After prayers, on the way to the first class of my senior year, I stopped dead in my tracks because I saw a ghost.

She looks different now. She has outgrown her shiny black bob, her dark hair cascading down like a waterfall. Her glasses have been replaced by contacts and her braces are now off. She's taller, slimmer, prettier but there's still bits of her that remain the same- like the mischief in her eyes and her intelligence in the slope of her nose, her kindness in the way she smiles. She's with a boy, chatting animatedly by a water fountain as he bends down to take a drink. Seeing her by that water fountain on the third floor next to the economics classroom reminded me of a long time ago.

I was thirteen, and Delphi was twelve. I had always boasted superiority and shotgun seats on the basis that I was older, even if it's by only two months and fourteen days. She was my only friend at Kensington at the time, mostly because we based our friendship on the foundation that we were the only few kids who didn't live on the Upper East Side. She was a scholarship student and she was awfully smart, thanks to her nearly-photographic memory.

I remembered how we always hung around here by that water fountain, to avoid the cafeteria because as nobodies in Kensington, we would end up with nowhere to sit. But we were okay with that.

We survived Kensington for three years together, cruising by the unassuming years of middle school together unnoticed. We were anonymous but we were fine with that because we didn't crave the drama or the spotlight. We weren't targeted by Orson, Carmen, and their crew of popular kids but we weren't known either; we lived by simple, blissful ignorance.

Delphi hated them. She didn't understand their popularity or everybody's adoration of them, especially since they were such horrible people. She rolled her eyes at them and their fervent admirers. I wasn't like her. I didn't hate them back then. I didn't know them. How could I hate them?

I was merely fascinated with them. The way they beguiled everybody into loving them without any effort, the way they got away with their antics and played their cruel games. I admired them almost, in this twisted mix of disgust and begrudging respect. Until Atticus, of course. Then I see them for what they were.

After Atticus's suicide, Delphi and I grew apart in eighth grade. I started distancing myself from her, becoming a hollow shell of myself, trying to process and deal with the tragedy. We were still friends, somewhat, but it was like there was this bridge of disconnection that built between us.

The transition summer of eighth grade into freshman year was the summer my parents died. By then we stopped being friends completely and I moved to LA.

Looking at her is like peering into a sliver of the past, the very distant past of the last time I was happy. My eyes are focused on her like I'm mesmerized by her face, and our eyes inevitably meet for a few moments; she doesn't recognize me at all. It's been almost three years; her mouth slightly quirks in a barely noticeable awkward smile, as if to say hi, I guess? and the knot in my throat drops into my stomach.

"Ames?" Luciana's red lips flash in my vision and again, I'm robbed by Luciana's pearly whites all up in my face.

"Hmm?" I break out of my trance. "Yeah?"

"Your Physics class would be down that hall," Luciana instructs me, pointing left as the hallway comes into a junction, "You'll find the number of the classroom on the door. Now I gotta go for Mandarin. See you at lunch, 'kay?"

"'Kay," I bid her goodbye and I watch her leave by turning back down the hallway. It's sweet how she walks me all this way to make sure I'm not lost.

Too bad I'll have to take her down like everybody else.

-

When I enter the Physics classroom, the teacher organizing his notes on the desk stops to look at who has arrived. He regards me quizzically when I knock on the door and peers at me through his half-moon glasses strangely as if I'm an alien who just dropped from space into his classroom.

The classroom is like what I remembered. Though the exterior of Kensington looks archaic and traditional, copying the styles of Oxford and Cambridge, the insides of the classroom are thoroughly modern with glass, steel, and white aesthetics. Clean desks separated in fours across the table, a SMARTboard flickering on and off, bright and well-lit to wash the classroom with a very clean, white vibe. Then I realized the problem. There are literally no girls within the Physics class, especially HL Physics.

"Um," the teacher scratches the side of his head, then he rises from his teacher's desk and walks towards me. "Are you lost?"

I glance at the classroom listed on my schedule, "This is Physics right?"

"Yes but..." He trails off, confused. Don't you say it's because I'm a girl. "You're the new student in my class? Amory Scout?"

"That's me," I confirm. He seems slightly taken aback that a girl has expressed interest in Physics at a Higher Level, or even qualified to be in Physics at a Higher Level. Kensington Prep had recently modeled its educational system under IB rather than the SATs and has a policy surrounding all Higher Level classes, where there must be a test taken to get in. I took the test in May when the divorce settlement was finalized and we first moved back when Hadley and I decided to enroll ourselves in Kensington. May was when the plan finally came together, all loose ends tied and Plan Bs figured out just in case anything goes wrong.

"Oh... I see. Well um, Amory, please take a seat."

My eyes skim the classroom for an empty seat and land momentarily on the vacant chair next to Aidan Donovan but I'm assuming that's reserved for Orson Calloway so I just take the one nearest to the door.

