SUPER RICH KIDS

CHAPTER ONE

THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL FOR THE STUDENTS of Windsor Preparatory Academy is rapidly approaching and none of them are looking forward to it. Especially not the Queen Bee.

Juggling a stack of glossy, unread Vogue magazines in one arm and a rhinestone covered MacBook in the other, she twirls around her now cluttered room, simultaneously trying to clean up before her new roommate arrives and talking to her mother on her gold iPhone 12 Pro.

"Mother, are you sure there is nothing you can do to fix this atrocity?" Noelle asks through clenched teeth, referring to of course, the fact that she's forced to actually have a roommate. Her parents had paid extra on top of the normal (well, sky-high) tuition fees to ensure that every year, their daughter would receive the coveted single in Bennett House. That way, she'd be free to study and concentrate on her schoolwork without the hassles of a distracting dorm mate... or so argued her parents. More importantly, it is simply the need for some private space to sneak her delicious boyfriend, Sebastian Ashcroft, in after hours- as well as provide a safe asylum for her wardrobe from the clutches of new-Valentino-trouser-stealing bitches like Victoria Cooper.

"Noelle, darling, I assure you that I've spoken to the headmistress about this already. But there are a lack of available rooms for someone with the, ahem, prestige," Her mother sniffs disapprovingly at the thought of someone with an equally high caliber. "Of your new roommate, and I'm afraid the headmistress was quite stern."

"Ugh!" she stomps her Louboutin pump-clad foot on the plush, alabaster carpet and lets out a melodramatic sigh. "Are you sure, mother?"

"Yes Noelle, I am positive. Now, there's something else I need to discuss with you."

"What?"

"I believe you need a tutor for Physics."

"What?!" Her mouth falls open, nearly dropping her iPad Pro. "A tutor? I have straight A's!"

"Yes, well, your SAT II scores don't seem to reflect positively on that. And Yale does not accept low SAT scores, do you understand?" Her mother's voice instantly grows steely, as it does whenever the prospect of grades and college comes up. "I've already spoken to the headmistress, and she assured me that it could be arranged. Just three extra hours a week, until you can retake the exam and you can stop. But I will not be pleased unless you receive a near-perfect score or better, do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother." she sighs, flopping onto her swan feather-stuffed mattress.

"Good." The elder sounds reasonably pleased. "Now, if you don't mind dear, I must go. That charming man, Oliver Hastings- you know, the movie producer- is expected today for the merger meeting, and everything must be perfect!"

Noelle rolls her eyes. Perfect? Meaning, with lavender-scented candles, soothing music and skimpy lingerie? She idly wonders where Oscar, the current flavor of the week, is. Her mother has been through a grand total of six (failed) marriages, one of which included Jay Rothschild, her real father (though she took her mother's surname), the devastatingly handsome (not to mention wealthy to the extreme) British actor, thereby forcing two half-siblings, Aurelia and Alexander, into the family. Of course their real mother was not a home-wrecking whore- no, they had a perfectly normal- well, by elite standards anyway- French Vogue model who loved "chareety galas and long walks on zee beach".

"As you wish, Mother." She examines her white ballerina style manicure with a small sigh. "I'll call you later, okay? Bye."