind — but that brings us to the real question, doesn't it? What was so fucking great about the lives we left behind?"

With a shared glance, Faber and Agent Young shifted uncomfortably in their seats, unaware of what to say in return. Leah, lost in thought, merely stared at the bottle in her hands as reality loomed over her like a dark cloud.

"Because here's what I remember of all that..."  she continued mindlessly. "I remember not being enough. I remember wanting to be more. I remember the dark moods, the violent moods. Moods that nobody ever had any patience for. Then there was the brutal social scene, which some girls could just glide through like they belonged everywhere... but there you were just trying to belong somewhere.

"I remember being so wildly naive," she continued, with baited breath. "Because you'd never realize how meaningless trust had become until it was too late. Hell, I even remember the ridiculous expectations they had for us. Like, we were supposed to be these perfect golden goddesses, 24/7. I remember all the terrible responsibilities, the heavy burdens — meant for adults — that were forced on us before our time. The kind that made you think, 'Yeah, this is definitely fucking with my healthy development right now'...

"And don't even get me started on the impossible problem of sex," Leah laughed in spite of herself. "If you were terrified of it — which by the way, you had every reason to be — you'd be deemed a frigid chastity bitch. But if you were unafraid, like it somehow came naturally to you, then God help you. Because this world is a dangerous place for a sexually evolved girl.

"Then, on top of all that, there was this new feeling, this sick feeling of wanting to love and be loved back. Which, as I'm sure you know, never ends well," she pressed on, emotion clogging her throat. "Basically what I'm saying is this: if we're talking about what happened out there, then sure, there was trauma. But being a teenage girl in normal-ass America?"

Leah paused for a moment, glancing between the Agent Young and Faber once more as though oddly challenged.

"...that was the real living hell."

─── • ───

Blaire Diamante sat in the passenger's seat of the car begrudgingly, surrounded by the early morning New York weather and the leather interior of her father's Buick. With her head against the window, her dark brown eyes perused the trifold brochure she held between her fingertips. Emblazoned on the front, in big bold letters, it read, "The Dawn of Eve: A Young Women's Empowerment Retreat", as though it was something to look forward to.

But, for Blaire, there was nothing she dreaded more.

The retreat had been her father's idea after all. As Headmaster of the Xavier Preparatory, Peter Diamante was one of the first people made aware that the high school was sending three delegates away for during the summer. He then, of course, scrambled to get his daughter a spot on the retreat, much to Blaire's potential disgruntlement. So, at the end of the school year, she was forced to pack her things and set off for a vacation that she had no interest in participating in. Not long after that, Blaire and her family were driving towards the airport for departure.

"Anything caught your interest?" asked Peter, his voice hoarse, as he glanced towards his eldest daughter from his position in the driver's seat. "Did you see any seminars you'd like to take? I know that they've got some dance workshops that might interest you."

"I thought this was supposed to be a vacation for Blaire?" came the voice of the youngest member of the Diamante family, Maya Rose, from the backseat. "Shouldn't we be telling her to do something she hasn't done before? Like, swimming with dolphins or drinking from one of those mini coconuts?"

"She can do all of that, too," Peter laughed, peering at his twelve-year-old daughter through the rearview mirror as he drove. "But we still wouldn't want her to do anything that might jeopardize her chances of getting into Juilliard next fall now, would we? I mean, you know what they say: 'You get what you work for, not what you wish for'..."

"Right, because going on a girls retreat is sure to boost my chances of getting a scholarship," said Blaire lowly, staring morosely out the window. "If you truly cared about my acceptance to Juilliard, you wouldn't be forcing me to waste my time with such bullshit."

Peter sighed at this response, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. He gathered his thoughts for a moment as he sped up and switched lanes on the highway towards the John F. Kennedy International Airport.

"Blaire, we've been over this," he said finally. "This trip will be good for you —"

"You know, Miss Diane told me this was a bad idea," Blaire cut her father off, referring to her dance instructor of seven years. "She already said that I'll have to work my ass off when I get back, that I'll have to catch-up with her lessons."

"Well, Miss Diane doesn't see you outside of the dance studio now, does she?" Peter countered matter-of-factly. "She has no idea what you've been going through these past few months —"

"Yeah," Blaire scoffed, "and neither do you..."

There was a sudden moment of tension-filled silence that hung in the air. Through the rearview mirror, Blaire could see Maya tense uncomfortably in the backseat, and with a deep breath of her own, she tried to remain calm for the sake of her little sister.

But, as much as Blaire would hate to admit it, Peter was not wrong; the eldest Diamante child hadn't been acting like herself from quite a long time now. She wasn't sleeping, she wasn't eating... but it seemed, at least to Blaire, pointless to explain why. Instead, she tried to channel her depressed state of mind into her passion for dance, hoping the words she didn't have the courage to say aloud would somehow translate in her delicate movements. As a result, her sole purpose became a scholarship to Juilliard, hoping to get away from the life she'd been forced to live for so long.

