Wealth, status, and beauty define the elite of Kensington Prep. Every one of them possesses the ability to get away with anything and everything they want, unscathed and remain as privileged and superior as ever.
But Amory Scout decides that tim...
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Hadley, Tessa, and I follow the flow of students into the school. Tessa barely bids us goodbye before heading off towards the middle school section of the school, leaving both of us to face the music. The hallways are obnoxiously noisy with resonating echoes of the buzzing chatter of students as they fled into their classrooms. The windows allow the cloudy, ambient light into the corridors through tinted windows and the ever-present smell of chlorine floor cleaner has always failed to give the school a vibrant personality.
Hadley and I head over to the school's reception to pick up our schedule and get assigned lockers. Even though it's been a few years since I've left Kensington, I manage to find the administration office with no problem. The Associate Principal, Mrs. Abbey, has the fakest smile I'd ever seen on a person upon meeting me, then launched into long-winded explanations on how the school was amazing, the activities were amazing, the people were amazing and everything was so amazing, et cetera.
I'm surprised she doesn't recognize me completely- she calls me Amory, regards me as a normal person, doesn't realize I'm actually Bronte Emerson, the girl whose parents died in a car accident the same year her brother committed suicide.
I had to pinch myself to stay awake, forcing my eyes to open every time they droop from the early start of the day.
"So Amory, is this your first time attending a private Catholic school?" Mrs Abbey asked, "I'm aware that you were in Beverly Hills High before moving to high school."
I jerk my head into a curt nod, remembering the story, "Yes, this is my first time attending a private school."
"Well, I hope that you'll come to enjoy the experience of Christian schooling with your fellow peers and regale the benefits of what a school uniform can do for you."
Oh, you have no idea. I fake a smile that could possibly surpass the fakeness of hers. "Will do, Mrs Abbey."
As I exit out of her office, carrying a bunch of new cumbersome notebooks the school has given me for free, along with my new assigned locker number (which I've purposely changed by hacking into the school system to make sure my locker is right next to Carmen, Orson and their merry band of mindless followers) and my schedule, I pass by the receptionist only to come crashing into a girl who was running towards my direction, sending all my agendas and blank notebooks flying across the carpet floor.
"Oh my god, I didn't mean to- Amory?"
My ears perk at the sound of my name and I tilt my head up. Luciana Santiago stands right in front of me. You can't really miss her. When she does show up, she shows up. After all, she's a curvaceous Latina with long hair that falls down her back with newly acquired auburn highlights. Her dark chestnut roots show on purpose—nothing about Luciana is an accident—and today she's attached a plastic hair clip in the shape of a bow to a few strands. She's wearing black thigh high socks, a tight white button-down that looks like it's a size too small so it stretches over her C-cup breasts, displaying an outline of a black lacey bra, and a pair of black clogs. Her skin, which has been heavily Pan-Caked and powdered to cover an outbreak of acne, is bronze and gold, and her lips are painted bright red. She has beautiful round cat-like brown eyes, which she has carefully made up, but the focus is on her mouth. She's all lipstick. Red lipstick, especially. And talk.
