Crystal Academy was becoming an elevator. Every time that Dale stepped into this elevator, it went one floor down. It was sinking into the filth of drama. Whispers, gossip, it was all there. Girls were vicious. Dale was used to being able to walk above it all, like a mob boss of the gossip Underground.

But with her disappearance, lack of money, lack of cars, and mysterious wounds... Dale was failing. She tried to spin a glamorous tale of jealousy and abuse, but her followers didn't fall for it. They didn't hang on her every word like they did before. Dale couldn't hold a girl on each arm: sometimes it was hard to just stand.

It was Tuesday evening, and Dale was wading through the filth of Crystal towards the sanctuary of Mr. Rook's apartment. At lunch that day, three of Dale's favorites had told her that they removed her from their speed dial. Not just that, but they blocked her phone number.

She leaned against the plain black fence that lined the apartments and looked at old cellphone photos of the four of them. Those girls were probably the closest things that Dale had to friends. Maybe if she had just called them "friends" it might've been different. But no, they were Girls-- The Girls. Her Girls. Now she didn't have them.

"Damnit." Dale closed her cellphone and walked to the steps. She wished that Cassius was there, even Drew or Mrs. Killingworth would've been a welcome sight. Just someone who knew the truth, someone who knew who she was. Someone who knew that the wounds weren't from something stupid. Those who knew that she wasn't hiding out of cowardice.

No. It probably was because of cowardice, after all.

The three girls had looked disgusted. Dale thought that she had healed up pretty well. The first day she had gone back to Crystal, she had walked with a cane-- no, strut with a cane. She had tried to add accessories to the uniform to make it look more appealing. She had even worn a yellow sash around her shoulders to add to the glamor.

The girls had said that she had lost her charm. Was that true? She was used to being able to speak well, but she had found herself stammering when the girls had said that.

"See this contact list? You aren't on it anymore, sweetie." One of them had said. "There's a difference between being classy and being desperate. You've lost it, and until you can get it back, you're off this list."

"Goes for us, too," said the smallest one. "You look more like something we'd find at a gay bar than a sophisticated socialite."

Those weren't the only words that they had said. Dale was trying to plug them up, not let them get anywhere else. They were doing enough damage to her as it was.

"Miss Spencer? How was your day?" Dale looked at Mr. Rook, who had come down from his apartment to meet her.

Dale just shook her head.

"I'm glad to be back."