Blaire craved freedom.

Freedom from her father's shadow.

Freedom from Miss Diane's ridiculous exceptions.

Freedom from the constant feeling of suffocation.

Freedom from the scars and bruises.

Freedom from Finn Hayward...

"I know you better than you think, B," Peter tried to reason after a few minutes of silence. "Something's been going on, and while I respect that you don't want to talk about whatever it is, please understand that I'm really trying to help you here. Because, no matter what, I love you. So I'm just hoping that a few days away might boost you out of your funk."

"Please don't refer to my emotional duress as a funk," Blaire confronted, unable to help herself. Though, with another look at her sister's pleading eyes in the rearview mirror, she sighed and muttered, "Sorry — I'm just... I don't know. But I love you too, dad."

"That's my girl," said Peter proudly, nudging his eldest daughter on the shoulder as a ghost of an amused smile played on her lips. "Besides, with a free trip on a private jet, how could you complain? Direct to the big island! You'll have to bring us back some souvenirs."

"You think I have the money for that, old man? There's a reason this trip is free," Blaire joked lightheartedly, earning a laugh in response from both of her family members. Then, with the tension subsided, Blaire looked out the window once more. "Hey, Mimi, I spy with my little eye... something beginning with 'S'," she added, grinning when she saw Maya perk up in the rearview mirror.

"Sign!" exclaimed Maya, cheering for herself when Blaire nodded happily. The two sisters continued to play, with their father occasionally joining in a few times, until they pulled up outside the airport.

"Here we are," announced Peter, pulling into an unoccupied space in the lot and parking the car. Both Maya and Peter clambered out of the Buick, feeling the warmth of the sun on their skin, as they started to unpack Blaire's luggage from the trunk.

Through the rearview mirror, Blaire watched them, waiting to see whether their attention had been caught elsewhere, checking to see if the coast was clear. Hanging back inside the car for a moment, she reached for her leather-bound purse and fumbled through it, looking for the orange-yellow pill bottle she'd become so familiar with. Her hands frantically skimmed over her wallet, phone, and battery-powered vaporizer before she eventually found what she was looking for.

Xanax.

Opening the bottle with a swift turn of her wrist, Blaire popped two of the tiny, white pills into her mouth and swallowed, disregarding the warning label as though she was somehow instantaneously dyslexic. It was an extended release, at least for Blaire, because it wasn't meant to get her high or impact her dance performance; they were simply a coping mechanism, as were all of the prescription pills she'd managed to get her hands on over the past year.

It had become routine: Benadryl induced the four hours of sleep Blaire allowed herself every night, while Adderall and energy drinks kept her awake long enough to perfect any dancing technique Miss Diane taught her during the day. Then, with Xanax, she was finally able to calm down a little, so she could focus on herself for once instead of the heavy burdens of her life, instead of how quickly she was falling apart.

Everything else was fair game.

Blaire had used anything to keep her awake for a few days before knocking her out for a few blissful hours.

Adderall. Xanax. Oxycodone. Valium. Ativan.

Never mixed, yet never sober.

And, for the most part, it worked.

Blaire was an ideal student, a fierce competitor and the best role model to her little sister on the outside; though on the inside, no one realized how fucked up she really was.

No one knew... no one had any reason to worry...

"You coming or what?" came the voice of Peter, along with a gentle tap on the passenger side window that made Blaire physically jump out of her thoughts and quickly force the pill bottle back in her bag. Feigning a fake smile, she opened the car door and stepped out.

"Yeah, sorry," she mumbled, hoisting her purse to her shoulder, as she shut the car door behind her. "I was just... uh, looking for my phone."

"Heaven forbid you don't have have your phone in Hawaii," said Peter sarcastically, teasing his eldest daughter in a father-like manner. He then passed her the handle of her luggage, rolling it towards across the pavement, and said, "You sure you don't want us to walk you to your gate? It won't take long —"

"I appreciate it," Blaire told him, unwilling to draw out the bittersweet farewell longer than necessary, "but I think I can manage on my own."

"Okay, okay," sighed Peter, nodding, as he struggled to hide the emotion glazing over his dark eyes. He shared quite the striking resemblance to his daughter, with the same messy brown hair and sunkissed tan, though the stress and burdens of age seemed to leave wrinkled lines on his forehead.

Maya Rose, on the other hand, was different. Her big doe-eyes and deep dimples accentuated her youthful, clear skin, which effortlessly captured the essence of naive innocence. Her morals were intact, her conscience was clean, and yet she found her role model in the shape of her older sister, Blaire, who was essentially a trainwreck waiting to happen.

