So this idea came to me when I was watching Mean Girls a while ago. So...this will be Mean Girls related. If you don't know what that is, you have two options from this point on:

1.) Exit this story and read a probably more successful fanfic.

2.) Watch Mean Girls and/or read the plot line on Wikipedia, then read this one-shot.

If you do know what that is, you are again presented with two options:

1.) Refuse to read it anyway.

2.) Read this story and like/hate it.

So I'm hoping you'll do the latter of options. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. All rights go to Mean Girls, Paramount, and The Selection trilogy by Kiera Cass.

Love ya!- AcademicGirl

On the first day of my high school experience, my mother was ecstatic. She had decided that all of my social problems were solved, gone forever. I had my parents and my siblings to talk to, but people actually my age? That was an entirely different story.

All of my younger siblings and me were home-schooled, until today that is. My dad was an artist and my mom was a musician. I know what you're thinking.

Artists and their kids are freaks.

I mean, we would have been exposed to that creative stuff, and creativity would lead to recklessness. Well, I learned that from a nasty teacher in an old cartoon, but I digress.

But no. My family was totally normal.

"Kitten, here's you lunch," Dad said, handing me a brown bag. "If you want to buy something, there's also some money in there for milk, a cookie, whatever you'd like."

His grin was so big and proud for the three of us, that I couldn't help but giving him a last hug goodbye.

"Gerad, May, America," Mom said, making a fuss about our hair and clothes, "if you get lost, ask the big kids where to go."

My siblings and I assured our parents that we would be fine. It's just school, right?

We wave bye over our shoulders as we walked to school.

My family and I moved from North Carolina to glamorous California. My mom's music was highly requested in Hollywood industries, and they wanted Dad's art—as well as its making—near the museum. It was my parents' big break; we couldn't turn down an opportunity like this. And now that my mom and dad would actually be busy during the day, May, Gerad, and I had to do the usual means of learning.

So, for me, it was goodbye Carolina and hello high school.

I was absolutely reluctant to go to actual school. I loved my dad's history teaching, my mom's daily lessons. I loved how May had art classes and I had music lessons. My parents encouraged Gerad to tag along, but the arts really weren't for him. Maybe at least one family member would enjoy school and its benefits.

"Ames, do you think people will be nice?" May asked.

I shrugged. "Only one way to find out, right?"

"Hi," I said brightly to a stocky girl. "I'm America Singer. I'm a new student here."

The girl crosses her arms and scowled at me. "Talk to me again, and I'll kick your ass."

Okay then.

I moved towards an empty seat in the classroom, but a blonde girl shook her head at me, as well as the green-eyed boy behind her.

"You don't want to sit there," the blonde girl said. "Tuesday Keeper's boyfriend is gonna sit there."

Sure enough, a lanky boy sat in that seat next to Tuesday. "Hey, baby."

Then they started kissing right there. It was like nobody else was in the room. I didn't know if I should admire that or be appalled. I knew couples who looked at each other like they were the only people in the room. But Tuesday and her boyfriend were the type that knew people were in the room and chose to ignore them this way, attacking each other's faces.

I walked to a different seat, and looked at the girl again for affirmation. The girl shook her head, looking a bit sorry for me.

"He farts a lot."

The guy craned his neck at me and shrugged.

I moved to the front of the classroom, looking for some other seat. There had to be an empty seat somewhere, one where I wouldn't be mauled to death or farted to asphyxiation.

I quickly turned around and ran into someone else. I felt splatters of lukewarm coffee on my arm, some things dropping on the floor, a surprised squeal, and laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," I said to whoever I bumped into. I hastily picked up the dropped objects on the floor—a folder, a planner, and a textbook. I looked up at the woman and her pastel sweater was dripping in coffee.

The woman just sighed and set her other textbooks down on the desk. I put her other stuff on the desk.

"I'd appreciate it next time if you didn't run into me next time," she said. "Just sit down please."

I didn't, though. I gathered tissues and helped dry her sweater, but she ended up just taking it off. And, well, the shirt under it too. More snickers and giggles filled the room, as a man walked in.

"Ms. Silvia?" he said, frowning at the preposterous sight.

She rushed to pull her sweater down to cover herself. "Principal Clarkson, I'm so sorry you had to see that. What may I do for you?"

