That same Halloween party Orson and I kissed for the first time also happened to be the day Helena Marx decided to announce her return to the Upper East Side. And return she did with a bang.

Coasting up the marble floors of Luciana's open space living room is Helena in black suede knee-high boots with skinny four-inch heels and a full-body leather catsuit that enhances every curve and edge of her body, courtesy of Jean Paul Gaultier. As her dark curls bounce behind her, the crowd stares at her in utter shock. Her soft brown eyes are marked with remnants of gold glitter, which are more pronounced with the flick of black eyeliner over her lids.

"Holy shit," Orson mutters beside me. Remembering that I'm supposed to have no idea who Helena is, I look at him quizzically. He put his hand on the back of my neck. Tingles run up my spine. My bloodred lips sizzle at the phantom of his kiss. He guides me over to the VIP section, where everybody's looking over to Helena.

Luciana's Halloween party is one of the school's year biggest events. What better place for Helena to shake up the scene with her debut back to high society? And with the latest dirt I've dug up on Luciana in Helena's clutches, she's the perfect messenger to deliver it.

"Where have you been?" Luciana says when she sees me arrive back to the VIP table with Orson trailing behind me. Her lips tighten when she notices his hand on my back and her eyes narrow at my dress, most especially at the undone side zipper, revealing half of my lacy black strapless bra.

"Your boob's hanging out," she growls at me, pointing.

I pretend to be embarrassed about it- quickly looking down, folding my arms over my chest, and zip my dress up.

"She's back. How is she back?" Parker hiss at Carmen- argument momentarily is forgotten- but Carmen shush her, eyes frozen on Helena as she glides her way to the bar. Despite the insane music blaring over the speakers, I could catch snippets of people's shocked reactions over Helena Marx's appearance.

"Is that Helena Marx? I thought her dad is like in jail or something," Katherine whisper to her friends, her fingers frantically moving over her phone's keyboard to broadcast the news to all of her four hundred followers on Twitter.

"Yeah, I heard too. And doesn't she look fucked? I think she's been thoroughly fucked. Maybe she had some sort of prostitution ring going on up there, that's how she manages to come back to New York and pay for tuition."

"No way, I think she joined a cult or something. And she sacrificed somebody so she'll never run out money."

This is all so ridiculous, I think as I march to Carmen's side. "What's happening?"

"Orson, what the fuck? You told me she'll never come back," Aidan's grip over his whiskey sour tighten as he glances from Orson to Carmen. "Did you know about this? That she'll be back?"

Carmen stares back at him blankly, her small, fox-like face pale as a ghost. "I..." She's speechless. 

"Hey guys," Helena Marx says loudly as she walks towards the VIP section, carrying a saffron martini. "How are you?"

Carmen stares at Helena. Her eyelid twitch. The uncomfortable silence seems too much to bear so I butt in. "Hey, I'm Amory." I'm holding out my hand, "And you are?"

Helena's smirk is so perfect as she shakes my hand. "Helena. It's so nice to meet you, Amory."

All of them remain silent for a long, tense moment before Carmen finally finds her voice. There's a pleading tone in her voice that I savor so much. "Helena, what are you doing here?'

Helena's laugh bubbles out of her throat majestically. "Why, haven't you heard? My Dad got a new job as a vice president. I'm back in Manhattan! And I thought why not share the good news here with you guys?" Helena's mouth twists into a cruel sneer. She momentarily flickers her glance at me and wink before averting back to them. Her sweet tone sharpens into a stab. "Besides, I have some presents for you guys as well. Check your Instagrams."

Everyone digs their phones out of their purses and phones.

"Oh my God," Luciana whispers, her eyes wide with horror. VieuxRiche's latest post is Luciana's medical report. And underlined in red is the section where the doctor has declared her as HIV positive. The picture tagged not only Luciana but the whole Elite as well. Carmen looks up at her phone, her mouth open wide.

"You didn't know?" Helena makes the most innocent face she could. "I guess best friends really don't share everything with you. But I suppose if I was HIV positive, I wouldn't want anybody to know as well."

"Get out," snarl Luciana, her eyes heavy with tears as she quiver with rage. Her voice dances up the scale. She points at Helena; she's so angry, her finger is shaking. "Get out now."

Helena's smug expression fails to waver. All she does is plop her drink down on the table and pout her pink lips into a curl as she scans Luciana. The smirk on her face seems to say, You seem like a girl who has a lot to lose.