"I'll miss you," she muttered quietly, her soft brown eyes staring into Blaire's as her older sister kneeled to her level.

"I'll miss you too, little one," Blaire smiled, pulling Maya into a hug when she started to cry. "Come on, it'll only be a couple of days, I'll be back before you know it. Now, at least, you won't have to deal with me forcing you to sit through another episode of Dance Moms."

Maya giggled at that, smiling through her tears, and Blaire stood, getting eloped into a hug by her father.

"Be good, okay? And call us when you land," Peter instructed, emotion clogging his throat. "Remember, we'll always be with you," he added softly, pointing to one of the three golden chains Blaire had around her neck; the first two were simple chains with initials, while the third was a golden locket with a picture of her family: her father, her sister and her mother...

(A/N: for reference! this is what the necklaces look like)

"I know, I know," Blaire hugged her father tighter, whispering softly so Maya couldn't hear. "But I just... I want you to promise me that you won't do to her what you did to me. You can't disappear on her like you did when mom left. Because I won't be there, and you'll be all she has. So please...will you promise me? Because I need to trust that you're not going to drink yourself into an oblivion at the drop of a hat."

"I — I promise," Peter said almost instantly, ashamed, as the tears from his eyes fell onto his daughter's shoulder. "Really, I do. Recovery's been hard at times, but it's worth it. I promise, Blaire, I'm getting better."

Despite the voice in the back of her head saying the opposite, Blaire nodded her head reluctantly as she pulled out of the hug at last. With one last wave, she rolled her luggage towards the airport doors, while, with every step she took, the wheels resonated on the pavement.

"See you soon."

"Bye," Maya waved at her, watching, with tear-stained cheeks, as her older sister disappeared behind the sliding glass doors. "I miss you already..."

─── • ───

Early morning light shined in through the windows as Blaire made her across the boarding bridge, dressed casually in a pair of denim shorts and a black cropped camisole, with an unbuttoned, white plaid shirt draped overtop. The closer she got to her destination, the more reality seemed to set in. Blaire still wasn't entirely sure what she was meant to gain from this girls retreat, but there was an uneasy feeling stirring within her now, an impassiveness she couldn't shake.

(A/N: for reference! this is one of Blaire's main outfits)

Not long after she reached her departure gate (which took longer than she planned due to her quick detour to the bathroom), Blaire was escorted out onto the runway of the airport, following one of the flight attendants to where the private plane had docked. Rolling her luggage behind her, she marvelled at the sight of the luxurious aircraft as she and the airline employee approached it; the private jet was smaller than the average plane, though it looked ten times more expensive, with its blacked out windows and rolled-out red carpet that led to the entranceway.

"Welcome, Miss Diamante, we've been expecting you!" exclaimed one of the airline employees as she approached the first-class charter jet. "Please, go inside and find a seat! We'll store your luggage on the cargo deck along with everyone else's. On behalf of everyone at the Dawn of Eve, we hope you enjoy your journey with us. So please," the airman gestured towards the entrance, "your spiritual journey awaits!"

"Right," muttered Blaire, handing her luggage over to the airline resort specialist before scrambling in her purse and pulling out her wireless headphones for the flight. With her music blasting in both ears, she followed the red-carpet and boarded the plane with the other first-class passengers.

The interior of the private jet was spacious, with at least twenty seats and monitors on the backs of each headrest. Clutching at the strap of her purse tighter, Blaire walked passed the cockpit and into the cabin to be met with several pairs of eyes staring back at her; there were nine other girls also going on the retreat.

And with that, there were ten young, naive girls on their way to Hawaii, but little did any of them know that not all of them would be returning...

─── • ───

"There were four schools represented on our flight," Leah told Agent Young and Faber in the interrogation room. "But she wasn't from any of them... she'd come alone. Which is something I might've learned earlier if I'd been paying any kind of attention."

─── • ───

With an anxious reach for the golden locket around her neck, Blaire delicately held it between her fingers, clutching onto it for some sort of comfort. The awkward tension lingering in the aircraft's cabin made her feel as though she was out of place, as though she wasn't herself. With the mumbles and whispers of previous conversation coming to an end, Blaire looked around for a moment, gathering courage, before she walked down the aisle to find a seat.

"H-Hey Blaire," came the sound of a familiar voice that caught Blaire's attention, and she took her headphones out and turned her head to meet the eyes of an African-American girl, who had loose curls and a silver nose ring similar to her own, sitting near the back of the plane. "I know you probably don't remember me," she spoke, her voice soft and meek. "But I'm in your cla—"

"She doesn't know who you are," another voice interjected, coming from the front of the plane this time; it was another girl who was familiar to Blaire, but for all of the wrong reasons. "So sit down," she added harshly, "you're embarrassing yourself."

