Social Butterfly

Her smile was child-like and her laughter was unburdened and light. She drew people in and they orbited around her. She was Grace Wilson. She was "Chica mas popular". She had the perfect everything. She had the perfect parents. The perfect boyfriend and just the right amount of money to live in a mansion. She was nothing like me. She was bubbly and, she was breath-taking. Compared to her, or anyone, I am only slightly attractive. While I do have the ideal oval face and high cheekbones, I also have painfully thin lips and straight raven-black hair. My eyes a piercing purple accent my face, yet limit the colors I can wear attractively.
I am Clara Riley; almost the exact opposite of Grace Wilson. That was me. Crawling on the bottom of the social ladder, conversing with the people that were on my level. Bea and I joked that we were the cool kids. But obviously, we weren’t. But at least we were together, right? Except we weren't. We were miles away from each other, because Bea was Chinese, she lived in China, and also has an uncurbable cancer. You might be wondering, "Clara, how in the world were you in contact with a terminally ill Chinese woman?" The answer is rather simple. She's my mom's other daughter. My half-stepsister.