"Who are you going as for Luce's Halloween party?" Parker inquires Carmen on a late Sunday morning as she sips on the mimosa that the waitress had just refilled. The Elite are currently nursing their cruel hangovers and comedowns at a charity morning tea thrown in the honor of the endangered pelican (or children with leukemia, I'm not too sure) by none other than Carmen's father.

The Calloway Foundation Morning Tea has been a longstanding tradition ever since Elijah M.Calloway, Orson's father, made the move of Calloway Industries Headquarters from London to New York. Elijah's roots were inherently British and he was aghast to find that the culture of scones with clotted cream and tea was practically barren on the East Coast. So he decided to start a yearly event to both raise money for charity and find any reasonable excuse to chuck on your best pearls for a cup of tea. Tickets start at $400 a pop and even if you have the money to afford it, it's not guaranteed an automatic invite. There's always a waiting list.  

And who could blame them? The Calloway Foundation Morning Tea is the most lavish and opulent high tea in Manhattan with over four different menus, each catering to different tastes and whimsy: a precise, polished take on the classic British afternoon tea, a caviar-focused Russian-themed offering, a French-inspired option, dubbed King Louis XV set, with dishes like quiche Lorraine and the Turkish delight tea, which comes alongside insane Mediterranean pastries such as flaky phyllo purses tucked in with lamb and feta and chicken pastilla. 

Even if you aren't there to eat to your heart desires, the star-studded guest list should be enough to make you reconsider the morning tea as the ultimate social networking event. The room has been filled with large round-clothed tables and freshly-scrubbed Manhattan-and Greenwich-raised, private school–educated WASPy Upper East-Siders. The Calloways, the Santiagos, the Holtzes, and their children are all seated around one table, chatting over the luxe three-tierred affair. My family is the only one not in attendance, thank god. Veronica has been holed up in Europe all month and Hadley hates stuffy events like these. Their absence is greatly appreciated- I couldn't risk them blowing my cover. 

Parker, Carmen, Luciana, and I are all piled up together at one corner, drinking our mimosas and gossiping. The boys are nowhere to be found. They must have skimped out on brunch, nursing their hangovers, while we're here, putting a show for our high-class parents.

Carmen is currently applying her shimmering Marc Jacob baby pink lipgloss. She's dressed uncharacteristically modest today- swapping the glitzy black sequin mini-dress she usually flaunts around New York's hottest nightspots- for a Loro Piana cashmere cardigan, a pencil skirt from Céline, sensible low-heel pumps from Robert Clergerie, and a pretty patent leather handbag of an indistinguishable brand.

"I don't know," murmur Carmen, tearing a piece of her flaky croissant. I notice how she plays with her food but she actually never puts it in her mouth. "I'm thinking...Cleopatra, maybe."

"I'd bet you look so good in it," gush Luciana excitedly. I nod along with Luciana, my gaze flickering onto her. I haven't finished combing through her whole laptop yet. Other than the massive Helena bomb it has led me to, a lot of the stuff I've seen isn't any social-ruination material. I'm not quitting yet, though. I will find something that will make sure she comes tumbling down.

"I'm still in the deciding mood of it," Carmen confesses honestly. "I do sort of wanna go as an ancient figure this year, though. So please, no one copies. Okay?"

Parker rolls her eyes, "Of course, Carms. No girl would ever even dream of copying your costume. Whatever Constance bitch that does that is just asking for social death."

Carmen's laugh tinkle out. "What about you, Parker? What are you thinking of going as?"

"Ugh, I don't know," Parker sigh dramatically. "I think I need to hit the store. Wanna come?"

"Tonight?" Carmen asks, "I can't. Aidan and I have a date night."

"Luce?"

Luciana pouts from under her floppy hat. "I can't either. Mom wants me to be there for her finale special that she's filming tonight. Why don't you ask Amory?"

The girl's attention sway towards me. "I'm free for the afternoon," I say, a pleasing note of welcome in my tone. "I can't help."