With her thoughts running rampant for a moment, Blaire hesitated. As a result of the drowsiness from her medication, she couldn't entirely understand where she'd seen the two girls before. Though, with some amusement, Blaire noted the perturbed looks on everyone's faces. Mostly on principle, however, she had decided to refrain from retaliating against the harsh tension in the plane cabin, and instead was relieved as the look of tenderness in the first girl's eyes was enough to put everything into perspective.

Nora Reid.

Blaire remembered her as though she'd been struck with a certainty unlike anything she'd ever experienced before; they went to school together, lived in same city. From what Blaire knew, Nora was intuitive and observant, and she was often caught admiring people from a distance because her anxiety kept her reserved from social interaction. It mustn't have been easy either, Blaire thought, as her fraternal twin sister, Rachel Reid — the girl from the front of the plane — was one of the best athletes at Xavier.

However, neither Nora or Rachel were socially proficient, and rarely did Blaire ever see them without each other. From what Blaire had gathered over the years, the Reid family was erudite, especially Nora, who was an academically inclined student that maintained good grades. Their family was built on the grounds of quoted literature, trips to the opera, and games of scrabble; though Rachel and Nora could not have been more different if they'd tried.

Nora was uninterested in fitting in; she was a quiet, awkward bookworm, who was quite possibly on the high-functioning end of the spectrum. Rachel, however, was an elite diver, who had driven herself to dangerous lengths to excel at her sport. And while her face was covered in red mounds of cystic acne — a burden of her competitive nature — Rachel's resilience was still visibly etched in her dark eyes.

With a gentle sigh, Blaire felt her face brighten. Despite her and the Reid twins' evident lack of communication, she still felt relieved to know that there was people she knew going to the retreat with her. Her eyes glazed over, her gaze settled on Nora.

"Of course, I remember you," she muttered, wanting to speak for herself, as her lips quirked charmingly. "It's Nora, right? You sit behind me in Mr. Penner's English class."

"That's right," Nora confirmed, her eyes wide in surprise. "It's... uh, good to see you again."

"Yeah, you too! And Rachel," Blaire cocked her head back towards the front of the plane, her tone effortlessly sarcastic, "it's always a pleasure."

Rachel merely rolled her eyes and turned away again.

"W-We also have History and French together," Nora said abruptly, shifting nervously under Blaire's gaze as she turned back around. "You know, just in case you, uh, forgot..."

"No, I remember —"

"Oh, fuck my life," came the annoyed groan of another girl with a long, braided ponytail, who sat parallel to her friend of Native-American descent. "I swear if there's any more rich, preppy white girls on this trip," she complained aloud, "I might be tempted to off myself."

From her place in the cabin's aisle, Blaire looked up and met the subtle glare of the girl across from her. Her lips had curled into an inscrutable line, clutching at her elbows so tightly Blaire's surprised they didn't shatter in her hands. With contention playing on her lips, she felt her stomach clench as her eyes studied the girl with the braided hair. There was something so compelling about her, something so mischievous and mysterious in her eyes, as she stared back at Blaire, waiting for a challenge, a reason to spark her fuse.

Luckily for her, Blaire was not one to bite her tongue.

"What a coincidence," she snapped, unable to control herself. "I was just thinking the same thing about rude, judgmental bitches."

"What'd you just call me?" the girl responded, her eyes ablaze with a passion unlike anything Blaire had seen before. With the tension rising, she stood in the aisle in front of Blaire much closer than either anticipated, their noses inches apart; though a few inches shorter, the girl with the braided hair managed to stand her ground.

"Jesus fucking Christ, is there a catfight already?" exclaimed another girl, turning her head towards the commotion. Blaire cut a sidelong glance at her; she was sat at the front of the plane, with bright acrylic nails and hoop earrings so big they touched her shoulders. "For fucks sakes," she cursed, amused, "at least give a bitch some time to sharpen her claws."

"Woah, what's going on over here?" came the voice of a lively blonde, with a southern drawl woven in her words, as she sprung from the confines of her chair. "How about we all calm down, all right? Remember: 'love thy neighbour as thyself'," she quoted, causing Blaire to raise her eyebrows. "Matthew 22:39."

"Everything's fine," Blaire tried to reason, practicing self-control, trying not to cause a scene. Her gaze shifted back towards the girl with the braid, and she said, "We just had a bit of a misunderstanding."

The girl merely scoffed in response, stubborn, as her jaw clenched, though with a noticeable tug at the hem of her basketball jersey from her Native American friend, she knew to walk away from the situation.

"Whatever," she muttered, slumping back in her seat.

