Ok, so I've had some popular stories and some really ignored ones. So I'll just have to see...I'll say PG-13 for now? Enjoy x Chapter One "We've got ribbons in our hair, and we play it fair and square, they say you'll love us and you will, we're the girls from Belleville, you can't beat us, come on and try, we're the girls of Belleville High!" I was falling. I was slipping. Oh my god why had Kirsty been ill? I simply could not balance here at the top of the pyramid. "Jasmine...Jas..." I hissed, desperatly. "Billie! What the hell are you doing?" I heard Jasmine whipser from underneath my feet. "I...I can't balance...can we stop...?" "NO! For god's sake Billie...just finish the performance..." "No...you don't understand...I...I'm...ARRRRRRGH!" There was a dramatic bending of knees followed by a series of shocked screams as my feet slipped off Jasmine's shoulders and I was sent hurtling to the floor with an indignified thud. "OH MY GOD!" I heard Nancy Plaid scream, "SHE'S DEAD! OH MY GOD! CALL 911!" "Shut up Nancy, she's not dead..." I heard Jasmine snarl, "She's just a crappy balancer." "Alright Girls, move out the way, come on...Nancy...quit screaming..." Mrs. Dushmore, the cheerleading coach knelt down beside me. "You OK there Billie?" She asked. I lifted my face off the ground and looked up to see a swarm of suprised looking cheerleaders. "What...?" I groaned. There was an uproar of laughing before Mrs. Dushmore blew her whistle. "QUIET! Right...let's try again from the top...Jasmine, you take Billie's place...Billie, you sit out for this session." She helped me up and I left the gymnasium and went into the changing rooms to get changed again. 'You're ridiculous.' I said to myself as I tied my long blonde hair into a high ponytail, pulling a pink Hollister top over my head. This was me. Billie Marshall. All my life I'd felt alone, and I'd done everything possible to try and fit in. I hung around with the 'right' crowd...Jasmine Hurtley and her cronies...who were all interested in one thing. Popularity. It masked my true insecurities of being considered a 'loner' or a 'nerd', but deep down I was still as alone as ever. Jasmine was cruel and taunted the 'freaks' and 'losers' of our school, dated the football heroes, and flirted with the jocks...she was unbelievably stereotypical and yet it seemed...everybody loved her nonetheless. The bell for lunch had just sounded, so I knew now that practise was over. I waited in the changing rooms until a pair of ug-boots swung themselves into my shin and I looked up to see Jasmine, Clara and Rhiannon waiting for me. "Nice performance today, Billie." Clara smirked. Clara was like Jasmine's little lapdog...a clone copy of her almost. She made me sick. I decided to ignore her. We sat down at the benches besides the school field. "How many calories are there in this salad?" Rhiannon asked, turning her salad box around for the nutrition information. "Not many." I said. "That doesn't actually tell me though, does it, Billie?!" Rhiannon hissed. "I don't wanna end up looking like her." She laughed, pointing over the field to Marha Devitt. There was an uproar of laughing, and yet again, I felt like I was the only one not joining in again. Was this the true cost of popularity?