"I was about to, anyway. The drinks kind of suck. And Wonder Woman is so tacky."

Helena turns on her heels and exit. The world watches her go as the bass line of Kanye West's "Gold Digger" plays out of the speakers.

It doesn't matter whether or not Helena only managed to spend five minutes at one of the biggest parties of the year. The damage is done. 

Luciana Santiago is officially ruined. At her own party, no less. You can't say that I don't have a sense of poetic justice.

-

In many ways, the members of New York's Elite looked like any affluent city's children of the rich: beautiful shiny hair and exclusive circles, living lives of glamour and beauty with too much wealth draping over their shoulders, but the thing about being on top in New York are that it's anything but average. Here in Kensington, it's not enough to be good; you have to be the best. Why?

Because here in Kensington, the Elite is an exclusive group of beautiful people who live their lavish lives in those majestic white-glove-doorman buildings near Central Park. They attend the most elite Manhattan private schools. Their families own yachts, estates, and vineyards in various exotic locations throughout the world. They frequent all the best beaches and the most exclusive ski resorts in Austria and Japan. They're seated immediately at the finest restaurants in the chicest neighborhoods without a need for a reservation. But that's because New York's elite is the best.

And the best meant no slip-ups, no mistakes, no scandals. Luciana's STD reveal meant she wasn't the best anymore. She wasn't- never is- the caricature of perfection she likes to portray to the world. And for that, there would be consequences. Of course.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Carmen asks quietly when the whole crew- boys excluded- sections off into a private room, one of the many, many guest rooms of Luciana's sprawling penthouse, after Helena's departure. I have my phone out, looking at the flood of comments on the latest post under VieuxRiche,. Nasty things like knew Luciana's vagina was always crusty and ewwwww can't believe i ever thought she was hot are thrown around.

Luciana's eyes are prickling with tears as she sits by the edge of the bed. "I..." She's at the loss of words, her phone sits idly in her hand. Her Instagram is blowing up. Parker is right next to her, with an arm thrown around her. "I thought I could handle it. I thought no one would know."

Carmen's Merlot red lips narrow into a thin line. "Well, clearly you miscalculated."

"I never meant for it to get out!" Luciana wails, tears now streaming fully down her cheeks as mean comments explode all over her notifications. "Much less for Helena fucking Marx to find-"

"It doesn't matter how it got out!" Carmen's voice never rose- it stays eerily calm. She's clutching a glass of champagne she had snatched from a waitress's tray when we're walking towards a private area of the party. She belts it down in one gulp. "What matters is now that you fuck this up. It got out and you know what that means."

Parker stands up from the bed, removing her comforting arm from Luciana. "Carmen, don't fucking do this. Luciana has been your friend for years. So what if she has HIV? It can be treated and it doesn't matter. She's your-"

"Shut the fuck up," Carmen snap, and Parker goes silent immediately. Anger sizzles in Parker's stare. "Do you want to join her? She's out of the list and there's nothing I can do about it. If you have a problem with it, consider yourself out too. Now if you excuse me, I'm gonna need a drink to forget that what happened ten minutes ago never did."

Carmen's Ferragamo heels click noisily on the marble tiles as she slips through the door. And she lets it bang closed so everyone knows she had left. Being Alpha Girl means she always finds a way to announce herself. 

"Guys, please stay with me," Luciana sniffs. Mascara tear tracks are running messily down her cheeks. Parker quickly whips out a tube of foundation and straightens her up. She dabs it onto her fingers and mars it all over Luciana's ruined face.

"Amory, you better go with Carmen," Parker says quietly, surprising me. I was not expecting to be registered. "If not, you'll be punished too."

I wordlessly nod and obey, following the trail Carmen has left me. Soon after, Parker joins us. She has told me Luciana had decided to retire to her room and she's too tired to return to the party. After all, it's not every day you've been humiliated at your own party.

It's not too late after that I receive a notification from my Messenger, telling me Luciana Santiago has been kicked out of the group chat.

When I stumble home that night, I take out the list I've written up almost a year ago- a list of the targets. The Elite List. And with a red Sharpie, I draw a thick line over Luciana's name written in cursive. One down, six more to go.