With a shake of her head, Blaire shot another look towards Nora, who shrugged awkwardly, before putting her headphones back in. Taking a seat at the back of the plane, she let herself be consumed by her music as a means to avoid the obvious stares of the other girls lingering on her. Being so ensconced in her own little world, she paid little attention to the orientation video playing on her seatback monitor.

On the screen, unbeknownst to Blaire, was a tall, slender woman delivering the welcome message. With flowing blonde hair and a saleswoman-esque voice, she addressed the passengers as the plane took off.

"Welcome to the Dawn of Eve," she greeted with a wide smile. "Right now, hundreds of girls like yourselves, aboard charters just like this one, are en route to our retreat centre in Kona, Hawaii for a long weekend of female-centric learning and growth. And while you've got a lot of networking ahead of you, why not get to know the amazing young women around you right now?"

The reactions of the other passengers wavered; some clapped excitedly with wild optimism, while others recoiled at the mere thought of social interaction.

"The Dawn of Eve quite literally waits for no man," the woman on the monitor continued. "Here are the delegations aboard your shuttle, and provided that the seatbelt sign is off, please stand when your school is called..."

One by one, the names of each of the schools flashed onto the screen in fun star-wipe transitions. Out of the corner of her eye, Blaire could see the various school crests pop up on the screen, and her attention was caught as people around her began to stand; she  took out one of her headphones again and listened.

"Hopewell Lake High School," the woman in the orientation video was saying, "from Minneapolis, Minnesota..."

From a few seats in front of her, Blaire watched as Martha Blackburn, a sixteen-year old, doe-eyed Ojibwe native caught between traditional reservation culture and regular teen angst, got to her feet, dragging the tomboyish, seventeen-year-old girl from earlier along with her: her best friend, Toni Shalifoe.

The girl with the braid.

Toni had a slim physique that mimicked that of an athlete, with her long, wavy brown hair tied in a messy braid atop of her head. Though with her freckles and honey-brown eyes, Blaire couldn't help but wonder whether Toni's hot-headed temper from before was merely a result from human contempt.

"The Fort Travis Baptist Academy, from Fort Travis, Texas..."

With a thankful sigh from Toni, her and Martha retook their seats as the orientation video continued. At the front of the plane, Shelby Goodkind, a sixteen-year-old pageant queen, stood proudly, waving to the other passengers as though she was on a parade float. Shelby's expression, however, was inscrutable, her green eyes piercing, and Blaire uncharacteristically avoided her eyes as they tried to lock with her own from across the room. In the aisle across from Shelby, Dot Campbell, a seventeen-year-old, redheaded chainsmoker, raised an inch from her seat, nodding to those behind her, putting in the bare minimum effort.

"Xavier Preparatory, from New York, New York..."

With a sigh, Blaire rose from her seat at the back of the plane, flashing a quick, charming smile to those looking back towards her. Her gaze shifting between the seats, Blaire's dark brown eyes met Toni's for a moment, winking in her direction defiantly as a callback to their previous conversation; Toni merely rolled her eyes and turned away with a huff of annoyance. Thankfully, the palpable tension was broken as Rachel and Nora Reid also stood, both of whom sat on different ends of the plane, which was clear evidence of some soft of divide between them.

"And finally: the East Bay Academy of Art, from Berkeley, California..."

With a quick pucker of her lips, Fatin Jadmani, a sixteen-year-old, Pakistani-American with calloused fingertips and large hoop earrings, rose from her seat in a dramatized manner, her large breasts emphasized in skin-tight tank top that said: 'GIRL, BYE'. Then, in a brave display of her evolved sexuality, she glanced towards Blaire and blew her a playful, flirtatious kiss. With a small giggle, Blaire returned the Pakistani girl's gesture with one of her own: her middle finger. But, as though Fatin had been expecting such a response, she merely laughed harder and gave Blaire an impressed nod before shifting her attention elsewhere.

Towards the back of the plane, everyone followed Fatin's gaze as she gestured towards Leah Rilke, her school's other delegate, who merely sunk lower into her seat. Blair watched, intrigued, as Leah reached for a dog-eared novel entitled, 'The Nature of Her,' by Jefferey Galanis, an endearingly awkward small-town author in his mid-thirties. Leah did not look up; she instead flipped through the pages of her book several times, her hands trembling, as she skimmed the pages and was absorbed by something akin to heartbreak.

But as the orientation video came to its long-awaited conclusion, Blaire's eyes wandered throughout the plane cabin once more. It occurred to her, even in that short amount of time, that only nine of the girls had been represented by the four schools. The tenth girl, Jeanette Dao, who was a sixteen-year-old, happy-go-lucky Asian girl with a wildly naive innocence, remained seated throughout the video, seemingly unaware of everything around her as she hummed the lyrics of a popular P!nk song to herself.

