Cedar Tavern is tucked in between West 4th and West 10th street, a little gem rumoured to be the birthplace of the Beat Generation. It used to be an illicit 60's speakeasy where the original members of the Beat Generation hung around and wrote poetry and literature while high strung on ​​amphetamines. No longer a 60s speakeasy but now a trendy hipster cafe with tacky, wooden furniture, a library of second-hand books and dreamcatcher paraphernalia hanging from the cedar-beamed ceiling. Sure, it's where all the plaid-wearing, unemployed twenty-somethings hipsters go with their laptops to write slam poetry and drink overpriced coffee but I like it. It has a charm to it.

"They're all here," Hadley points through the murky window of Cedar Tavern. She's right, I notice. The whole crew of ANON420 has arrived.

Anybody who passes us would not spare us a second glance. One look and they assume we're a bunch of college hipsters, discussing a group project or hanging out. That's the good thing about playing up a stereotype- people are willing to quickly believe it because it's something their brains are able to accept. They won't know Steven Wu, the boy with thick horn-rimmed glasses and a lisp, is actually part of the infamous internet hacktivist group who wore Guy Fawkes masks called Anonymous. Or they wouldn't think Meena, the mousy, shy Muslim girl in the back with a soft-spoken voice is part of the WikiLeaks team, directly responsible for the Hillary Clinton leaked emails.

Whatever it is, ANON420 is a collaboration of small hackers from across the city, who work together to teach each other tips and tricks. I'm just here purely to crack through the files and passwords I've downloaded off Luciana's phone. While I've barricaded through most of her personal folders and pictures, all of which are questionable and easy material to bring her down but they're not enough to provide a succulent take-down that will send them throttling down their thrones for good. I'm wondering if I can access any of her deleted things so I can rummage around her trash for anything particularly useful.

"Hadley, we're over here," Steven, the leader of ANON420, calls us over as we enter. Immediately, my senses are overwhelmed by burning incense and the tranquil smell of coffee wafting my noses. I inhale deep, sucking it in. Steven, Meena, Aarav and Kai Hong are situated by the cosy patched couches, laptops open, their hacker paraphernalia hidden safely amongst their clunky backpacks which could be mistaken for massive college textbooks and sipping on warm mugs.

Hadley beams at all of them with genuine cordiality, breaking out of her inverted shell that she usually builds at the company of others. At school, Hadley hates socializing with people outside of her enclosed circle. She always had. That's how we became pretty close when we both attended Kensington. It was Hadley, Delphi and I; the trio who prefer to stick to libraries, heads buried under books, so anonymous you didn't think we exist. Hadley is only comfortable around people she chose to like, which are people who could understand her or relate to her, who could carry conversations about equational math or coding. That's why she limits her social circle to only ANON420 despite the fact that more than half of them have committed nationwide cybercrime felonies. Hadley doesn't mind, though. Neither do I.

"Nice work, by the way," Hadley compliments Steven, "I saw that Donald Trump video."

Steven shrugs but traces of a smirk lingering on his mouth. "It's not a big deal."

"Amory," Kai Hong acknowledges me for the first time as I follow Hadley's lead in occupying the few empty spaces on the couch. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I reply simply, "What about you?"

Kai Hong shrugs, "Same old, same old. How's being back in New York?"

I shrug. "It's alright."

"I heard you're back in school. Why? You've pretty much finished. You could graduate early if you want to."

"Guess I wanted the ole' high school experience."

Kai Hong doubles in a quick, little laugh, and when he stops, gleams of mischief flicker in his dark brown crystalline eyes like a candlelight in the wind. "You're up to something, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

A waiter approaches us and asks if Hadley and I wanted anything. We order two cappachinos, no foam with almond milk for me and extra cream and three sugars for Hadley.

"So what's the situation?" Kai Hong asks me when I'm loading Luciana's files to start. He's sitting extremely close to me, our thighs touching. He's widely smiling at me as he looks at me, his attention latching on to me like the tentacles of an octopus. I've known of his crush on me for about a few weeks now- it's too obvious. The way he constantly asks how I am, the way he's so engaged with me; it all points to a crush. I don't let on my knowledge about it, though.