The class starts on a pretty standard level for the first day of school. He introduces himself- Mr. Waithe- by scrawling it on the SMARTboard with the board's pen, then proceeds to call the roll.

"Orson Calloway?" he calls out. No answer. Of course, he's late.

"He's on his way," Aidan explains, then smirks at the rest of the boys on his table, "Church duties."

The boys around him erupt into snickers and Mr. Waithe throws them suspicious looks but doesn't press on. Just as he's about to continue with the roll, the door swings open loudly, coming out of the hinges with considerable force.

"Sorry, I'm late." Orson Calloway casually apologizes as he strides into the class. I'm surprised he even had the gall to sound sincere. "I had church duties."

As he walks past me without a second glance, his collar that shields his neck droops below and reveals a deep, dark purple mark etched into it. Church duties, I feel like snorting, sure.

The class goes on smoothly. Mr. Waithe does the standard speech about how the difficulty of the class will be beyond our imagination and how the workload will prevent us from having any free time. He spends most of the class talking about how hard it'll be rather than teaching us anything so I doodle in my notebook as he drones on and on about the impregnable structure of the course.

I end up opening the Physics textbook myself and notating my own summaries of the first chapter in my notebook.

"Hey." The boy next to me taps me on my shoulder, "Can I see your notes?"

"Um..." I trail off. The old me wouldn't mind, of course. I was that girl who people often copied notes off but I imagine a girl like Amory Scout who wishes to be popular and part of Orson's In-Crowd wouldn't even spare a little tip.

"I'm Jack, by the way," he whispers, cleverly reaching over to point out something in a textbook to make it look like he's showing something related to the class. "It's not often you see a girl doing Higher Level Physics."

"I guess I'm special," I reply dryly.

"I guess you are," Jack resonates.

-

For Lunch, I opt for something girls like Carmen Calloway and Parker Holtz would eat. A kale and quinoa salad with free-range chicken and a sprinkle of lime juice, salt, and pepper, topped along with a bottle of detox juice. The whole thing cost me thirty bucks. For a school lunch.

It's ridiculous but I do what I do to seem like I'm one of them. And it works because Luciana's tray consists of a raw vegan pad thai salad, a baked gluten-free donut, and a latte with almond milk. Parker's absence is apparently due to her duties of organizing a Model United Nations meeting so Luciana takes it upon herself to 'guide me through Kensington's cafeteria hierarchy', even though I've already known everything about everyone.

"So this is our cafeteria," Luciana tells me as we walk down the cafeteria.

The cafeteria of Kensington Prep is enormous, with a high ceiling, illuminated by fluorescent lights, and large oak tables spread across in rows like augmented Hogwart dining tables. Laughter and chatter bounce through the halls in a sea of red, black, and white-uniformed students. The atmosphere is light and airy, like the crisp air you'll breathe in the countryside. Despite hundreds of tables scattered evenly over the massive hall, it somehow seems to be orientated to the table in the middle, even if it's subtle. "We usually sit over there."

I don't need directions for her to even point out what she meant. It's obvious where it is; Carmen Calloway is laughing at something Hanif Rahim says as Aidan Donovan places her hand on top of hers, to proudly display that they are a couple. Carmen and Aidan have been for a total whopping amount of three years, which is an eternity in high school years. Their hands glint with silver bands around their middle fingers- promise purity rings, I can easily confirm due to my expert stalking skills of being able to trace down the post Carmen made on her Instagram about a year ago, bragging to the internet about her 'totally adorable' boyfriend gave them matching promise purity rings for their 2nd year anniversary. The idea that Aidan Donovan, best friend of the most notorious heartbreaker for girls and boys, Orson Calloway, manages to stay faithful to Carmen while abstaining from sex for a good year is merely laughable.

At least, that's what I put together anyway.

"Hey guys," Luciana greets as she pulls me up to their table. My heart quakes with the nerve and jitters of finally interacting with them- for real, this time. Not from a stakeout vantage point at a distance, shadowing them, not from a screen, not from reading their bank statements and hacked messages but the real them. My palms are cold and sweaty and I plead with my instincts to stop them from overreacting. "This is the girl who saved my life that night I blackout at Le Noir's."

"Which one?" smirks Hanif playfully at Luciana, "You blackout almost every fucking weekend."

Luciana flashes him the middle finger but a playful smile snake onto her face, "Shut up, asshole. Hanif, this is Amory."

"Hi." I'm so glad that it comes out confident, bold, and Hanif Rahim acknowledges me with a stiff salute. I try to force my face into a relatively passive expression and tighten it into a breezy smile. Hanif was one of the few guys who had drugs in his system when the limo collided with my dad's car. His parents were the first to pay off the judge to acquit him.

"S'up, Amory."

"So," Carmen Calloway speaks up for the first time. Her cold brown eyes lock with mine and her voice is saccharine sweet, ever so pure as the pretty cross hanging down her neck, but they often say the sweetest poison is the deadliest. "You're Luce's new toy."