"Raise a glass... if you are wrong... in all the right ways..."

Four schools were represented on that girls retreat to Hawaii, but Jeanette wasn't from any of them.

Jeanette was the only one who'd come alone.

─── • ───

"I was somewhere else, trying to disappear into those pages," Leah was saying, recounting every horrific — and embarrassing — detail. "It's funny, in retrospect. The way I fantasized about the past, unaware that what life had in-store for me would only make me want to dream of a future that I wasn't sure I could have..."

─── • ───

Silence fell upon the plane cabin after the video ended, none of the girls uttering a single word except for Martha and Toni, who casually carried a conversation between themselves in quiet whispers. Blaire had since disappeared into the lyrics of Maggie Lindemann's Paranoia album, the anthemic and pop-rock melodies flowing from her headphones at mid-volume. With her gaze trained out the plane's small window, she only adverted her eyes occasionally to look over at Nora, who was so apparently monitoring her twin sister from afar.

At some point between Blaire's songs, Shelby Goodkind leapt from her seat, stood near the bulkhead, and addressed the room; Shelby was, as expected, quite comfortable in front of an audience.

"So in the interest of bringing us all together, I'd like to propose a little icebreaker," she smiled widely, pulling the attention of almost all of the other girls. For the first time, Jeanette made her presence known to Blaire, to the girls; she stood abruptly from three chairs behind Shelby, eagerness etched in her smile.

"Ooh, like never have I ever?" she asked, peering through her dark bangs. Her outfit consisted of unconventional layers, with lavender and orange flowers sewn onto the pastel crewneck. To Blaire, Jeanette looked as though she embodied innocence.

"Uh, that game's a little much," Shelby shot her down politely, offering a smile as a means to make up for it.

"I know! So here's how it works," Jeanette began to explain vivaciously, her focus shifting between the other nine girls, who were likely all aware of how the game was played. "One person says something they've never done, and if you have done it, you have to drink alcohol!"

"That game's a little intense, like, for people who don't know each other real well," the Texan beauty queen declined again, her blonde ponytail swinging from side-to-side as she made her way down the aisle. "So how about we just pair off, powwow with your partner for a sec, and then afterwards, you can introduce her to the rest of us?"

From a few seats ahead of her, Blaire heard Toni scoff in response before turning to Martha and muttering under her breath.

"This white girl said 'powwow'," Blaire heard her say from a distance, offended for her best friend.

But Martha merely shrugged.

"So?"

"So it's not her word," Toni emphasized. "You should be triggered."

"Okay," Martha responded kindly, "I'm not though."

Toni laughed and shook her head, leaning back into the white-leather cushion of her seat.

"Why am I always fighting your battles for you?"

"I don't know," Martha replied sheepishly, rolling her eyes at her best friend. "Because you like fighting?"

Stifling a laugh, Blaire returned her attention out the small window, watching as the right wing of the plane disappeared through the clouds. While she didn't mean to seem rude, her and the other girls seemed as equally uninterested in Shelby's proposal; neither of them were as avid at making friends as the religious girl, though she didn't seem to let this deter her at all.

"Okay, guess I'll have to play matchmaker. You can come with me," Shelby sighed, pulling Toni from her seat begrudgingly and dropping her in the seat next to Rachel. "It's probably best that we separate you two anyway," she added, glancing between Toni and Blaire, who had an amused smile etched on her lips.

In the seat parallel to Blaire, Leah still had her nose buried in her book, unaware of everything going on around her. Shelby approached her, willing to pair her off with someone, but even the indomitable Texan beauty queen could tell it was a lost cause; Leah's dark and miserable mood was enough to turn her away as she sent daggers over the top of the pages.

"I guess we'll just need a group of three, then," concluded Shelby, and she pulled Blaire to her feet by her wrist, unaware that the New Yorker had winced ever so slightly at the contact. With a strut towards the front of the plane, she guided Blaire to where Dot and Fatin were sitting; one wore green cargo pants, while the other looked as though she'd stepped out of a Victoria's Secret catalogue... complete opposites.

"Ah yes, the bitch with the razor-sharp talons," Fatin greeted, gazing up into the New Yorker's eyes. "You gonna play nice? Or should I be asking little miss youth counsellor to say a prayer before someone makes the plane take a nosedive into the ocean?"

"Depends on my mood, I guess," Blaire let out a small laugh, wiggling her wrist free from Shelby's tight grip; the blonde frowned, the distaste she felt over the mockery of her religion evident on her face. With another pitiful sigh, she smiled tightly and clapped.

"Well, looks like y'all will get along quite nicely," she said, before turning on her heels and taking a seat parallel to the girl of Native American descent. "Martha, it's a pleasure," Blaire could hear her saying, "Okay, so let me tell you a bit about me: I do real. I do family. I do Jesus. I do pageants. And I'm doing this retreat to offset the pageants, you know, because some colleges might see them as retrograde when it comes to female empowerment..."