-

By Monday, Luciana's absence can be felt. Her usual bubbly self is found nowhere around the school halls. When I arrive in the morning, Parker and Carmen are loitering by the front courtyard, sitting mermaid-style on a bench with their pleated uniform skirts belling around their waists. Starbucks in hand and cigarettes in the other, they wave at me when they see me arriving through the front gates.

"Hey slut," Carmen greets me with a smirk as she leans in to peck me on the cheeks. Parker offers me the spare coffee she's carrying. "Cute coat. And the bag? To die for."

I shoulder my Dior saddlebag and accept the coffee. I sip it. Hazelnut latte, extra cream, no sugar. Every girl in Kensington takes it this way. Well, more like Carmen Calloway has always taken her coffee this way and everybody copied her. It isn't unusual for girls to copy Carmen. If Carmen wore blue glitter nail polish on a Friday, by Monday half the school would be wearing it, too. 

 "Thanks, hoe," I laugh at her. She holds up the cigarette for me and I take a drag, blowing out smoke in the other direction so it won't get on my Oscar de la Renta embroidered sheepskin coat.

My eyes dart across the courtyard for signs of Luciana. None. 

"You know Amory, I know that you're new and all. And the reason why you're here in the first place is because of Luciana but I hope you understand why I did what I did," Carmen confesses, pushing her thick dark hair behind her. Her subtly applied Chanel mascara makes her long eyelashes pop out even more. 

I nod. "Well of course. You run a hierarchy here. You can't just let her mistakes fuck that up for you."

Carmen exhales heavily, "I'm so glad you understand. Besides, Luciana's...departure from the group means good things for you. Right, Parker?"

Parker smiles at Carmen but it's icy. Her abundant pale blond hair overflow the hood of her belted white cashmere sweater coat and spill onto her shoulders. "Right," she forces herself to say. It looks as if it hurt every fiber of her being to betray Luciana.

"It basically means there's an open spot for you on the Elite. And normally I prefer selecting the girls," Carmen admits, "But it seems you...got the hang of things around here. And you already went through Initiation and all that and I don't want to give the spot to some lame social-climbing sophomore who has no firm grasp on the dictatorship of Kensington. So what I'm trying to say is...Welcome to the Elite, Amory. Congratulations."

-

"I'll be out for a while," I inform Hadley as I step into her room. Hadley's books are spread across her bed and she's lying on her belly, chilling with her laptop open and one earbud is hanging from her ears.

She raises an eyebrow at my outfit, "Um, are you sure you wanna wear that out?"

I look down at my outfit- a Marc Jacobs shell pink sheer cotton blouse and my peg-legged Seven jeans cinch at my waist that makes my butt look super toned. It's the fuchsia La Perla bra that's she's probably talking about. It shows right through my blouse and it's a little showier than I intended but it's mostly because I'm going to a bar where I'm pretty positive Orson frequented. I'm going to 'accidentally' bump into him.

"Yeah," I respond blithely. "I'm getting drinks with Orson."

Hadley purses her lips and held out her hands out, as if hey don't shoot. "Hey, wear what you want. How's... is the thing going?"

"Great," I say excitedly, "Did you see what happened to Luciana?"

Hadley nod. She rips open the foil of a pop tart and takes a bite. The crumbling pieces gather as flecks of pastry against a white plate. "Yeah, it's everywhere." There's a note of pity in her tone as if she's thinking about how that could affect her entry into colleges. as if college is a problem for Luciana.

Luciana is gorgeous, and everybody knows it. Half Spanish and Irish, Luciana's blessed with striking almond-shaped eyes, smooth caramel-colored skin, and a long-limbed figure with impressive curves. She has even worked a few modeling gigs, posing for an upscale makeup company in Los Angeles and shimmying into skintight designer jeans for a department store's ad campaign. Luciana has her reality TV star Mom to help her with anything. 

Sure, she lost her spot in the Elite and she has been humiliated out of Kensington. If you ask me, Luciana got off easy.

"She didn't say anything when Helena wanted to tell the police about Orson and that dead pregnant girl," I say, "She didn't say anything about what really happened that night my parents. This is just making sure she'll never keep quiet about anything ever again."

"I know," sigh Hadley. "How do you feel about it?"

"Momentarily satisfied but there's still plenty to do. Anyway, I have to go."

"Have fun," Hadley call out across our penthouse apartment. 

"I will!" I yell back. Pulling on a pair of noisy Kors wooden-heeled sheepskin clogs that I have bought on impulse at Scoop, I quickly book an Uber to the destination.

