“Hey,” I said, sitting down next to black-haired Damion Roberts, the most popular guy in school. We were on the only bench in the entire park that overlooked the lake.

"Hey." He replied desolately.

"What now; Chelsea, your dad, or Payton?" Usually I was comforting him about one of those three.

"Chelse. She's just freaking out again. I said hi to Dana Evans in the hall and Chelsea starts insisting that I'm cheating on her and threatening to dump me."

"I'm gonna ask what I always ask. Why don't you just break up with her?"

"And I'm gonna tell you what I always tell you. Raven, as much as I hate Chelsea, I need her. I can't be without her." He answered, and then grinned. "Besides, my CDs are in her car."

That was a personal joke of ours.

"Well, I suggest flowers. She likes orchids, so I would get those. Bring them to her house, apologize and explain that you only know Dana from being her lab partner. Chelsea's shallow enough to let flowers patch it over even without an explanation." That was usually my solution; a present. She loves presents, and flowers were cheaper than an expensive necklace.

"How do you know she likes orchids?" Damion asked.

"Ugh. She emailed every girl in our grade a link to her website. It's all about her. I started checking it daily about a month ago when I first started helping you."

"Oh,"

We were silent then, looking out at the lake, and I did what I usually do on my frequent visits to the park: wonder how on earth I ended up helping Damion out. All I did was sit next to him one day, noticing his miserable expression, and suddenly I was there every other day, comforting him.

"Alright, I'll do that then. See ya." He said, getting up.

As he walked away I muttered, "Oh! Gee, thanks, Raven. Oh! You're welcome, Damion." But, as usual, he didn't hear me or say thanks.

I sighed and got up, too. I went home wondering if I really should come back in two days, and when I got home I did what I usually did; look at my reflection and compare myself to the popular girls. I have the same wavy red hair as Chelsea, the same round face, the same hourglass figure, and the same clear skin. All in all, I was just a shorter, slightly thinner version of Chelsea. I compared myself to her friend Fiona Westly, next. Fiona had straight black hair, a sharp, angular face, and very few pimples. Generally, I thought Chelsea looked better, and if Chelsea did, I did. And lastly, I compared myself to Tiffany, who had wavy blonde hair, a heart-shaped face, clear skin and a beautiful figure. But, despite how beautiful she was, Chelsea and I were a close second.

The reason I went through this exercise was because I was wondering why Damion liked Chelsea when I was clearly a kind mini-Chelsea. Don't get me wrong, I don't like Damion like that, but I was wondering why no one liked me like that.

I skipped diner, something that happened once in a blue moon, planning to have a big breakfast, and then went to bed confused, like I usually did.