"Come sit down, you crazy bitch," Fatin pulled Blaire's attention back towards her, making enough room for one more person in her first-class seat. "I promise I don't bite... unless you're into that," she added with a wink, patting the space next to her. "I'm Fatin, by the way, but you probably knew that."

"Blaire," the competitive dancer introduced herself as she sat down in the acquired space; it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as one would imagine, even though Blaire's leg hung over the armrest closest to the aisle.

"Dot," the other girl across the aisle spoke up, making her presence in the conversation known as she shifted in her seat to face the other two, her eyes on Fatin. "Hey, I've got a question about your shirt."

"Well," the Pakistani-American girl quipped, eyeing herself in a tiny compact mirror, "I've got a few questions about your cargo pants."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a lesbian," Dot acknowledged sarcastically, and Blaire found her eyes wandering to the redhead's army green pants. "Sorry to disappoint — I just like storage."

"Right," Fatin droned on, putting her mirror away.

"But I see shirts like yours everywhere," Dot continued, nodding towards the bubblegum pink tank-top. "Shirts that have, like, a lot of attitude..."

"So what's your question, then?"

"I guess just, why are they a thing?"

"Um, because they're super cute and super hilarious?" Fatin answered matter-of-factly, and Blaire laughed as she glanced at the pink graphic tank one more time.

"Yeah, sure, that's one way to describe it," she said sarcastically, partially agreeing with Dot, which earned her an elbow to the ribs from Fatin. "Super poetic."

"I just think it's kind of funny, you wearing that to a feminist retreat," Dot shrugged, flashing an amused smile at Blaire before slouching comfortably against her headrest. "Because your shirt is literally telling women to get out of your face."

"Whatever, I don't even get feminism," Fatin concluded, crossing one leg over the other. "I get called a 'girly girl', like it's a bad thing? So I'm double the amount of girl, and somehow that's not feminist. It's ridiculous — well, hello," she added flirtatiously, her attention caught as the same flight attendant that had taken Blaire's luggage made his way down the aisle, handing out squares of chocolate cake. "Thank you so much... this looks delicious."

The food cart rattled slightly as the flight attendant rolled it down the aisle, handing pieces to both Fatin and Dot. With his high-and-tight military haircut, Blaire felt her gaze linger on the side of his face and acknowledge his features for the first time. He was unmistakably in his mid-thirties, with kind eyes and defined muscles that filled out his uniform very well.

"Here you go, Miss Diamante," he said kindly, offering her a piece of chocolate cake. "We hope you enjoy."

"No, thank you," Blaire politely declined, "I'm a —"

"A vegan? Not to worry, we've made sure everything we offer you is one-hundred percent vegan-friendly," the flight attendant finished, catching Blaire completely by surprise as he handed her a slice of cake regardless. "The Dawn of Eve has worked to accommodate the dietary needs of all passengers."

"Right... okay," said Blaire after a moment, wondering whether they'd been in contact with her father to provide insight to such information. "Thanks," she added, meeting the man's gaze as he smiled victoriously and wheeled the cart down the aisle.

"Yeah, thanks dude," Dot called after him, expressing her satisfaction for the decedent baked-good.

Her thoughts churning, Blaire turned her head towards the back of the plane cabin, watching as each of the others girls took a piece of cake; Toni wolfed hers down, while Rachel cut the dessert into small pieces and weighed each of them on the digital scale on her phone. Shelby and Martha ate theirs traditionally with a fork, and even Leah, from the depths of her despair, managed to eat a few bites.

"So, Blaire, you're a vegan?" Fatin voiced, pulling the New Yorker's attention back to her and Dot. "Fuck, dude, I should've known... it explains a lot."

"Ouch," Blaire teased, a short breath of amusement falling from her lips, as she took a bite of her cake. "It's not an ethical choice, by the way. I mean, sure, I'm all for animal rights and whatever else those basic bitches post on Facebook, but sometimes you just crave a fucking burger, you know?"

Dot snorted with laughter.

"So why don't you have one, then?"

"Because my dance instructor would have a cow — no pun intended — if I ever even thought about going to an In-N-Out," Blaire sighed, shaking her head at how ridiculous she sounded. "Because Heaven forbid I fall out of one of my turns because I haven't been maintaining my strict, vegan diet —"

"But veganism isn't a diet," stated Dot matter-of-factly, forking more chocolate cake into her mouth.

"Yeah, well," Blaire licked some of the frosting from her fork, "you should tell that to my coach. Believe me, she'll have your throat if you even dare to disagree with to her."

