Have you been so busy that you've forgotten what time of year it is? Let me give you a hint: couture, quadrilles and cutthroat competition. That's right. It's time for cotillion.
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"So, you don't have an escort yet, Tyler Fraiser is the perfect escort, and he's just a text away."
Harper's eyes widen and she stares at Lydia for a few seconds, blinking. "What?"
Lydia purses her lips, looking annoyed at Harper's lack of excitement for the plan she has cooking up in her malicious mind.
"We're going to send a message, to Tyler, pretending to be Vera, telling him she no longer wants him to be her escort to cotillion," she explains slowly.
Harper shakes her head, feeling a rush of anxiety as she averts her eyes to the mini Swarovski crystal chandelier above Lydia's bed.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Lydia. That's a mean thing to do, whether she's a bitch or not."
Lydia rolls her eyes and groans at Harper's goody-two-shoes approach to cotillion. Cotillion is about being the best. She wanted to mold and groom Harper; show her that the Upper East Side isn't about half-assing.
"It's not like I'm going to leave her dateless. I'll find her another escort and set them up," she says.
Harper glances over at her.
"Really?" she ask, eyes squinted slightly.
"Really," Lydia confirms. "I'll set her up with Jake's brother, if that'll make you happy," she rolls her eyes again. "I mean he's kind of a loser, but it's the last name that counts anyway. This way, I get to mess with Vera and you get an amazing escort."
Harper thinks over the plan, remembering Ainsley telling her that cotillion gets competitive, but questioning if it was really this serious.
Surely it was more serious for her than everyone else, because she needs to impress these people. She needs to get into the ball. Why should someone like Vera, who undoubtedly gets whatever they want, get the perfect escort while she gets no one?
Harper sighs, not wanting anyone to get hurt, but seeing Lydia's plan as her only option.
"Okay," she mutters quietly, instantly feeling overwhelmed with guilt.
"This is so wrong," Harper thinks, picking at her nails.
Lydia smirks evilly and begins typing quickly on her computer.
"Wait, Lydia, actually--"
"Done," she exclaims with a proud look on her face, and Harper's eyes widen yet again, muttering a single curse word.
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Harper folds up her uniform and places it in her locker. Then she scrubs her hands furiously with soap and water, trying to get the smell of bleach off them.
She sighs, still feeling guilty about yesterday, and takes her hair out of it's high bun, letting it fall down around her shoulders in tight, brown curls as she exits the maid locker.
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YOU ARE READING
The Virginity Pact
Teen Fiction"True love and betrayal. Revenge and more revenge. A heroine with an impossible goal. If only Mozart had lived on the Upper East Side. But you can keep your magic flute, Amadeus. All this queen wants is a golden ticket to Yale." ++++++++++++ In the...