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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The sky has slipped out of its silky purple dress into a basic black by the time Parker pulled up by my apartment's entrance.
"You look amazing," Parker gushes as I exit out of the pair of sliding doors that flank the front steps.
"Thank you!" I say back, feeling pleased with the compliment. After all, I've plucked and trimmed every inch of my body to make sure I look perfect.
I've squeezed a few more extra hours in the gym to get that flab on my stomach to disappear and my butt pumped. I've even head over to the John Barrett salon to get new honey-toned highlights, as well as spending four hundred dollars at the Frederic Fekkai Beaute de Provence spa on Fifty-seventh Street for a Dead Sea mud facial and milk-and-honey foot and hand treatment and painting my paint nails a deep navy colour I've picked up at the Chanel counter at Bendel's yesterday. "You too. I told you the dress was worth it."
Parker has came in her Helen of Troy inspired costume as per my advice. I try not to smile to myself, thinking of the fury that's going to overwhelm Carmen when she sees Parker comes in a historical figure inspired costume when she was specifically told not to.
"Thanks," Parker laugh. She gestures at the driver to start driving as she wordlessly hands me a whiskey glass and begins to pour Ketel one and tonic into it. "Let's take a photo!"
I nod enthusiastically and shift over to Parker as she holds up her camera and snaps a photo of us. I really like my costume- a black and white ballerina costume fashioned from real ostrich feathers; it cinches at my waist and hangs at all the right places, pushing my new boobs up. Black feathers adorn my blonde hair as well as the hem of my tulle skirt. On my ears hang a pair of exorbitantly expensive Lynn Nakamura's Tahitian black pearl drop earrings.
After Parker uploads the photo onto her Instagram story and sitting through Manhattan's eight-o'clock traffic, the driver arrives at One57- Luciana's highrise building that overlooks Central Park. According to Luciana at lunch yesterday, her parents are in Majorca, filming their anniversary with the television crew, so she has free reign over the whole penthouse for the weekend. Luciana has told us not only is the space of the penthouse is going to be the ultimate hotspot for tonight's party playground but she has booked the rooftop deck as well for three hundred of her closest and richest friends.
When Parker and I clamber out of the car, familiar faces from Kensington are climbing out of their Ubers, Bugattis and McLarens. A group of girls from Chapin Academy, another private school in Manhattan, gather by the glossy frontier of the building, dressed in matching all-red Dior devil costumes, taking cigarettes out of their chainlink quilted bags and lighting up, their eyes trained on Parker and I the minute we step out. Envy and respect scream in their stares as their gazes follow us, whispering furiously.
I mimic the way how Parker holds her head high, despite of the obvious ogling.
"Hanif!" Parker squeal as she spots the heir to a multimillion-dollar company at the concierge, clearly waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. The Malaysian born boy is spotting a fabulously luxurious Versace red rope, a sailor's cap, and tailored Armani trousers. He is drumming his long fingers nervously against his super long legs, tapping his shiny black Christian Dior dress shoes against the marble floor.