"So I cracked through this phone, right?" I explain, scrolling through all the useless fodder like pictures and aimless text messages. Since her phone is connected to her laptop through iCloud, I technically have access to her laptop as well. As long as Luciana bothers to back everything on her laptop onto her iCloud. "And the thing is I've downloaded all the files and pictures- everything on her phone. I've even broken through her iCloud and stuff but I was wondering if I could access any of their deleted stuff, especially on their laptop?"

A pensive expression crosses his face, unsure. "I don't think so," he concludes, scratching his head, "Because if they deleted it, it wouldn't be on iCloud any more. You'll need to access the actual laptop if you want to go through their deleted stuff."

Great. "Fuck me," I swear spectacularly, running a hand through my hair.

Kai Hong grins sardonically. "Sort of a little roadblock on your evil plan, huh?"

You have no idea. "It's fine," I sigh, watching the waiter bring out two mugs of steaming coffee, "I'll think of something. I always do."

-

"Amory, right?" is what greeted me early on a Monday morning when I began to unload books out of my locker for my first period. My eyes tilt from the insides of my locker to above, my gaze landing on a towering Orson Calloway, who is leaning on Luciana's locker next to mine. I try not to feel intimidated by everybody suddenly looking at me, as I am aware of the fact that Orson Calloway is talking to me by my locker.

"That is my name," I confirm ultimately, proud that what comes out of my voice isn't a tremor of pure hatred. I sound quite pacified. "What's up?"

"Well-"

"Oh my God, Orson," Luciana interrupts him when she arrives, Parker in tow and Carmen nowhere in sight. Annoyance crackles over Orson's handsome features at her rude intervention. Luciana smacks him on the arm, albeit playfully. She scowls at him like a scolding mother. "You barely got to know her and you're already trying to add her to your tally? Didn't you get the hint last Friday? She's not interested in being one of your hoes."

Orson shoots her a snide look, raking her body up and down with a lecherous stare. Usually, guys who do those looks come off as sleazy but Orson makes it work. He makes you actually want to grab him by his uniformed tie and drag him to the nearest janitor room and perform unspeakable illicit acts onto him with the quickest quirk of his upper lip into a half-smirk, his cold blue eyes glimmering exotically as he narrows them into slits against his snow-white skin, reminding me of a preppy version of Tom Riddle.

"You don't seem to mind," he says dangerously to Luciana, his playful smirk seeping into his words.

"Because we have a system where the rules are pretty clear," Luciana assimilates into her fiery persona by cocking her hip to her side, hand placed on a protruding, bony hip."Amory is innocent. I won't let you corrupt her."

"I can speak for myself," I tell her, not unkindly, "Look, Orson, you seem like a nice guy-"

Parker snorts from the background.

"But I don't see you as anything other than a friend," I bedazzle him with a sweet smile, hug my books to my chest, dial my locker shut and take the lead in walking away from him, leaving Orson Calloway standing there in the dust.

Luciana and Parker, much to my unexpected surprise, run up to catch up with me, their skirts swishing and their shoes clapping the floor.

"That was," Parker breathes out in choking laughter, "fucking beautiful."

I scrunch my eyebrows in confusion, playing up this angle. "What was?"

"That savagery," Luciana giggles, putting a hand to her mouth in pure disbelief. "I've never seen anyone turn down Orson Calloway like that before."

"I guess I just don't understand the hype surrounding him," I reply breezily, shrugging, feeling butterflies in my stomach at the success of watching Orson Calloway gape like a fish after me. "He's just like any other normal rich guy here."

Parker and Luciana exchange looks and then glance away, their mouths brimming with grins as if they'll erupt catastrophically into laughter once more.

"Oh God, Amory," Parker shakes her head at me like I'm totally clueless, "I love you."

-

"Hey, you're Amory Scout, right?" As I scribble down my answer for the last question on my calculus worksheet, I'm surprised to find a girl standing in front of me by my woodshop class counter. I have gotten to class early so I've given myself the liberty to finish off my maths homework when I hear somebody say my name. I look up and see a cute, petite girl with reddish carroty hair beaming at me positively.

"Yeah," I confirm. I realize her face is faintly recognizable, jogging back my memory of her from my old life, back when Kensington Prep knew me as Bronte Emerson. Katherine Pickard was the occasional somebody I made small talk with during a group project. She was nice but I always found that she was a bit of a gossip hound, obsessed with following and admiring Orson and Carmen Calloway and their friends like celebrities.