Ms. Silvia talked to the principal as if he were royalty. He was a stocky man, full of authority and emanating power. This was a high school, not a kingdom.

"Well," Principal Clarkson said, "I just wanted to inform everyone about our new student. She just moved here all the way from South Carolina."

"North Carolina," I said, correcting him.

He turned to me, as if he hadn't noticed me. "Yes, what was your name again?" he said. "Amy Singer?"

"America," I said. "Like the country."

"I'm well aware that our country's name is America, Ms. Singer," the principal said a bit sharply. He held out his hand, nonetheless, and I shook it. "Well, that is all for now. Good day, everybody."

He left the room promptly, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

I sat behind the green-eyed boy with black hair. The class went by in a blur, and the guy in front of me turned around to face me when it ended. It struck me how handsome he was. He was tall, lean and strong.

Would he be my first friend in Illéa High?

"Hey, I'm sorry we weren't nicer to you," he said, his voice sounding odd.

Oh, my God. He was gay. Would he be my first gay friend? Well, he was already the first gay guy I knew. That had to count for something, right?

I smile. "It's fine." I stuck out my hand. "I'm America."

He shook it. "I'm Aspen Leger." He waved a hand for the blonde girl to approach me.

"I'm America Singer," I told her, extending my hand as well. I expected an icy handshake, but instead I got a warm hug.

"I know!" she said brightly. "I'm Marlee Tames. I'm sorry about a while ago."

I wave it aside after she releases me from her embrace. It was odd. I hadn't expected to meet people so nice so soon. Despite my so far rotten experience with Ms. Silvia, Marlee's manner was so vivacious that my smile grew wider. We all started walking out of the room to our next classes. I thanked Ms. Silvia, and she held up a hand as a form of dismissal.

"It's fine, really," I said. "First day dilemma, I guess."

Aspen suddenly grabbed a lock of my hair from my ponytail. "Is that your natural hair color?"

I self-consciously touched my hair. "Yeah."

"I love your hair!" Marlee gushed.

"Me too," Aspen said.

"Thank you," I replied. I'd never been complimented on my hair alone before by someone out of my family. Then again, I didn't know any people outside of my family. Until now.

"I wish I'd been born with red hair. It makes you look so alive. I hear that people with red hair have bad tempers. Is that true?"

I grinned. "I don't think so. I mean, I can have a bad temper sometimes, but my sister is a redhead and she's as sweet as can be."

"Where's your next class, Mer?" Aspen asked. "Is that fine if I called you Mer?"

"Sure," I said nonchalantly, but inside I was bursting with happiness. "My sister calls me Ames, so I don't really mind nicknames."

"I think I'll call you Ames," Marlee said. "It's much shorter than America, but I love your name."

"Thank you. I love your names too."

"Move!" Aspen said, his height and demeanor making everyone part like the Red Sea. "Everyone move for the new girl." I could tell these two were highly respected, but not the most popular. I think I liked them for that sole reason.

"What's your next class again, Mer?"

I checked my schedule and said, "Advanced Music Theory in Room G."

"Advanced?" Marlee repeated. "Why?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. It's the same in every country?"

Aspen swung an arm around my shoulders. "That's beautiful. This girl is deep."

I couldn't suppress my laugh.

"I wish I was musically gifted," Marlee sighed.

Aspen and Marlee dropped me off at Room G, and Aspen headed to health class while Marlee went to AP British Literature.

"We'll meet you in the cafeteria for lunch," he said. I nodded and went to the class.

I was determined that I would never fall in love in high school like in those movies, things that I rarely saw. But I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to my right.

A boy with warm brown eyes and honey-blonde hair smiles at me coolly and a bit sheepishly. "I forgot my pencil. May I borrow one? I'll give it back."

I blinked, dumbstruck. Boys didn't talk to me. I was just me. But I refused to give in so easily to this boy.

"I guess you shouldn't be so forgetful next time," I said. I dug around my pencil bag and handed him a pencil. "Consider that a warning."

The boy chuckled, and took my pencil, his fingers brushing with mine. "Thanks."

"America!" Marlee called from her lunch table, which was occupied by two other people. She beckoned me over, and I sat down at the head of the table.

"Hi," I said, taking out my lunch from the brown paper bag.

