“Yep.”
The light dims on my cell as the call ends, my head slightly shaking while I stare at it. I hate that it still hurts. One day I hope I can feel for her as much as I do for a complete stranger. People should have to take a test to procreate. Maybe like something that differentiates between narcissistic egomaniacs with a dash of insecurity and all those who would make good parents. That way kids wouldn’t be tricked into loving the wrong people.
I shake my head again, wiping some moisture from under my eye. I don’t have time for this. My eyes dart to the clock on my nightstand, and I realize I’m going to have to haul ass if I’m going to be on time, and I need to be on time to make a good impression.
Rolling the dark navy plaid skirt, so it’s a tad shorter and trendier, I leave my white button-down untucked. They can’t hold my fashion sense against me. The sleeves on the blazer fold easily, so I push them up my slender forearms, adding some bangles to my wrist full of bracelets. I throw my tie over my head, letting it hang loosely, tugging my hair free to drop down my back.
I grab my favorite necklace, letting the tarnished pendant fall over my chest from the long chain it’s attached to. My fingers linger on it, remembering the precious moment. So long ago and yet so vivid in my mind. It’s one of those moments I’ve hung on to a lot lately.
“Here. To remember us. It’s Liam’s lucky penny. We took it to one of those machines that makes it flat.”
“But, this is only from Liam.”
“It’s okay. When you think of him, you’ll think of me too.”
“No, give me something from you, too, so I can add it on. What’s your good luck charm?”
“You.”
Throwing on my black suede riding boots, I take one last look in the mirror, letting my memories fade.
“Gossip Girlchic. I can do that. Shit—” I breathe out and run to the bathroom to grab my makeup bag. I’ll do it on the drive.
Leaving my bedroom door open, I rush out into the hallway toward the stairs. My boots are making my presence known as I hurry against the marble floor, only having to turn back to grab my shoulder bag and cell. A growl is produced from my fluster as I retrace my steps and back again. Jesus, I’m batting a thousand today.
By the time I make it to the ornately metal glass front door of my building, the driver is already standing at the curb, holding the car door open, seemingly annoyed. I get it, dude. Traffic in the city is a nightmare, and it takes at least a half hour to get to the posh all-girls’ estate that’s my new prison—I mean, my new school.
“Sorry,” I offer, batting my eyelashes and watching his stern expression relax.
He gives his head a shake, amusement growing on his lips, as I bite mine, innocently. Except not at all. God, it’s just so easy.
Opening my door for me, he steps back, and I mouth a thank you before I toss my bag inside, cutting the charm just as Victor calls out behind me. His voice bellows over a horn honking in the background.
“Miss—”
I cut him off, turning over my shoulder. “I know, Vic. Try not to be a whore. Mind my manners and don’t embarrass my father. I got it. At ease.”
His lips purse, making him seem more constipated than usual, and a smile erupts over my face, but I hide it, turning back to duck into my ride. The driver slides into the front seat, and we begin rolling, slowly joining the heavy traffic.
Here we go. From one war zone into another. Happy freaking Monday.
The drive isn’t too harrowing, but any chance of caking on the makeup wasn’t happening. Thank you, New York City potholes. The natural vibe has always been my favorite anyhow. Living on the coast of Spain all these years has instilled a much more bohemian beachy vibe into my style. I’m a shaggy-banged, early seventies throwback with high-waist button flies, bangles, and gloss stuffed inside a prep school uniform.
I lay the side of my head back against the cool black leather seat and stare out the window, watching the familiar buildings pass by. It’s weird. It looks the same but different. The last time I was here, I was twelve. Everything seemed so much bigger to me back then.
My necklace twists between my fingers as I think about that time. Two familiar faces pop into my mind again, causing the side of my lips to pull upward.
Grey and Liam. My best friends. My secret crushes.
I’d thought about reaching out when I got back, but it seemed strange. Five years have passed; they’re practically strangers to me now. Plus, I’m swearing off men—all of them. I’m trouble, and I’ve never met any guy who’s not all too willing to explore my brand of it. Therefore, a complete ban is needed.
Thankfully, the school will be a massive help in that department. Madison Prep is the perfect all-girls’ school. Full of Upper East Side bitches, all scrambling to climb the social ladder. They’ll be nice to me because of my name alone. My family is multimedia. Newspapers. News. Media. You name it. We own it.
Unfortunately for the world, my father is one of the few men in the one-percent who controls the narrative. He’s also a completely out of touch egotist who believes he’s earned his worth just by being born with his name. A name I share, much to his dismay.
The road begins to sound different under the tires, breaking me from my thoughts. My eyes refocus from staring out of the window to see rows of stately oak trees lining the sides as we drive past.
I reach forward, pressing a button to bring down the privacy window, so I can see out the front to admire the elegance of the grounds. Two white, ornate pillars connect a black iron sign that reads Hillcrest Preparatory Academy. It makes the kind of statement that would cause anyone to sit up a bit straighter, but that’s not what has my attention.