"So," she cocks her hip to the side and purses her lips as if she just smells something extremely succulent. She was never this excited to talk to me when she knew me as Bronte Emerson. Guess going blonde can change people's perspective about you. "Rumour has it that Orson Calloway tried to pick you at Hanif Rahim's party and you turned him down. Is it true?

A strange sensation creeps across my spine as I jerk my head into a nod. "I guess?"

"No," Katherine gasps, drawing her hands to her mouth, "You didn't."

I blink, feigning cluelessness when I know exactly what I'm doing. My indifference about Orson Calloway and his inability to pick me up will just add gasoline to the spark ignited by this small piece of gossip. Discussing this with Katherine Pickard will let the news spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of Orson Calloway and his lacrosse cronies, who will pressure him and taunt him about not being able to 'nail' me. I've always despised the idea of locker talk but now I use it to my advantage.

The male upper echelon of Kensington is so terribly predictable, it's like figuring out a crossword puzzle made for a five-year-old. They think just because they're good-looking and rich that they are entitled to anything they ever set their eyes on. Orson has nailed every pretty little thing that has ever pranced across Kensington's hallways. His legendary playboy reputation is one of the rumours and tall tales, a reputation almost as dangerous as Prince Aly Khan himself. Nothing pains him more than something he can't get and nothing rubs it in more than all of his friends taunting him about it.

Regardless, having the whole school find out the new girl had turned him down will provide him further incentives to get closer to me. When it comes to controlling people and indirectly getting them to do what you want, it's all about setting the proper dominoes and pushing the right buttons so you use other people's weaknesses to carry out the dirty work for you. Katherine Pickard's biggest and most annoying flaw of hers is that she has a blabbermouth. I've always known eventually she'll come in handy to my plan.

"I don't see what the big deal is. He's just a guy."

"But he's Orson Calloway," Katherine argues adamantly, "Literally everyone wants to bone him, even the teachers."

"Well if you're into him, sure," I offer her, smiling kindly, "But I don't think he's my type so I just told him...I wasn't interested."

Katherine rocks her weight back and forth in between one foot to another, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of new drama, "I see," she gushes, her lacquered lips puckering up into a sly smile. "Well, you know you're making good progress."

I was startled by her comment. I struggled to conjure out the sensible meaning behind her words. "What do you mean?"

"It's only your first week here at Kensington," she elaborates further, shocking me even more when she drops her textbooks at the empty woodshop counter beside me. I am amazed at how just one party and one meeting with Orson Calloway has propelled Katherine Pickard to feed off wanting to be friends with me, "and you're already in the Elite."

"The Elite?" I raise my eyebrows, though I know exactly who she is referring to. Sometimes playing clueless is rather annoying and tedious as people tend to regard you as a lower form of a human but it is necessary. Underestimation offers you the best protection there is.

"Orson, Luciana, those guys," Katherine twirls with the zipper of her pencil case, then she finally draws it open. As she plucks out a pen and a ruler, she refocuses her attention on me with a smirk flickering across her pastel pink lips. She looks rather cute and unintimidating; a mass of pale and soft colours, red hair, doll eyes and milk skin but she contradicts her cutesy appearance by hiking her skirt way too high up on her waist, lace knee-high socks and spiked black stilettos instead of normal black Oxford flats. "How did you do it?"

"I, uh, I was nice to them?" I pose it as a question, hoping she'll be satisfied. She's not, of course. That's the whole point; to never satiate that need for answers to maintain an air of mystery.

"Right." She doesn't sound like she believes me but she tacks on a smile anyway as she dumps her book bag on the chair behind her. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Why not?" I move my textbooks from her desk and shove them into my bookbag. Then my phone, which has been lying comfortably on the wooden surface right next to a wooden hammer, lights up. Katherine, being the nosy busybody she's known for, leans in to read the message from my phone.

"Oh my God," her eyes widen as I pick up my phone and read the notification. A Facebook event invite to Luciana's Annual Back-To-School Sleepover!

"What's up with it?"

Katherine seems to be bouncing on the edges of her heels. "I've only heard about it but it's supposed to be, like, an urban legend. So every year Luciana hosts like a back-to-school sleepover and I don't know much except it's super elitist, super exclusive and super in-crowd."

"And I'm invited?" A strange woozy feeling rushes through me. Invited, included, sought after. Is this what it's like to be popular?

"Yeah," Katherine nods, still in amazement, "Congrats, Amory. You're officially part of The Elite."