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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With Georgina gone from Kensington, Parker has taken the liberty to reinforce her campaign to win Homecoming even more. She and I hang posters of her face with the catchphrase Pick Parker! all over the school corridors and gymnasiums. Orson and I announce ourselves to be back together but this time his affection is different- coffees when he picks me up in the morning with his gleaming sports car, kisses by the lockers and of course, scheming social destruction to anyone who dares cross us.
Winning Orson this time feels different than before. This time, it's not a bet and I don't have to play games. This time, for him, he thinks it's real. It gives me a sense of security with my position as his girlfriend.
Homecoming for Kensington is a grand affair. This much, I know. My gym regimen gets more intense as the week progresses. I double my cardio and cut down my carb intake, which does wonders in reducing the bloating. The day before Homecoming, which is on Saturday, I take the day off school on Friday to go to the Aveda Salon and Spa on Spring Street. As a senior, absences aren't a big deal. Especially since we're in the last semester. I head over to get waxed, plucked, exfoliated, steamed, and moisturized from my hair follicles down to my toenails. I pay a visit to my stylist to get new golden beige highlights in my hair and add twenty-two inches of extensions in. My hair's all curly in ringlets around my face, pouring down my back in melted gold. I hired a makeup artist to help me with my makeup- plucked, arched eyebrows, glowing face and gloss. She dusts my entire body with sparkling scented body powder.
But before I can slip in my dress, Hadley knocks on my door.
"Hey, someone's at the door for you."
I frown, not remembering if I ask anybody to come over. Still curious, I put a silk robe over my Agent Provocateur and slipped out to the entrance of our penthouse.
The person at my doorstep turns out to be Georgina. She looks rougher than I've ever seen her- dark, haunted circles around her eyes, dressed in dark pink velour sweatpants and a faded Harvard t-shirt. There's a spot on her chin and her long hair is all greasy, matted like it hasn't been washed in a week. Somehow, annoyingly, she still looks breath-taking.
"Amory," Georgina says, and even though she looks really ugly, there's satisfaction in her eyes. "Or should I say...Bronte?"
"Excuse me?" I sputter as I stop in my tracks. I look around the place. Hadley isn't there, she has slinked off to her room. The expression on my face says it all- dead, chilling fear, as Georgina carries on:
"You know, I always had a feeling about you when I first saw you. Like a feeling that there's just something off about you. But after Couture benefit, I just sort of maybe brush it off to what I merely thought it was- a feeling," Georgina shrugs, staring levelly at me, "And then you know, you broadcast your sex tape on my birthday. All that talk about Aidan, that was a lie wasn't it?"
I stay silent, heart-pounding, gears churning. How could she have known, how could she have found out?
"Anyway, so I got curious. Who is Amory Scout? People say you're a born and bred Californian. Beverly Hills high. And you know, I got to thinking, I actually have friends on the West Coast. I did a little digging and it turns out this whole time you're originally from New York. Of course back then, you were called something else."