The thing is Luciana and Carmen are easy to figure out. Luciana has been fucking Hanif Rahim behind Orson's back as a totally unsuccessful ploy to make him jealous. It hasn't been working so far as Orson couldn't care less with who Luciana decides to bang, even if it's one of his best friends. Her pining for a boy who certainly didn't return her affections are not so much pathetic as they are amusing.

Carmen is a perfectionist. She cares too much about what other people think and she's mean because she's so goddamn insecure about her weight and her status as the Queen Bee. Naturally, she has a body image problem. And I know just how to exploit that. For the last month or so, I've been taking bits and pieces from her closet and restricting them to make them smaller. And from the lack of bread on her plate, she seems to have noticed how her clothes are shrinking.

Parker, however, is a mystery. A non-entity I haven't quite worked out. From my hacking and my data-checking, Parker's a pretty clean girl for someone who's tangled up with the Calloways. Well, as clean as you can get for someone who helped them bury a pregnant girl. She does ballet with Carmen but she's not quite as dedicated. She owns six polo horses, she plays the violin and she's a Peabody scholar. She's gorgeously blonde with a pair of the longest legs I've ever seen. 

The funny thing is that  Parker has as much potential as Carmen to be Queen of Kensington but she just keeps coming in second. Nonetheless, Parker has always been the loose end in my plan. This is my chance to tie it all up.

"Great!" Parker's posture slackens visibly. "Should we go after this?"

"Sounds great."

-

Almond milk coffee in hand, Parker and I rush towards Fifth Avenue, New York's fashion paradise where girls are buying their Autumn outfits, especially the enviable azure cashmere coat that Marc Jacob has released for their fall collection. Both Parker and I grab them, knowing the only way to show up to impress at Kensington for this week is this.

"Marc has always done wonders," Parker sighs as she sips her coffee, staining the plastic rim. The azure coat drapes over her shoulders like a cape and makes her alabaster skin even paler.

"I know," I gush along with her, forcing myself to seem enthusiastic over fashion designers when really I couldn't care less.

"Anyway, Amory, do you know who you're going as for Luce's Halloween party?"

I shake my head. "No idea."

"We can both find something then," Parker decides ultimately, diving towards a boutique on Madison Avenue with a glitzy neon pink and obsidian storefront. I glance up at the store name. Agent Provocateur.

Agent Provocateur is like a busy restaurant, except it smells like flowers instead of food. It's big and bright, and employees rush to and fro, servicing upper-class women pacing around the lingerie store. Afternoon sunlight streams through the ceiling windows, making it as dark as a neon chamber. Delicate, lace lingerie decorates the semi-nude mannequins around the store.

"I'm in desperate need of new lingerie," Parker confesses, tossing her hair- a gorgeous white-gold river. Her Hermès bangles gleam in the dim lighting of the store.

"Maybe you should just show up in lingerie for Halloween. Cross out the nurse out of slutty nurse and go as 'slutty' instead," I suggest jokingly. Parker laughs. She picks up a pink g-string thong in a collection of underwear advertised as half off and examines it closely before returning it back to the tray.

"Yeah, right? Imagine being that bitch who goes as 'birthday suit' for Luce's Halloween party."

"More like an arrest warrant for public indecency," I scoff.

Parker smirks at me and places her hands on her chest, mockingly batting her eyelashes. "But officer, it's my costume!"

I giggle as I look over to the tray of silk-soft negligees right beside me. I'm drawn particularly to this cerulean all-lace kimono, finished with scalloped edges and an eyelash trim. I retrieve it and massage the material under my fingers.

"That will look good on you," A voice remark from behind me. I almost jump two feet in the air. I whirl around in befuddlement.

"Orson!" Parker blurts out in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Something sparkles in those blue-grey eyes, reminding me of the sun glinting off the ocean's waves. "Shopping, duh."

Parker arches her eyebrows, "In a lingerie store?"

"I guess I'm just picking something up."

Parker purses her lips and places a hand on her hip. "Another one of your whores?"

Orson shrugs and adjusts the strap of his ostrich leather briefcase. "Why do you care?" His laugh is husky, gravelly. He focuses his attention on me and how I'm holding that lace kimono. "What are you guys shopping for?"