"America, I'd like to introduce you to our other friends," Marlee said. She gestured to a tall, broad-shouldered boy. "That's Carter Woodwork."

"Hey," he said with a lopsided grin.

"And that's Elise."

The Asian girl with jet-black hair quietly waved hello.

"Okay, Mer," Aspen said. "You need a 411 on Illéa High School. We have eight groups—"

"We call them castes," Elise interjected. "You know, like the social injustices that were used in India?"

I nodded like I understood. How could people be so divided?

Aspen pointed to a table with guys who had messy hair and scruffy faces. "Those are what we call Eights. They're the lowest of the lows, the people nobody really likes to hang out with."

"They're also the sexually active kids," Elise whispered.

Marlee nodded to the table with only seven people. "We call them the Sevens, because there are seven of them. They're the wannabes mostly."

"Because, you know," Aspen said, grinning, "not everyone can be as cool as us."

The entire table laughed at that.

"Those are the obsessive-compulsive/eco-friendly/feminist kids," Carter said, gesturing to a table with kids who basically licked their plate clean. "They are the Sixes."

"The artists, musicians, orchestra kids, and band geeks are the Fives," Aspen said.

"The mostly friendly kids who aren't Caucasian make a big diverse group we call Fours," Elise said. "I would have been stuck at that group, but these kiddos took me under their wing."

"You bet we did!" Carter said. "We saved you from a lifetime of hell."

"It's only four years," Elise retorted, smiling.

"Okay," Marlee continued. "The super nerds or super smart kids everyone asks for help with their homework are called the Threes."

"The Twos are the jocks, cheerleaders, varsity athletes, people who practically throw up everything, you know, that group," Aspen said.

"And finally," Marlee said, her voice low and deadly, "beware of the Ones."

She pointed to the central table, like the tables were arranged to be circulating around the Ones.

"They are the Queen Bees of the school," Aspen whispered. "They spread horrible rumors, and they're totally fake. Like, Kim Kardashian is more real than those girls."

"We also call them the Plastics," Carter said, "but that's too obvious. We're the only ones that use our caste system."

Elise nodded. "There was one time they spread a rumor about Marlee where—"

"Elise," Marlee said solemnly. "Please."

"Right, sorry."

Aspen pointed to a girl looking around in a daze. "That's Natalie Luca. She is one of the dumbest girls you will ever meet. Last year, she asked me how to spell orange."

They laughed, but I didn't see the reason in laughing at a person who wasn't a very good speller.

"That small one?" Elise said. "That's Kriss Ambers."

Carter said, "She's totally rich because her dad invented the word selfie, and every time someone uses the hashtag 'selfie' or so much as takes one, Mr. Ambers gets paid."

"She's always trying to make neologisms," Elise added. "And she knows everything about everybody. She's like a spy or something. You never know if she's there."

"And then finally, the most evil of them all," Marlee said. "Celeste Newsome."

"What's evil about her?" I asked. Celeste had beautiful brown hair, longer and fuller than Kriss's.

"Don't be fooled with that sickly sweet smile," Carter said. "She might seem like your average girl-next-door who just happens to be prettier than everyone else."

"Kind of like you, Mer," Aspen said. "I'd totally turn straight for you."

I couldn't help but laughing.

"But in reality," Marlee continued, ignoring Aspen's comment. "She is so much more than that. She's the ultimate queen bee. The other two are just her workers."

Elise said, "She put shards of glass in my sneakers once when I was getting showered for gym. Thanks to her I don't use the showers anymore."

"Celeste Newsome," Marlee said, glaring at the brunette. "How do I even begin to explain her?"

"Celeste Newsome is hot," Carter said. "I have to admit."

"She modeled for Victoria's Secret since she was thirteen," Elise added.

"She has two Dior purses and a silver Lexus," Aspen said.

"I hear her nose job cost more than Bill Gates's net worth," Marlee said.

Soon their comments one into a single stream of Celeste Newsome facts.

"Her favorite movie is Clueless because she tells everybody."

"One time she met Matthew McConaughey on a plane—"

"—and he told her she was pretty."

"One time she made out with me."

We all turned to Aspen with frowns.

"It was awesome," he said, nodding approvingly. "This was before coming out obviously."

"Yeah, obviously."

Now I knew the social status of everyone. I just had to make sure I didn't fall into the wrong group.