"She sounds like a real bitch," Fatin stated bluntly, a small, wry smile tugging at the edge of her lips. "I'm surprised she loosened your leash long enough for you to even come on this trip."

"It wasn't her decision," Blaire shrugged, leaning her head back against the cushion of their shared seat. "And it wasn't mine either, if I'm honest..."

"Well then, it looks like we have a lot more in common than I thought," muttered Fatin, her confident façade faltering for a minute as Blaire watched a look of anguish stretch across her lips. But just as quickly as it arrived, Fatin had masked the look with one of mischief. "So, my little Blaire bitch, tell me something," she started, changing the subject, "do you — you know — look for meat substitutes in all areas of your life or is that merely reserved for dietary preferences?"

"Careful," Blaire teased, her bottom lip between her teeth, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were coming on to me, Jadmani."

"Well, obviously," Fatin giggled, evidently joking. "I'd figured I'd shoot my shot before Dorothy, over here, and her cargo pants stole your jet-black heart."

"Fuck you," Dot said, flipping the other two girls off, despite the amused smile that curled upon her lips; it had been the first time Blaire had seen the girl smile.

"Jesus, Dorothy, at least take me out to dinner first," Fatin wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at the redheaded chainsmoker. "But seriously," she persisted, her gaze turning back towards Blaire, "which team, so to speak, are you playing for?"

"Would it be wrong to say both?" asked Blaire bluntly, earning intrigued looks from the other two. "I mean, I kinda have, like, a boyfriend back home —"

"Let me guess," Dot drawled, "trouble in paradise?"

Blaire hesitated for a moment, her gaze dropping towards her covered forearms; sometimes she wondered whether it would ever be possible not to feel a little bit heartbroken. Being near other people didn't make it worse exactly, but it did make what happened harder to ignore.

"Yeah," she choked out softly, "something like that..."

─── • ───

"This next part is hard to talk about," Leah trembled, her eyes avoiding Faber and Agent Young's eyes as a direct result of her trauma. "I don't even know where to start."

"We understand," Faber reassured her feelings, trying to make her feel comfortable, "it must've been terrifying..."

But Leah shook her head, tapping her finger anxiously on the metal table in between her and the two agents.

"No — it was embarrassing," she corrected at once. "Because the thought did cross my mind, you know, that this could be my final moment alive... but how d'you think I spent it?"

The question was left open-ended, and Leah waited for any response, any insight to how they thought she might've coped with what happened. However, Agent Young and Faber remained speechless; the glimmer of something akin to shame that shone in Leah's eyes was enough to help them put the pieces together.

"I didn't reach out for comfort," she told them defeatedly.

Toni had thrown her arms around Martha.

"I didn't cry."

Fatin had felt the tears of fear swell in her eyes.

"I didn't shut everything out."

Jeanette had clapped her hands over her ears.

"I didn't, like, 'carpe diem' or anything."

Dot had lit a cigarette.

"I didn't indulge."

Rachel had inhaled the rest of her chocolate cake.

"I didn't take any measures to protect myself."

Nora had ducked her head between her legs.

"I didn't pray for my mortal soul."

Shelby had dropped to her knees and confessed her sins.

"I didn't self-medicate to make the pain go away."

Blaire had swallowed two more pills.

"Here's what I did," Leah slumped her body into her chair, her head bowed in shame. "I sat there, in my fucking love puddle, and thought about a guy..."

─── • ───

It happened once everyone returned to their seats.

Blaire wasn't sure what to make of the situation, but as soon as the chimes reverberated through the plane cabin, she knew something was wrong. The private- charter jet shook with violent turbulence, causing the lights that lined the aisle to flicker on-and-off again.

Frozen in shock, unable to move, Blaire felt her stomach turnover as the plane gave another jolt, eliciting the echoing sounds of hysteria and panic from the ten teenaged girls trapped in the cabin. The high and drowsy feeling Blaire had been experiencing from her medication had since faded away, replaced by complete petrification as it suddenly felt like they were plummeting. With an impulse, she frantically search through her purse once more, found the orange-yellow bottle, and swallowed two more pills, unaware of the lingering eyes that were watching — over the top of a book — from the seat next to her.

The intercom blared with inaudible nonsense, and the only thing Blaire thought of was her family, of how they'd be better off if she became one of the eleven-million Americans that had died in a plane crash. With a single tear cascading down her cheek, she held on tightly to the armrests of her seat and willed herself to close her eyes, succumbing to her untimely fate.

All Blaire could hear was the mixture of frantic cries and devout prayers before everything went black...

─── • ───

author's note:
*this chapter was not proof read*

hope you enjoyed chapter one!!

what do you think about blaire so far? favourite moments? things i should change? lmk in the comments :))

love you guys! follow for more content <33

xo, selena

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