The Elite (13 page)

“What?” Sophie asked innocently, a bemused expression sliding over her glowing, spray- tanned features: “What did I say?” Sophie had a habit of pretending she was dumb when it suited her, mostly when she felt like she was about to get in some kind of trouble. And looking at her smooth, open face and blond hair, you’d almost believe it. Unless you were her best friend, and knew that she had gotten a near- perfect score on her last SAT practice test.

Phoebe pulled her black quilted Chanel tote higher on her shoulder and pushed up her Muse shades to get a better look at Casey’s outfit. “She does look cute though,” Phoebe proclaimed with a decisive nod, straightening the ties on her YaYa silk wrap blouse in a delicate shade of orchid that offset her 1 1 6

T H E E L I T E

creamy complexion perfectly, and paired well with her newest pair of dark- washed Citizens of Humanity jeans and gold D&G slides. “But not as cute as me, of course,” Phoebe murmured, giving herself the once- over in the long bank of mirrors lining the far wall of the Dining Hall before realizing her obvious faux pas. She turned to Madison in a desperate attempt to save face and smiled sweetly. “Or
you
,” she said.

“What about
me
?” Sophie said, and Madison wondered for the trillionth time how somebody could manage to giggle and whine at the same time—Sophie had practically made it an art form.

“What
about
you,” Madison snapped, willing Drew to look up and notice her. At that moment, almost as if she’d scripted it, Drew glanced at the doorway, his face draining of color as his blue- eyed gaze came to rest on his oldest friend—or worst enemy at Meadowlark. Madison smiled, lifting one hand to wave as her gold Louis Vuitton charm bracelet slid to her forearm. She couldn’t help taking a perverse amount of satisfaction in the way Drew’s expression suddenly changed, turning closed off and serious. He snapped his phone shut and walked quickly away from Casey, who stood there in disbelief, mouth open.

Madison’s eyes narrowed as Drew approached. There was no way he was going to be able to exit the Dining Hall without passing her, and she was going to love every minute of his impending discomfort.

“Going somewhere?” she purred, raising one perfectly arched blond brow.

1 1 7

J E N N I F E R B A N A S H

“Oui,”
Drew said brusquely, preparing to brush past her.

“French class—sucks to be me.”

“In more ways than one,” Madison said sarcastically as Drew walked out the door, leaving Sophie and Phoebe exchanging shocked glances. Madison glared at his back, the adrenaline pumping in her veins from their brief encounter.

Well, she had all day to get things back where they belonged—

with her on top, figuratively speaking . . .

“Well, that redefined the concept of ‘a quickie,’ ” Phoebe said as soon as Drew was out of earshot.

“For real,” Sophie echoed. “It was the total
definition
of brief.”

Madison sighed, surveying the line that stretched across the room at the Whole Bean kiosk as Casey approached, weaving unsteadily on her wedges, a bewildered expression still lingering on her freckled face.

“Hey, guys,” Casey said, ner vous ly shifting her unruly mess of curls off of one shoulder. Had this girl never heard of a flat iron? Or a hairdresser?

“Hey, yourself.” Sophie smiled broadly, removing her hat to reveal her honeyed- hair clipped back neatly at the neck with a heavy silver barrette.

“So, were you and the D-man trading fashion tips?”

Phoebe grinned wickedly. “Or was there something a little more . . . personal going on?”

“It was nothing much,” Casey said, biting her lip and looking at the floor.

Right
. As Madison took in Casey’s flushed face and slightly 1 1 8

T H E E L I T E

guilty expression she wondered why, if the conversation was so meaningless, couldn’t Casey seem to look her in the face?

“He just wants to show me around town sometime,” Casey said in a rush, unable to keep a happy smile from creeping over her lips. “That’s all.”

“Oh my God, that’s amaaaaaaazing.” Sophie squealed like Brad Pitt had just been let loose in the Dining Hall. “When are you going out?”

“And more importantly,” Phoebe interrupted, pushing Solyphie aside with a shove of her elbow, “what are you going to
wear
?” Phoebe looked over at Sophie, a smile hovering over her lips.

“AS LITTLE AS POSSIBLE!” they yelled in unison, slapping each other a high- ten.

