No one really knew Corey Brian. She tried so hard to be perfect that she was left unable to think independently by the age of fifteen.
Corey was born and raised in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of Manhattan. Mr. and Mrs. Brian were both highly educated, free-spirited individuals. Mrs. Brian ran a chain of organic health food stores that proved popular among unusually liberal NYU students and the metrosexual population of downtown Manhattan. On the other hand, Mr. Brian was the most sought after natural healer in New York; his innovative yoga techniques and secret juice recipes catered to everyone from wealthy hipsters to desperate cancer patients. Mr. and Mrs. Brian were the kind of parents who made their child complete Sudoku puzzles while simultaneously reading The Catcher in the Rye. Corey was a vegetarian, with the exception of the occasional fish fillet or sushi outing. Her free time was spent splatter paintings inspired by Jackson Pollock and attending outdoor indie rock concerts. She wore Buddy Holly glasses and white Adidas Superstars splattered with red paint. She had a Donald Trump poster in her room that she threw darts at.
Corey had attended a progressive, flamingly liberal K-8 institution since she was five years old. Mr. and Mrs. Brian were enthusiastic Anderson Cooper fans and chose to enroll Corey at Cooper’s alma mater for ninth grade: the Dalton School, located in Manhattan’s Upper East Side. It was there that Corey’s obsession with conformity took form.
Dalton was liberal, but nowhere near as radical as Corey’s previous school. As a bespectacled daughter of Ivy-educated parents living in the Village, Corey was welcomed to Dalton with open arms. Within weeks she had acquired a wide circle of friends and a packed social calendar. However, Corey quickly realized that high school was different from her childhood days of organic flower growing and. Adolescents were critical, opinionated, and highly skilled social performers. Corey’s outspoken nature and bohemian persona angered many of her fellow students. As a result, she attracted both admirers and enemies.
Corey also learned that teenagers’ opinions aren’t always reflected in their actions. She was appalled by the hypocrisy at Dalton. Her peers would pretend to have an interest in a certain television show or feign admiration for a specific public figure purely for the sake of societal approval. As the months passed, Corey began to care more about what her peers thought. She trained herself to become a seasoned varsity lacrosse player and traded in her Buddy Holly glasses for a pair of contact lenses. Her paint splattered Superstars were replaced with brown boat shoes. She even developed a mild admiration for Donald Trump.
By spring of her freshman year, Corey had changed. Her straight A’s went to straight B’s because she could only regurgitate information and became incapable of original thought. She modeled her speech after the characters from Gossip Girl and found outfit ideas by copying fashion bloggers on Instagram. People invited her to parties because they thought she was put together and pretty, not because they found her to be particularly interesting. Instead of practicing yoga, creating Pollock-like paintings and listening to indie rock, Corey spent her time watching reality television. Corey’s life became about copying others. Mr. and Mrs. Brian were heart broken by their daughter’s transformation. They contemplated pulling her out of Dalton but quickly realized that teen drama would be just as bad at any other high school.
The Reinhardt family was holding their annual charity banquet for New York’s soup kitchens that May. Missy Reinhardt was in Corey’s year at Dalton and was allowed to invite all but two of the students in her grade; this had been the case since Missy was in Kindergarten. Each year Missy would choose two overweight, lower-middle class, or generally uncool people to exclude from the invite list. As a Reinhardt, Missy had never felt threatened in her place on the social hierarchy. However, Corey’s arrival had shaken Missy’s confidence; she was terrified by Corey’s new image and feared ultimate exclusion from the Dalton community. That year, both Corey Brian and Ronny the Nose Picker did not receive invitations to the Reinhardt banquet.
Corey was upset when she heard the news, but she had a plan. She was going to find the guest list and choose a name at random, then take this name as her own in order to gain admittance.
On the night of the banquet Corey arrived fashionably late and remained aloof as the guard asked her to state her name. Corey had already glanced at the guest list beforehand by digging through Missy’s open backpack before gym class. She was prepared.
“Nelly Smith,” said Corey.
At the opening reception, Corey sneakily weaved through the crowds.  She took a deep breath and found her place at an empty seat. Right after settling in, a piercing scream resonated throughout the building.
“Someone killed Missy! Someone got my Missy!” screamed Lucy Reinhardt, Missy’s famous socialite of a mother. Her lavender c***tail dress was covered in stripes of blood.
The entire party went into a state of frenzy. Corey shuffled towards the exit in an attempt to escape before her identity was revealed. Just as Corey was about to make a clean getaway, the same guard who had checked her in grabbed hold of her arm.
“Nelly Smith?” asked the guard. “You’re coming with me. The police want to have a word with you.”
One hour late, Corey found herself in a waiting room at a police station downtown. In just sixty minutes, Corey had tearfully confessed her identity, sobbed so much that her eyes turned raw, and apologized so profusely that her voice became hoarse. Mr. and Mrs. Brian were in another room speaking with their lawyer. The waiting room door opened and Corey was asked to join her parents.
“Corey, I know that you’re feeling very confused and scared right now,” said the detective. “We know that you aren’t a murderer, but it’s important that you understand what happened.”
Mr. and Mrs. Brian couldn’t even look at their daughter. They stared at their shoes as the detective spoke on.
“The fact that you entered the banquet uninvited is a minor, almost negligible crime. The important thing you have to understand is that Nelly Smith is a pseudonym for one of our undercover policemen. Because you took that name, this policeman was unable to gain admission. We knew that someone was going to assassinate Missy and that they were going to strike at the banquet,” continued the detective. “Are you aware of the many labor unions who are currently protesting against the Reinhardt family?”
“No. I am not,” whispered Corey.
Mr Brian stood up in anger. “Jesus, Corey! How could you not know that? It’s all over the news!”
Mrs. Brian pursued her lips and sighed. “Corey spends all her time watching reality television. She’s probably familiar with every famous person who isn’t a Reinhardt.”
“I’m sorry,” croaked Corey. “I forgot who I was. I forgot everything. I didn’t mean for Missy to die.”
The detective left the room as Corey burst into hysterical sobbing. Snot and tears ran down her face, dribbling on to the front of her dress. Mr. and Mrs. Brian hugged their daughter for the first time since she had started high school. Corey wiped her tears away and both of her contact lenses came out on the side of her hand.
Corey whimpered, “I want my glasses back.”
Mr. and Mrs. Brian held their daughter even closer this time. Corey had finally returned.