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." 

My fists clench. My heart's thumping so hard. Shit, shit.

"An then I found this old yearbook from Kensington." She holds it up. The front cover is all red and blue- Kensington's colours- and in bold, it reads out the year: 2010. She flips through the pages until she lands on a page. She holds it up to me and points at a picture of old me- at 12: dark brown hair, crooked nose and thin lips. "And I thought, wait, that kind of looks like Amory. Same bone structure, different nose though, different hair...and that's when I put it together. By the way, I love your surgeon's work- he really made your witch's nose a beautiful little skip slope, didn't he?"

I smile bitterly, "You made your point. What do you want? How much do you want, Georgina?"

"Oh, I don't want anything." Georgina's face is spiteful, her dark eyes glittering with condemnation.

Remembering the eviction notice on her table, I blink innocently at her. "Are you sure about that, Georgina? Those tags on your clothes, borrowing designer's clothes on credit, eviction notices in your apartment...you don't think I know why you came back?"

The smugness cleans off Georgina's face for a bit.

I carry on: "You're poor, aren't you? Daddy Carlton's going out of business and that's why you came back for Orson."

Georgina's mouth morphs into a snarl, "It still doesn't change the fact that you're a phony, Amory. And I wonder what Orson will think about this when I tell him at Homecoming."

"You don't go to Kensington anymore. They won't let you in."

"Well, I guess I'll just go see him at the afterparty, won't I?" Georgina smiles at me narrowly.

"If you think he's going to believe you, you're wrong."

Georgina gives a harsh laugh. "Maybe he will; maybe he won't. I guess we'll find out."

-

The theme for Homecoming happens to be "Juliet and Romeo", Shakespeare's most renowned and ill-fated couple, and there isn't a more perfect setting than the Ritz-Carlton Diamond Ballroom on the third floor of New York's second-tallest building. Students arrive to find the whole place transformed into "Verona in Spring" with the venue decorated in pinks and purples. Some of the theatrics include a castle projected via hologram, lights displayed in the shapes of stained-glass windows and towering Faberge egg centrepieces on every table. There's also a giant wall of white flowers erected for photo ops. It looks like a romantic fairy-tale set straight out of a movie. The chef the school has hired has outdone himself with a gigantic baked ham glazed with pineapple sauce, roasted chicken with white truffles and for dessert, they serve the Grand Marnier soufflé sprinkled with shavings of twenty-four-carat gold.

For the night, the Elite of Kensington is sure to show-up to impress. Nadine Yeong makes a lasting impression as the only sophomore who was asked to a senior dance by lacrosse player Pete Campbell, wearing massive rubies against her rose chiffon couture Elie Saab. Parker, the most likely contender to become Homecoming Queen, draws gasps of delight in the Givenchy couture white gown with black floral embroidery once worn by Audrey Hepburn in the film Sabrina with an enormous Bulgari diamond necklace her mother had just bought for her at an auction for a whopping six million dollars.

Meanwhile, Orson and I make our entrance with me in a pleated beige chiffon-silk gown with long straps of hammered gold and diamond links that criss-crosses my bodice. My hair extensions have been wrapped high into a mound of intricate braids and festooned with diamonds, baroque pearls and moonstones. As the gown billows around me and sweeps the floor, Orson tells me I could have been mistaken for an Etruscan goddess.

"Goddess?" I raise my eyebrows at him as he whispers the compliment to my ear. My gloved hands are trying not to shake with anxiety as I eye every entrance, waiting for a crazed Georgina to turn up any minute.

My mind plays with the words she spat at me. You're a phony.

From what I can tell, she only knows half of the story. That for some reason, Amory Scout is a fake identity I've created to get close to Orson. She doesn't know everything that has been done- Luciana, Carmen, and what I'm really trying to do. The real reason for my mission. That's good. But if Orson finds out what she knows, he can definitely put together the full picture. That I have been the one behind everything, the one bringing everyone down. The reason for Carmen's eating disorder, Luciana's downfall, Helena's returns and fake Carlotta texts to his cell phone. He'll put it all together.