"Halloween costumes," I hear myself say, putting back the lace kimono. I'm trying not to drown in the deep blueness of his gaze, my skin tingling as if it's feeling ice-cold water washing against it.

"Going as some kind of 'slutty' something?" Orson asks, leaning against the shelf full of panties. The retail assistant that's helping a middle-aged woman by the corner is eyeing him, checking him out. Orson smirks at the retail assistant, causing her to drop the items she's carrying for the customer she's with.

"I don't know," sigh Parker, "Wanna join us and help if you're not doing anything?"

I'd imagine he say no. No guy wants to accompany two Upper East Side girls on their hunt for Halloween costumes but much to my surprise, he shrugs: "Why not? I have nothing better to do."

-

Parker ends up buying around four sets of lingerie and I just stand by Orson's side as she paid. Then she brings us to Barney to scope for dresses. Barney's a sparkling, gorgeous department store, stocked with your designer brands of Gucci and Chanel but instead, we duck to a corner, delving into a small hidden boutique with art deco club chairs and green glass lamps. Along one side of the wall is a gold-and-silver carved fresco where couture dresses hung delicately on spindly racks.

The clerk recognizes Parker when she comes in, heels clicking loudly on the marble tiles. The clerk immediately stands up from where she has been kneeling at a shoe rack to embrace Parker in a hug.

"Parker, how can I help you?"

"I need Halloween costumes," Parker says, removing her baby-blue tinted Gucci aviators. She glances at me. "Well, we need Halloween costumes."

"Anything else?"

"A bottle of Veuve," Orson responds from behind her. He waves to indicate the rest of us, "For each of us."

"Someone's getting drunk," I say.

"Please, a bottle is merely enough to put me in a good mood. Besides, from the tales of you with my sister, it seems like you can handle it." Orson slouches lazily across one of their chairs. His white shirt stretches across his toned abdomen.

"Of course," I reply, meeting the challenge in the sapphires of his stare. I occupy the chair opposite of him. The clerk serves us our Veuve champagne, filling my glass with the golden liquid. You might be surprised at why a boutique is serving us champagne when we shop but I'm starting to get used to the fact that this is the normal treatment expected for an Elite. Shops give special treatment to girls like Parker and Carmen, especially since Parker's mom, Belinda Fray, owns the very property their store is at, and Carmen is Carmen Calloway. They have their own tower, for God's sake.

"Parker, I think you'll look really good in this original vintage Madame Grès." The clerk suggests, holding up a simple cream linen dress with Grecian folds. "And it'll go really well with the earrings that have just been delivered to us- from Harry Winston's newest collection."

I sip it, letting the frothy taste settle in my mouth and Parker twirls the stem of her wine glass as another assistant appears, carrying a velvet box. She unclasps it, revealing a pair of pear-shaped kunzites earrings that are also embedded with 23-carat disks made of ice diamonds. It reminds me of a Native American dreamcatcher, except it's star-studded in gems.

Gasps escape out of Parker's mouth. "Oh my gosh."

"It'll be very Helen of Troy, very regal and simply gorgeous," the clerk gushes excitedly. "What do you think?"

Excitement floats up to Parker's expression. "I think it's-" Then she stops herself, "Shit, Carmen's going as Cleopatra. I can't go as a historical figure, can I?"

"What? Come on, that's a bit ridiculous. You should at least try it," I nudge her. She bites her lip. Orson is scrolling through his phone, nonchalantly gulping down his champagne.

"I guess it doesn't hurt to try," Parker mumbles, standing up from her seat. She slips into the dressing room with the gown and the earrings.

Orson glances up from his phone the minute she's gone and leans over to me, so close his breath ghosts on my neck. "I know what you're trying to do."

I squint at him, all narrow-eyed. Shit, shit. "What do you mean?" I squeeze contempt into my tone. I drink more of my champagne to smother the anxiety fluttering in my stomach.

"You're stirring shit. You know Carmen's gonna fucking freak if Parker shows up as Helen of Troy when she wants to be Cleopatra."

