Phineas's father's yacht has just been recently redone so it's finally ready for us to take it out to Ibiza for this coming New Years Eve. After a quiet and uneventful Christmas with Hadley and her family, I set out on the 28th by the docks with two Louis Vuitton luggage full of cocktail party dresses.

Orson and I make plans to meet up together before we head to the terminal. My cab hurtles recklessly up Madison Avenue, past Zitomer, Agnès B., and the Three Guys coffee shop where all the Kensington and Constance girls gather after school, turn east on Eighty-second Street, and finally pull up in front of the lobby of the Peninsula.

As usual, no one does Christmas quite like New York and the Peninsula is no exception. The whole ceilings are decked out in fairy lights of red and green and Christmas decorations, such as celebratory ornaments, wreaths with extravagant silk ribbons and pinecones, and snow-dusted mistletoe. A towering Christmas tree glitters in the midst of it all as I exit out of the car and launch myself into Orson's arms.

"How was Christmas?" I purr in his ear, putting the effect of suggestion in my tone.

"Dry without you," he smirks, eyes taking in the cobalt blue halter-neck Gaultier outfit. Even with the oversized black MaxMara swing coat, he could still notice how the dress hugs every curve of my body.

"No doubt about it."

His hand slides down my waist and I feel him squeeze a cheek. I giggle, "Later, we got a yacht to catch."

"Okay, we'll take my car."

We hop into his silver BMW SUV with tinted windows and as the sedan begins onto the West Side Highway, Orson fills up a flute of Moet for me.

"I hear Phineas's yacht has been rebuilt by Espen. Lürssen, right?" I ask Orson.

"No, Fincantieri actually. His dad didn't want any of those nosy Norweigian journalists scrutinizing his every move. The Italians are willing to turn their head around, for the right price of course."

At Fifty-second Street, the car merges into one of the exit lanes leading toward the Manhattan Cruise Terminal, where the cruise ships that visit New York all docked. Moored at Pier 88 is a superyacht that looks like it has at least five levels of decks.

Holy shit, I think, staring up at the gargantuan vessel, which sparkles as shards of sunlight reflecting off the water dance across its midnight-blue hull. We climb up the gangway and enter the grand foyer of the yacht, a soaring atrium with a circular glass elevator in the middle that looks like it could have been stolen from an Apple store.

Two extremely tan, extremely blond women of Amazonian proportions greet us when we arrive with two more glasses of Veuve Clicquot. Dressed in identical outfits of figure-hugging navy-blue cashmere sweaters, immaculately pressed white linen slacks, and white nautical caps with gold piping on the brims, they look like slutty sailor girls on a bachelor yacht party.

"Mr. Calloway and Miss Scout, would you like us to escort you to the rest of your party?"

"Yes please," Orson says, "Let's get this party started." He ditches his glass and picks up the bottle.

The blondes escort us into the lift, which rises just one floor before opening up again. We step out of the elevator, only to find the room filled with all our friends- Parker, Hanif, Phineas, Adrian, and a bunch of other inner circle members from other schools on the main deck.

I spot Parker with Annabelle Mcleod clinking glasses on a sleek lounge panel in golden sycamore, gossiping about inner-school drama. Parker wave at me to join them and I peck Orson on the cheek, telling him I'll catch up with him later as I weave past the barstools upholstered in whale foreskin. 

"Amory!" squeals Parker, "Oh my gosh, you're here!"

"Of course, wouldn't miss celebrating New Year's Eve without you girls!"

"You look so good," gasps Anabelle, admiring the new Gaultier I'm wearing. Anabelle is glowing in her pink sequined off-the-shoulder BCBG dress but I can't help noting it was last season's.

"Thank you! Gaultier sends his best but honestly Parker, what are you wearing?"

Parker sends me a knowing smile as she spins around and vogue-pose in her Balenciaga black cut-out dress. "I would tell you but if I did, I would have to kill you."

