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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"Come into the little kitchen, I'll fix you a hot glass of hot chocolate and milk," Miss Mckinsey orders as she leads me into a kitchen that seems anything but little.
The kitchen lights flicker on, revealing a cavernous space of a head chef's idea of what heaven might be. Even though Calloway Manor's interior decor is stuck in a medieval stage, the kitchen is surprisingly modern- it's a gleaming temple of marble sourced from Brazil, stainless-steel surfaces, and state-of-the-art appliances. There is a commercial-grade Viking stove filled with just-washed copper pots. At the far end is an alcove with an art deco diner-style banquette. Every part of the kitchen is fitted in bespoke lighting, and brass and leather accents.
Miss Mckinsey prepares a pot of dutch chocolate and cream from the Calloway's own cows as I take a seat on the island. "How have you been finding the trip?"
"It's been intense," I admit. After breakfast with Orson's female cousins and aunts, Orson decides a friendlier countenance is to take me fox-hunting with his uncles.
Fox-hunting is something so foreign, bizarre, and grotesque for someone like me- a born and raised New Yorker with democrat parents and artistic liberal education. For sure, New York Elites are privileged and part of the exclusive one percent. But still, we are the liberal privileged, the type that funds democratic campaigns or read the Wall Street Journal. Most New York private school girls are vegans, have raised money for endangered species, or spent most of their hours analyzing Bob Dylan after spending a month's salary at Bendel's (trust me, the irony is not lost on me).
I remember once the dogs were set upon a fox, they cornered it into a bush. I held out my rifle without a moment's notice and pulled the trigger; it hit the animal square in the head.
Daniel, Orson's uncle, and Callum's father, have been thoroughly impressed. "You're a sharpshooter, aren't ya?" he asks me, "Are you sure you've never held a gun before?"
"Never," an easy lie slips out of my mouth. "Honestly, I'm not even that into guns."
Orson is thinly amused. He looks at the merciless way I shoot, efficient and clean. I think he compares that to the way I take down my female opponents on the social hierarchy of Kensington. "Amory's just a natural, I guess," he smiles at me. The males of Orson's family have grown to like me, especially after that afternoon of fox-hunting, a sport so traditional it's older than America.
The women, however, seems to like me even less with every moment of my presence. Nothing too shocking there.
"You're not used to it," Miss Mckinsey says softly as she tilts the pot over to pour the mixture into two cups. She hands me one. I sip it.
"What do you mean?" I ask her sincerely.
"You're not used to the luxury. I can see it on your face. You look at everything with wonder."
I shrug, "I mean, I thought I knew money back in Kensington. But this is just a whole new level..."
Miss Mckinsey nods, "It is, isn't? The Calloways aren't just your run-of-the-mill rich family. They're practically an institution."