I make a face. "Oh come on, that's ridiculous. Parker hasn't even made the decision to go as Helen of Troy yet. Also, don't you think it's too much to freak out over what type of character your best friend shows up as for Halloween? It's not like they're wearing the same dress."

The laugh choked out of Orson's throat is dry and derisive. "It's either you're trying to play dumb or you don't really know my sister at all, Scout. If Parker goes as Helen of Troy when Carmen specifically said not to go as any historical figures, you know Carmen's gonna blow a gasket."

"You're making a big deal out of nothing," I say, even though I know what exactly he means. I finish the last of my champagne and Orson pours me another refill.

"Am I?" Amusement quirks up the corner of his lips. "I don't know why, Amory, but something tells me you're smarter than you let on. And you know exactly what you're doing."

Parker finally emerges out of the dressing room in the dress. The earrings glow against her hair like twin stars, shining, twinkling, winking. Her blonde locks cascade around her like golden light, which completes the holy image when she's in a white dress. I have to admit, she's breathless in that dress. The clerk was right.

"Oh my God, Parker. You are so buying that!" I exclaim, my eyes wide as I examine how the dress clung to her rail-thin body in all the right places, even managing to create the illusion of cleavage. Parker has the quintessential ballerina body type and that means she's immensely flat.

"Are you sure?" She tugs at the neckline, unsure. "I mean, Carmen said-"

"Who cares what Carmen says?" I interrupt her firmly, "She's not going to actually get mad at you if you show up as Helen of Troy, right? It's not like you're gonna be in the same dress."

Parker is still unsure. Press harder. I gaze deep into her eyes. Underneath the veneer of iciness, Parker is just an insecure girl trying to compete with Carmen.

Despite being best friends, there's always been a long-standing rivalry between the two of them. I distinctly remember in seventh grade when they had their first fight. Everybody knew the day when Parker Holtz and Carmen Calloway fell out and why, even if people didn't really talk about it now. Apparently, Carmen and Parker had a running competition for the whole year long to see who could hook up with the oldest boys, and Parker had scored lucky with the freshmen lacrosse captain, which naturally puts Parker in the lead for once in her life. Carmen didn't like it. It led to a proxy war between two- it dragged on for two months. Girls were taking sides, lobbying, and betting to see who would come out alive. It never escalated to a major war, only ending at some party where the two had seemed to make up by then. Ever since, Parker made sure she never accidentally cross Carmen by beating her at something.

"Parker," I say, my words accompanied with a deep sigh, "I know girls like Carmen. They'll always want what they want but it doesn't mean you have to always let her get your way. Friends shouldn't make you feel that way. She doesn't always have to win."

I can tell I hit a spot that's sensitive. She exhales. "I guess..."

"Besides, it's just a dress. She's not going to actually going to exile at you for showing up in the same category of Halloween costumes; Carmen isn't petty."

Orson scoffs in the distance. I ignore him.

Parker nods slowly, "True." She looks down at herself again, then at the mirror behind her. She twirls a little, allowing the white chiffon to billow around her. "I guess I'm gonna get it, huh?"

"Definitely," I beam at her, nodding vigorously.

Parker retreats back into the dressing room to remove the dress and change back to her old clothes. Orson chuckles slightly. "That's pretty impressive," he remarks from behind me.

"What?" I snap at him, pretending to be annoyed. I hold my champagne flute to my face and tilt the liquid down. He wordlessly shakes his head but shoots me a lazy smile, one that makes my insides curl with happiness while my face arranges to a stony scowl.

I didn't want to seem pleased with myself. I've done what I wanted. Made Parker buy the dress, full knowing it'll definitely cause a rift within Carmen and Parker at Luciana's Halloween party, which is gonna be riffed with another surprise I have in store, and impress Orson as well.

The thing about Orson is he isn't easily amused by cheap tricks or desperation, he likes interesting things, interesting people. Most importantly, he likes a challenge and he likes chaos. And I'm making myself the perfect girl for him- challenge in his attempts to get me falling for his charm and chaos for the hell I'm about to shake up in their Inner Circle.

He'll never know what hit him.