Anabelle's laughter rings out. A server brings over a tray of Laurent-Perrier champagne and canapés prepared, "Ma'am, can I top you up?" he asks, referring to my half-empty glass and I nod as I begin to scan over this serious-money crowd. It's not only the New York elite that's been invited to this New Year's Eve bender. I notice Laureen Liu, daughter of Liu Insurance, giggling with Phineas, looking radiant in a matte-gold jumpsuit with gold stiletto boots. Her wavy jet-black hair has been piled into a loose beehive and her lips colored a cherry wine-stained red, which contrasts against her milky white skin.

As my eyes scan the room to fully understand what kind of crowd is here, a sudden commotion occurs from the back of the auction room. Murmurs stir the crowd as the group of other private school kids begin to give way.

Even on the yacht's deck brimming with members of the Elite dressed to the nines, a hush roll over the space as a strikingly attractive girl with long glossy platinum hair, creamy alabaster skin, heart-shaped face, and cupid-bow lips, dramatically dressed in a black velvet off-the-shoulder gown, emerge from the crowd. Carrying a hot pink Hervé Chapelier tote bag, she slowly begins to walk up the central aisle with a fluffy baby Pomeranian on a long diamond leash following her tail as every head swivel toward the sensational sight.

"What's Georgina Carlton doing here?" Parker hiss at Annabelle, who blinks in confusion.

"Georgina!" cry out Laureen Liu in excitement with her carefully modulated British accent tinged with the staccato tones of a native Mandarin speaker. Laureen flings her arms around the tall, leggy blonde and the girls start to chatter in high-pitched voices.

My grip on my champagne glass gets sweaty at the sight of Georgina enchanting the room. Georgina Carlton is Orson's longest ex-girlfriend. Rumors of their relationship rage gossip blogs and Page 6 throughout the whole of 2012 and 2014. A fixture in the social pages, what with her noble Carlton lineage (yes Carlton as in Carlton Hotels and Resorts), her tropical-fruit-size jewels, and her ability to be at all the best parties- Chilterns and Loulou's in London; the Crow's Nest in Montauk; Paul's Baby Grand, etc. 

Georgina was known to be the only girl- besides me- who has ever said no to Orson. She used to attend Constance before famously flunking out of her A-Levels, thus making her parents ship her off to a preparatory college in London for revision courses. Everybody remembers the infamous story of how Orson Calloway- the cold son of the Calloway empire- cried at JFK when they bid each other goodbye. For the first forty days of her absence, Georgina was deluged daily with huge bouquets of red roses and satin chocolate boxes in the dining hall of a stuffy boarding school. 

The next year or so, Georgina and Orson were on and off with Orson splitting his time between Europe and New York. During her school days off, they were jet-setting with European royals and attending fashion shows at front-row. Their hotel suites would overflow with shopping bags and five-thousand-dollar room service bills; their entire relationship was a live, lovely, glamorous performance. 

With such a power couple dynamic, it was a surprise to everyone when they were seen having a screaming match at the St. Claire Hotel, where the annual December Black-and-White Ball was being held. Right in front of the girls in long, strappy Versace and Dolce & Gabbana dresses and boys in crisp black-and-white Tom Ford and Gucci tuxedos, a Youtube video had shown Georgina throwing a tray of champagne she grabbed from the waiter onto Orson's face. The next day, she jetted off to Switzerland and was photographed hanging off the arm of a Monaco prince.

I stare at her pecking Laureen on the cheek and sauntering towards Orson, who's still jaws open at this point. I turn to Parker and Anabelle with alarms in my eyes. "Back me up," I say in a whisper. Parker and Anabelle nod and follow me towards Georgina and Orson.

I catch wind of the conversation Georgina initiates with Orson, "How have you been?" she coyly asks, her voice all cat-like and sly while her eyes flick up innocently at him. My fist tightens, not from jealousy but from rage. She's ruining it. 

Before Orson can even answer, I interject by touching Orson's arm. The besotted expression on Orson's face quickly wipes out when he suddenly remembers I'm there. "Hi, I'm Amory. Orson's girlfriend," I introduce myself ever-so-kindly, shaping my pouty pink lips into a half-smile half-grimace.

"Oh, girlfriend?" While I'm tiny, Georgina is supermodel tall. She looks down at me, crinkling her tiny nose like she's smelling garbage left out on the curb. 

