Lola only came out at night. She was the predictable one, mostly because you could always hear her coming from the click-clack of her heels in loud, banging echoes on the dark moonlit pavement.

She always dressed to impress, and impress she did. She was always the prize of the party, sexy, quiet, mysterious. Eyes were always on her, and she liked to stare back.

They never could remember her name, so they called her what they wished, which was usually along the lines of Beautiful or Gorgeous. She was never fond of the name calling, but she never said anything. She just kept everyone happy and at a standstill.

They all wanted Lola.

But she didn’t want them.