What the hell was going on with everyone around here?
Madison thought grumpily. The day was getting worse by the second. Let’s recap: First she’d walked in on the new girl practically hooking up with Drew in front of practically the entire student body, and now her supposed “friends” were actually cheering this madness on? What

ever happened to loyalty?

Well, if this girl actually thought she could handle Drew Van Allen, she had another thing coming.
Maybe
, Madison thought, weighing her options,
there’s some way I can help her
out
. . .

Madison reached over and placed a manicured hand on Casey’s arm, squeezing gently. Her expression, she hoped, displayed exactly the right blend of concern and world- weary we’re- in- this- togetherness.

1 1 9

J E N N I F E R B A N A S H

“Forget fashion,” she said with a roll of her eyes and a smile, her voice hushed and secretive as she pulled Casey out of the Traitor Twins’ earshot. “You need some
real
advice—

not makeup tips.” Madison turned and shot Phoebe and Sophie a deadly glare before continuing. “Now, I know Drew better than anyone, and what he
really
likes is when girls are kind of aggressive.” Madison watched closely as Casey nodded, clearly hanging onto her every word. This was so easy that Madison almost began to feel sorry for her.

“He’s actually really shy underneath all his dumbass macho bullshit, so you totally have to make the first move. After all,”

she added mischievously, “I dated him for like, forever, so I should know.” Madison giggled warmly, clutching Casey’s arm like they’d been best friends—or worst enemies—all their lives.

“Wow,” Casey said, looking up at Madison like she’d just succeeded in reinventing the wheel. “Thanks so much!” Casey leaned toward Madison and her voice dropped to an almost-whisper. “I was kind of worried that you might be . . . mad at me or something,”

“Oh please,” Madison snorted, rolling her eyes. “Drew and I are the definition of O-V- E-R. Now, here’s what you need to do . . .”

As Madison whispered into Casey’s ear, she felt almost guilty about her blatant lie—until she remembered that, until Casey came along,
she
was the one Drew was cornering daily in the Dining Hall. Besides, it would be totally embarrassing to lose Drew to some complete nobody from nowhereville—and Madison didn’t
do
embarrassed.

1 2 0

T H E E L I T E

She had to somehow make things go back to normal. Her life had suddenly gone all Shakesperean on her—like something out of
Much Ado About Nothing
—except she was no dumb, love- struck maiden. She was going to keep her wits about her.

How else could she possibly strategize effectively? It was like that quote she’d learned in seventh grade by that Euphues guy . . . how did that go again?

Oh yes: All’s fair in love and war.

1 2 1

the

gentle art

of

conversation

Casey paused in the hallway, jus t in front of room 12A and attempted to compose herself before walking into French class. It was her first class of the day, and considering how totally stressful her morning had already been, she was going to need all the composure she could muster to fight her way through an hour of academic intensity
in another goddamn language.
Her experience of Meadlowlark so far had left her completely dazed. Not only did the entire student body dress like they were on their way to Bryant Park for the fall collections, but everyone was screamingly smart. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose, the way her mother had taught her during her whole spiritual phase last year, when she wore hideous, batik- printed caftans, took up Transcendental T H E E L I T E

Meditation, and talked endlessly about global warming and solar panels. Except when Casey tried to exhale gracefully, she coughed on the lungful of pine- scented air she had sucked in from the immaculately polished hallway, choking slightly, her eyes suddenly wet.

She bent over, coughing and hacking like a maniac until a total stranger whacked her decisively on the back before opening the door. Casey looked up into the face of a tall guy with dark hair that fell into his eyes, so thin the only way to describe him might be calorically challenged, who was dressed from head to toe in standard- issue Emo gear of black tight jeans and a faded gray T-shirt with the words
My Bloody Valentine
on the front outlined in silver.
Great,
Casey thought, smiling and waving thanks limply as he lurched away,
I can’t even breathe
right
.