"Oh yeah," Orson says, grabbing my outstretched palm like an afterthought. I feel like I'm in middle school again, dumpy and lame.

Georgina's demeanor doesn't crack. She is unfazed and composed as she titters out, "Well, I can see some things never change. Like your obsession with blondes."

Orson laughs. He smiles, wide and beaming. He never smiles. Hurt stings me because I've never seen him smile like that before. Orson is perpetually smirking. 

Months of luring Orson in is ruined, just like that.

"So Georgina, what are you doing here?" Parker interrupts, coming in like the savior she is.

"Oh please, like I'll never miss the party of the year! And besides," Georgina's blue gaze flicker to me, and the upturn of her lips flick up, "how else will I announce I'm coming back to Kensington next semester?"

-

The next few days on Phineas's mega-yacht prove to be a new hell for me. Nothing went as planned. With Georgina announcing her introduction back into New York's high society, there's a switch in how Orson reacts to me. Before Georgina, he couldn't get enough for me. Now when he kisses me, he's less frantic, less wild, less hungry. Even when I grind against him and move my body across his hips in the bed he reserved for us, his hands are hesitant in roaming my body. Even though the haze of champagne and coke we binge on, Georgina managed to dwindle his lust for me. I can feel it from the lack of passion in the way he trails my neck and nibbles on my ear. I can feel it from how he stared longingly at Georgina at every party like he couldn't believe she came back.

When our bodies unwind and I settle down on the bed, Orson sighs and retreats into his space. I blanch at the fact he doesn't hold me afterward like he used to. I nestle myself away from him, turning to the side of the room and away from him. I stare at the wall, heart thudding and panic fluttering in my chest.

It's only a matter of time before he'll leave me for her. I need to figure out a way to get rid of Georgina. Quickly, too.

So I meet with Anabelle and Parker at the top deck, who are soaking in the rays of the Caribbean sun. Their bodies are slicked with tanning oil, showing off their new Missoni bikinis as servers in surf shorts bring them exotic cocktails in coconut shells.

"Amory, finally!" Parker lights a cigarette and blows smoke into the air above Anabelle's head.

"Campari and soda please," I instruct the waiter, who nods. I ignore the fact that he's staring open-mouthed at me. That's the effect I'm going for, after all. I'm wearing a bronze bikini that barely covered my size-two figure, along with five-inch wedges and full makeup, including bright coral lipstick. It's one of the things about being Elite. You start to learn that you can't go anywhere, not even to the beach, without spending an hour and a half getting ready.

"Top-up?" giggle Anabelle to Parker. Parker holds out her glass and Anabelle reaches for the bottle of Cristal sitting in its silver cooler in the middle of the small lounge table.

"How's Orson?" Parker asks me, a glimmer of concern washing over her pretty delicate face.

"Well, as expected. He's drooling all over Georgina again."

Anabelle rolls her eyes. "She's barely back and everyone on VieuxRiche is now so stoked they're 'back' together."

I say nothing as alarm bells sound off in my head.

I suddenly grasp the severity of the situation. With Georgina around, it's hard for me to keep hold of the Elite status I've fought so hard to get. Not only has she affected me, but Parker and Anabelle are starting to feel threatened with the original Queen of the Upper East Side coming back to claim her throne.

"Why do you think she's back all of the sudden? For Orson? I don't get it, she seemed pretty mad when she broke up with him." Anabelle sips her champagne. The waiter returns with my drink and a genius idea floats up to my mind.

"Don't you think her timing's just too convenient? Carmen's gone, the throne for Queen is up for debate, and all of a sudden, she's back."

Parker frowns. "Carmen got an eating disorder. It's been a problem for a while, there's no way she would have anything to do with that."

"Yes, but coming back exactly two weeks after Carmen's conveniently shipped off to a clinic? That's just too...weird. And Anabelle said it, the last time she spoke to Orson she threw champagne at him and now she's all draped over him like an accessory. Isn't that at least a little bit suspicious?"

"So what, you're saying she manipulated Carmen into an eating disorder?" Parker laughs with disbelief. "That's kind of...insane. Look, I'm not close with her but I know Georgina. It isn't her style. She doesn't do sabotage or schemes, she doesn't have to."