"I guess," I shrug blithely, feigning apathy and carelessness, trying not to squirm under her gaze.

Up-close, Carmen is truly ravishing, with her olive skin, large, dark eyes framed by that startling mass of caramel hair, and a body that was pure perfection, toned and sculpted from hours of jumping across the cruel wooden dance floor of the ballet studio. Raised according to the apocryphal This Is How We Do Things Big Book (East Coast WASP edition), Carmen flourishes her uniform by getting her skirt tailored to just two inches above her knee (not too short for church but still sinful enough to get a few wandering eyes), black opaque hosiery from Wolford, a cream Oscar de la Renta blouse that tied at the neck underneath her Kensington blazer, classic black Manolo Blahniks pumps and 4.48-karat flawless diamond stud earrings that VieuxRiche, a New York-based gossip Instagram account, have reported being insured for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Everything about Carmen is pure Upper East Side- understated, tasteful, and suffocatingly perfect.

"Please," Luciana dismisses, shaking her head as she sits beside Carmen, "She's my lifesaver, Carms. You don't get it, this girl saved my ass. She took me home, let me shower at her place, and used her charger even though she just met me."

"If that's the case, then I'm Carmen," she extends a hand out to shake mine and I fix my hand into hers. The smile painted on her lips is condescending and demeaning, her mouth curling upwards again, her glowing face like a derisive mask against the background.

"And you're Amory..."

"Scout," I finish for her.

"Amory Scout," she rolls my name off her tongue like it's a foreign snack. "That's a really interesting name."

"Thank you."

The next people to join Carmen, Luciana, Hanif, and me at the table are Phineas and Orson, who garner every girl's attention as they saunter across the cafeteria. I count my breaths with every step they take before they situate themselves into their reserved seats in the cafeteria. I focus on Orson and the violent blood pounding in my head doesn't make it easier when he decides to be directly opposite of me, because he has taken the seat right next to Aidan.

"Yo, where's Parker?" Phineas inquires, examining the table.

Before Luciana opens her mouth, Kensington Prep's school announcement signals beep over everybody's conversations, proclaiming: "Attention everybody, may Amory Scout please report to the office immediately? It's urgent."

Immediately, everybody's eyes land on me.

"Someone's in trouble," Orson whistles, his eyes suddenly trained on me. He's measuring me up with a silent, amused gaze, sizing me up, raking my body through the uniform as if he's imagining what's underneath the buttons and the lacey tights. And that's all it takes for him to finally notice me.

My face is stony and cold, breaking a polite smile, "I'm sure it's nothing," I say, my heart beating fast, as I stand up from the table. What could it be?

"I'll pack your lunch into a container and give it to you later," Luciana informs me delicately and a part of me wishes she isn't so annoyingly nice at times like this, to draw more scrutiny towards me from them.

"Nice to meet you, Amory," Carmen throws towards me as I'm heading out towards the cafeteria exit. I turn back and see she's wiggling her fingers towards me as if to say toodles, and the self-satisfied shark grin on her perfect porcelain features is more indicative of her personality than anything else. Bitch.

I tread towards the office, turning in my mind about what could I possibly be called to the office for? I haven't even done anything yet.

The Vice-Principal, Mrs. Abbey is arranging her notes when the receptionist knocks on the door and guides me in. "Miss Scout," Mrs. Abbey drops her papers down and shuffles them to the other side, then she points towards the seats in front of her desk. "Sit down."

"What's going on?"

"Miss Scout, as if you don't know," Mrs. Abbey says.

But I fucking don't. I bristle in annoyance and scrunch up my eyebrows, "What do you mean?"

Her delicate dancer fingers travel down to a drawer, pull something out- medium-sized, silver with metal accents- and plops it at the front. Parker's flask. "Care to explain this?"

A hot, bitter taste enters my mouth, like the metallic taste of blood, "That- that isn't mine."

Mrs. Abbey's cold dead eyes narrow. "Then why did we find it in your locker? A student had tipped us that you've been trying to lead her astray during Prayers, encouraging her to drink."

"I-" My breath hitch and my blood drop to zero temperature as the realization hits me like a brick. Those fucking bitches. I've been played. Carmen's satisfied smug smile and sudden friendliness at Lunch make sense now. Parker was absent from lunch not because of 'Model United Nations' like she has told Luciana. She had planted the flask in my locker and made it look like I'm the one instigating alcohol in a church chapel.

Alarm bells are ringing in my head. This is a sign of warning. They didn't like the fact that Luciana had invited me to lunch without Carmen's consent, without a proper invitation from the Queen herself. But why punish me? Shouldn't they be punishing Luciana for breaking their so-called 'protocol'?

Then I put the pieces together- they didn't trust me. They didn't know me. They think I'm playing Luciana. Or worse, they think I'm playing them.

They're onto me. 

--