And I've come too far to let her ruin it. After every hard-won battle, after every scheme, every effort that goes into this, I cannot let victory come so close and be ripped out of my hands by her. So I need to get rid of her. Fast.

My hand tightens around the clutch I'm holding. Inside is a bottle of Ambien I stole from Veronica's cabinet before I left the house.

"Hey, is anything wrong?" Orson whispers in my ear; he reads the worry in the lines of my face and I tell myself to push the matter of my mind and act relaxed. I soften my features and smile in his face.

"Nothing," I grab his hand and look forward to the stage. They're announcing the winner for Homecoming Queen.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, it's Parker. She's beaming and glowing as they place the crown on her head. I can't believe how stupid it is- how much Parker and Carmen feud over a plastic crown with fake diamonds when they can afford real ones. Nonetheless, it's been instrumental in Carmen's downfall. It can't leave a good taste in your mouth knowing you're stuck at some eating disorder clinic while your best friend takes your crown.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the oncoming night- the afterparty, especially. Knowing Georgina, she'll be there, waiting to corner Orson and tell him everything. I need to intercept that. So when I make some excuse about using the bathroom, I use the privacy to text my accomplice from my burner phone.

Final deal. Two hundred thousand dollars.

-

The afterparty is located at this neon-themed club down by the Meatpacking District. I'm in Orson's limousine, squeezed on the side seat with Parker and a bunch of girls from our grade. We're racing down the West Side Highway with windows wide open and the spring air blasting through. I'm a little bit drunk, which is why I take Orson's offer to rail back over four lines of coke so that the substance cancels out the drowsy, dizzy state of the alcohol and sharpens my mind. My heart is beating fast, pumping with adrenaline and fear, and the hum of the cocaine in my bones and buzzing in my head obliterates any sort of inability to pay attention.

I grab Orson by his tie and kiss him hard on the lips. The crowd in our limousine goes wild when I do that and at one point, Hanif pulls out his phone and films us on his Snapchat. His mouth is hot and heavy on mine and I lose myself for a little bit because I think of how easy this can all go away- in about mere seconds if Georgina shows up before I can checkmate her.

The club is about three levels. Level one is where the general public is allowed, the second floor is for VIP clients- for those shelling out more than ten grand a table and level three are all private rooms and whispers of a strip-club and a gambling salon where members and important public figures can live out their debauchery without prying eyes.

We all climb out of the limousine, and the guy waves us in, not even asking for ID. When we arrive, the whole place is already packed with a Saturday crowd. Nothing beats New York nightlife as the music pounds through me like a heartbeat, the crowd is pressing in on all sides, moving in unison, one big collective soul. My eyes are sharp alert, on the lookout for Georgina in the midst. I don't see her.

The auto-tuned vocals of Travis Scott's "Goosebumps" come on as they bring out bottles in bathtubs filled to the brim with ice. Sparklers are fizzing in the corks of Aces of Spades champagne. Phineas pops the bottle and gets it everywhere; the foam flicking on my Chloe dress, gold liquid pouring into crystals as our group gets insane.

"We're gonna do some things, some things you can't relate," Hanif croons, placing his arms around Parker and I as we explode into laughter.

Parker raises her shot in a toast, lights splintering off the glass, golden in her hair. "To the class of 2019!"

We raise her. "Class of 2019!"

The taste goes down acidic and burning. I don't care as she drags me to the dancefloor and we begin moving in unison.

The floor oscillates in waves beneath me. The lights streak across the floor like rainbows trapped inside. I stretch my arms and legs out and feel the room spin. Parker's hips are grinding against mine the way how girls do when they're dancing in the club with their friends. I feel Orson watching me dance with Parker and I'm reminded of the night the three of us were in a hotel room together- when that threesome happened.

The heat of Orson's gaze makes me bold and I squat down to the floor, slowly twisting back up in one seductive, tantalizing motion. I move towards him all relaxed and casual like I just came back from fixing my hair or something.