She took another breath, this one decidedly more shallow, and walked into class, tentatively taking a seat in the back of the gleaming room—as far away from Emo- backslapping- boy as she could sit. Looking around the room made her feel like she was on acid: The sheen of the glossy, pale oak floors was so bright and vibrant that it practically sang. In fact, she could almost pick up the faintest melody of
La Marseillaise
. The tiered rows of aluminum desks and the huge window seat stuffed with black- and- white op art–printed cushions spoke more of a hip Soho loft than of advanced placement. Was this really high school? As she looked around at the other students who were busily talking and laughing, the girls all inspecting each other’s outfits, the guys punching each other randomly in the shoulders 1 2 3

J E N N I F E R B A N A S H

like testosterone- crazed lunatics, Casey couldn’t help but wish that she’d made it into the same section as Sophie, Phoebe, and Madison.

Casey sat back in her ergonomic chair, inhaling the scent of fresh paint (the classrooms were retouched each August without fail), as Madame LeCombe, a French woman in her mid-thirties who looked like she put on her makeup with a trowel and consumed men instead of food, sauntered over to her desk in a tight, black pencil skirt and sighed heavily before walking over to a supply closet in the back of the room. When she returned, all Casey could see was the brand- new, shining titanium MacBook in her hands, her short crimson fingernails tapping the metal casing. She held the computer out to Casey, one excessively plucked eyebrow raised.

“ Voila!”
Madame LeCombe said cheerily, pointing out the jack embedded in the desk where Casey could plug in. When Casey opened the laptop, it hummed and whirred like a happy kitten, and Casey felt suddenly worlds away from the battered PC her mom had bought her three years ago—and Normal High, where the students still took notes on arcane substances like paper and tired their hands out writing with ballpoint pens.

“Thanks!” Casey said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. “Should I just give this back to you at the end of class?”

Madame LeCombe blinked at her uncomprehendingly, and the girl sitting in front of Casey wearing an electric- blue Milly sundress and the highest silver wedge sandals she had ever seen giggled nastily. The girl’s chin-length blond hair bobbed

1 2 4

T H E E L I T E

healthily up and down as she laughed, and Casey felt her face fill with heat.

“Non, non
,
”
Madame LeCombe chided, wagging a jeweled finger in Casey’s face,
“c’est pour vous
!
”
Now she was really confused. Did she really just get to keep this monumentally expensive piece of equipment . . . just because she happened to be enrolled at Meadowlark Academy? Was this standard? It certainly looked that way, as every single student in the twenty-seat classroom had the exact same model MacBook opened up on the desk in front of them, and was staring at her like she was a world- class idiot.

“We all get one,” said a voice directly behind her. Casey craned her neck around and came face- to- face with Drew—

who was grinning widely.

“Oh,” Casey said, turning her body so that she could see him more easily, “I didn’t know—nobody told me.” Twisted around like a pretzel, Casey felt like her diaphragm was doubled up and pushing into her chest cavity. Or was it just the elastic waistband of her underwear cutting into her overfull stomach? Maybe that second blueberry muffin she’d eaten while listening to Madison’s advice was a bad idea . . .

“Yeah,” Drew said, removing his own laptop from his messenger bag and opening it onto the desk. “Well, get used to it—free laptops are just the beginning.” Drew rolled his blue eyes, smiling crookedly while he fussed with his computer. As she looked at him, Madison’s words rang out in her ears—
be
aggressive
. The truth was, Casey hadn’t had that much experience with guys in general, much less with flirting, and she’d 1 2 5

J E N N I F E R B A N A S H

never made the first move either. It wasn’t that she liked playing hard to get or anything, she just didn’t have any experience playing—period. The only guys she’d ever flirted with had always approached her first . . . and she hadn’t exactly managed to come off as a femme fatale then either.

“Commencez votre conversationz,”
Madame LeCombe called out from her perch on the edge of her desk at the front of the room, her legs crossed, kicking one black stilettoed foot in the air. The chatter in the room suddenly reduced to a low hum, and Casey watched her fellow classmates pair up, turning in their seats to practice their French conversation skills with the person seated directly behind them—which, as far as she could tell, meant that she’d be practicing on . . . Drew.

Casey’s pulse started racing so fast she was sure she’d probably have a stroke by the time the bell rang. What was she going to
say
? Her mind was a complete and total blank.