"And why not?"

"Because she's Georgina Carlton. She never has to climb her way to the top because she was born there, her whole family is American royalty. She doesn't get intimidated and she doesn't get shaken."

Anabelle crosses her arms. "Okay, so if she's not the type who gets scared, then what do we do about her?"

With Georgina coming back to the Upper East Side, the hierarchy of the Elite stands to be shaken up. Before she left for London, Georgina was the undisputed queen of Constance. When she left for London, there was a power vacuum which left Anabelle Mcleod as next in line. Now she's back, and back at Kensington no less, everybody feels like their chance for the spotlight is even less.

"Well, I think you both know what we have to do," I tell Parker and Anabelle, who nods at me. I fill them in about a brilliant idea of mine to get close to Georgina. After all, I'm Orson's girlfriend and it's expected of me to be at odds with her. She'll wait for me to be out to get her, to make sure she has a hard time. Why don't I do the unexpected, like be her friend? After all, I'm only Orson's girlfriend because I lost a bet. Technically, Orson shouldn't even mean anything to me.

Georgina isn't some ordinary new girl who'd be easy to get rid of. It settles a lump in my throat watching her make Orson laugh and fall for her little blonde head just like that, something I've been working on since the start of the school year.

And sure enough like an alarm, Orson sends me that text.

Can we talk this evening?

Parker sees the expression on my face. Immediately, she picks up on it. "What is it?"

I show her.

"Are you ready?"

I nod. "I have to go."

-

Later that night, I meet with Orson by the top deck. It overlooks the infinity pool outstretched across the main deck, glowing luminescent and neon blue against the darkening Bahamas sky. It's no surprise that Phineas managed to get a freaking infinity pool on his boat, completed with two hulking yellow waterslides snaking across the two upper decks. Loud thumping music blasts out of the speakers as DJ Snake begins to spin some music over a set that looks like something out of a music festival.

My gold lamé St. John mini-dress with mile-high stilettos proves to be the perfect outfit for tonight's shenanigans. And when I join Orson by the deck, away from all the noise and people, I can see it in his eyes. What's about to come.

"Ames," Orson says, grabbing my wrist.

I remove my grip from him. "What do you want?"

"I know...it wasn't ultimately your choice to be with me," Orson starts off, "And I know I said you got to be my girlfriend for a month, as part of the deal, but...what do you say about just ending it now?"

"Is it Georgina?" I make sure my tone isn't accusatory.

He rests his body over the railings of the deck. "Yeah, I- I'm sorry- it's just-"

"I get it. Honestly, Orson, it was never that deep. Just fulfilling my end of the bargain."

I feel a little bit self-satisfied when hurt splashes over his blue eyes but the rest of his face remains amicable. It's good to know I've gotten to the point where I do matter as something to Orson, that I make him feel something- even just a little bit. He no longer just sees me as a prize. But clearly, it's still not enough. I'm still not enough for him to completely forget about his ex.

"So...we're good?"

I sent him a soft little smile. Act cold, disinterested. Don't make yourself too available.

"We're good."

I let him hug me and lead me back down the party. As I tell Parker and Anabelle Orson and I are on the outs, I also tell them not to worry. This is all part of the plan.

Sure enough, I notice from the corner of my eyes Orson and Georgina dancing and kissing, whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. Georgina flutters her $400 eyelash extensions at Orson as she speaks, all dollike and dreamy. My stomach churns, dark and thick.

"Look at them," Parker mutters, "It's literally been an hour since you guys broke up."

"It's fine, that's what I wanted. She'll get what's coming to her and Kensington is yours," I remind Parker, clinking my glass with her.

I watch Georgina twirl and spin into his arms. As she's not looking, Orson's eyes meet mine and I immediately look away, pretending to seem focused on the conversation Parker and Anabelle are having. My mind is spinning. I'm pretending to lose to Georgina for now. What she thinks is a chess piece she had won is actually a game she's going to lose. Georgina begins as a threat but in this entangled web I've weaved for myself, she's now ammunition.

This couldn't have worked out better if I had written it myself.

-

and from now on, it's literally bout to be batshit insane y'all