We both dance and spin until I can't feel my legs anymore. He pulls me closer to him. Buries his face in the place where my neck meets my shoulder. At first, he just rests there. Then he starts kissing the soft skin.

"You're so hot."

"I know," I laugh, trying to ignore the growing worry that Georgina hasn't shown. "Can I get a bump?"

He grins wickedly and nods. He purposely moves behind me and slides a hand on my waist, begins to grind for behind to avoid the bouncer standing about ten feet ahead of us by the roped entrance. I feel his hands start to work, heading to his breast pocket where he pulls out a baggie of white powder and dips a finger in it. He brings it up to my lips and I promptly quickly lick the bitter powder from it. I make a face.

I forgot how much coke takes like soap.

He moves from my neck to my mouth and the kiss is intense, passionate. I wrap my arms more tightly around him. Listen to the sharp intake of breath when I press myself against him. Soon he's got me pushed into a dark corner, his hands are up to my dress, wandering from one patch of skin to another eagerly. I'm focused on Orson, but I can feel eyes on me. Then I hear it.

"What the fuck is Georgina doing here?"

I rip my face from Orson's. Parker and Nadine are by the balcony railings of Level Two, looking down on Level One. She's here. Shit, shit.

"Hey, I need the bathroom," I say to Orson, in between our warm kisses, "I'll come back."

Orson is mildly confused at my sudden, abrupt end to our make out but I don't let him have the chance to protest as I scoop my drink and my clutch to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, I crush up a few sleeping pills and put the ground-up powder into my drink. Then before I return to my table, I bribe a waiter with four hundred dollars to give the drink to Georgina. Tell her it's "on the house". The waiter takes the money with no hesitation and I release the breath I've been holding for so long.

When Georgina attempts to approach our table, she's so messed up. Georgina isn't really a heavy drinker, I admit. In parties and events, she limits herself. She paces herself by drinking water after every drink so it's disconcerting to see her in such a state. She's barely able to stand when she somehow clambers up the stairs to the second level of the club, where the VIPs are.

The bouncer for our section stops her from coming in. She's barely standing as she slobbers all over, feet slipping and sliding on the floor. It's such a sad state of Georgina- in her sparkly dress, unable to enunciate. Orson looks over at her, a flash of concern crossing his face. A flicker of annoyance brushes through me. He still cares for her. In some way. I squeeze his hand and it disappears as soon as it comes. I try not to let it rain over my mini parade. I got Georgina away before she could do some damage.

Parker and Nadine are laughing as Georgina is dragged out of the club, all slurring. "Did anybody get that?" I ask the girls.

"Yes, of course," Parker hands me footage of Georgina trying to fight the six-foot-five bouncers guarding the VIP section.

"Hey," I whisper to Orson, "Wanna do something fun?"

The playboy glint of his comes back. There it is, that hunger. The cold light that suits the angles on his face. "What?"

"Let's go to Level 3," I say, twirling with the ring on his finger, "But you go first, you pick out someone for us...and let me finish my drink here and I'll join you."

He brings his hand to my hair, buries his fingers into the soft gold coils of my hair, and kisses my forehead, "You're in a mood."

"Aren't I always?"

The devil-may-care smile answers me of his obedience. He grabs his glass of Hennessy and heads upstairs. I watch him go before I grab my clutch and when the whole crew is not looking, I hurriedly text my burner phone

Get the job done.

I disappear up the railings to Level 3. Level 3 is another world from the club; I'm transported into a corridor that has purple and gold colour lights. Confetti is falling around me while I'm slowly walking past rooms where women barely clothed are dancing. Some are twirling on poles, performing on chairs, making out with each other. I'm unfazed by the nudity and soon enough, I come across a room with Orson in it. There's no girl in it. Just him, lounging across the white leather seats, drinking a whiskey. His eyes are warm, lustful on me. 

"Hey," he whispers, his breath hot in my ear.

"Where's the other girl?"

He pulls me in even closer and kisses me. "I don't want another girl." He kisses me again. And again. And again. But he stops the fourth time because by then we all hear it- the bloodcurdling scream of Georgina Calton cutting through the night.

-

and oop!