When I arrive, the bar's already crowded with middle-aged men in custom-tailored suits, discussing business deals over bourbon on the rocks, or sitting with bleached-blond women who are definitely not their wives. With its golden walls, crisp white tablecloths, and forties jazz music, the bar has an air of sexy sophistication.

A bow-tied cocktail server brought me a menu. But before I could even open the menu, a boy sitting at the bar spun around on his gold-painted barstool and smile at me. It's Orson, in his blue-eyed, suit and tie glory.

"Amory? What are you doing here?" Orson sounds surprised to see me. He's alone, with no Aidan or Phineas or Hanif. Huh. Good, I think, This makes it easier.

"Just in desperate need of a drink," I shrug with a devious smile, establish eye contact and toss my blonde hair back.

"Join me?" Orson smirk at me, glancing at the hot pink bra peeking through my sheer blouse as he leans down to slurp a little of his Old Fashion.

I occupy the barstool next to him. "If you don't mind."

"I'll buy you a drink."

"You don't have to-"

"Please, let me."

Orson flag down the waiter. The waiter appears and Orson looks him straight in the eye, daring him to card us. "Another scotch and a lavender-and-yuzu martini for the lady."

I arch an eyebrow that's been perfectly sculpted by the beauty counter at Elizabeth Arden. "How did you know that's my favorite?"

Orson's smile can be seen through the specks of whiskey on his glass. He tips back the glass but only ice is left. "You always order that when we go out."

"You notice?"

"Always."

The waiter arrives with my drink. I sip it, savoring the alcohol. I sit back on my stool and sigh.

"Stressed?" Orson laughs, digging his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Gauloises, from France. He taps one out and sticks it in his mouth. "Want one?"

"Maybe just one," I admit, stirring the drink with the steel rod.

He nods like he understood and holds out his packet. I selectively pull one out and he offers his lighter. I use one hand to protect it from the air conditioning and the other to flick the lighter on and set the tip on fire. It glows against my ear, the embers reflecting off my jade chandelier earrings. I suck a drag and puff it out, smoke billowing out of my lips.

He orders another whiskey sour as I fiddle with the Cartier Love bracelet around my fragile wrist. My L'Orient ruby ring glimmers as I wrap my hands around her martini and drain the rest of it.

"Want another one?" His finger taps the rim of the glass. He has nice hands with long fingers and trimmed fingernails. I shiver, remembering how they feel sliding up my legs when we exchanged kisses last weekend at Luciana's Halloween party.

"What, are you trying to take advantage of me?" I accuse teasingly but nod. He signals at the waiter and gestures for another one. I arrange my face into a sly smirk, to dangle a little sex appeal in front of him.

"I don't need you to be drunk to get you in my bed."

I roll my eyes. "Please."

Orson lean closer. Our faces are only inches apart and I could catch a whiff of the aftershave he's wearing. "You were pretty willing just a weekend ago."

"I was under another influence."

The little quirk of his lips seems to say sure, blame it on the coke. "Well, once you finish your drink, I'm gonna head over to the bathroom," he says meaningfully, touching my wrist. I inhale sharply, my cheeks flushing with the warmth of the alcohol burning in my stomach, invigorating and preparing me for what's about to come.

After I chug down my second martini, we stumble into the hotel's bathroom, our bodies pressed close together, his hands in my hair, mouth on my neck. I'm running my hands over his muscles carved out of gold, roaming through his lean form as his eyes run over my lithe and catlike form. "You look fantastic tonight," Orson whispers as he undoes his bow-tie, which adds that debonair of sophistication to him.

"No more talking." I lure him in with my best bedroom scandalous smile and tug him closer.

He leans forward in response, his mouth hot on mine. He snakes his hand around my waist, playing with the hem of her top. I could feel his pulse quickening where his wrist touches my bare skin. The kiss deepens, becoming more insistent.

I pull away and step back, leaving Orson to stumble forward. "What?" he gasps.

"I'm going to go get another drink," I say simply, reaching up to straighten my bra and smooth my hair; my motions are brisk, neat, practiced. Make him beg a little.

As I start down the hallway, I could feel the weight of Orson's gaze tracing the long lines of my body. I didn't let myself look back. But the corner of my mouth, my red lipstick just a little bit smudged, turns up in a triumphant smirk.

Everything is finally coming together.

-