"Doesn't anyone here live an original life?

What did you surrender to be on the inside?"

Mitchel Musso The in crowd

0 2

Alia

My brother, Alim could not bear to live under the same roof as my father. They were at each other's throats first thing in the morning, searching for reasons to call the other out. It's a defence mechanism they're both exploiting till the bitter end of the day. I have never really cared for their fights. They're silly and meaningless in my opinion, and I know that Alim and my father have an ineffable love for each other. 

So, like every other beginning of the day, I'm sitting in our luxurious kitchen whilst Alim and Benjamin shout each other's heads off. I'm not certain what it's about this morning; but I'm sure it's pointless. Impatiently, I drum my freshly-manicured nails on the sleek marble table, my chin resting in the palm of my other hand.

"You can't just do that, Alim! It's irresponsible!" Dad yells, frustratingly throwing his hands up the air. His hair is styled backwards fashionably and he's wearing an expensive looking suit, one I recognize as Armani.

My brother, looking equally vexed, scoffed visibly. "Irresponsible? Why do I have a trust fund if I'm not allowed to spend the money on it?"

"You can spend money all you want, Alim, but all those damned cars don't even fit in your garage anymore. It has to stop."

"For fuck's sake." Alim puffs out a deep breath, running a hand through his raven hair. It's already wildly peeking, looking excessively dishevelled. Which, really, isn't surprising since my brother likes to run his hand through his hair as if it's a marathon. "Why can she spend all of the money on her trust fund on shoes, then?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Keep me out of this." I snap irritably, mildly surprised by Alim's accusation. It's true that I like to spend my money on shoes, but it was unnecessary to bring me into the argument. He knows I don't want anything to do with it. Hell, Alim and I are as close as siblings possibly can be, I'm not just assuming that he knows these things about me.

"She doesn't have an own apartment to take care of. She isn't in her final year of college. She has no responsibilities. She is just buying shoes. You are buying cars." Dad furrows his brows, glancing at me before going back to riveting Alim. I groan inwardly.

Can they hurry up? I have school, and it'd be nice if I didn't have to spend my first day in detention.

Alim's mouth gapes. "Just shoes? Are you kidding me? Two pairs of her heels cost as much as one of my cars!"

Alim is a beautiful man. His hair is charcoal black, obviously inherited from our mother, and he has soft, silvery eyes, which come from dad. His features are sharp and edgy, and he has a thick remainder somewhere in his face that he's from the middle-east. I guess I'm similar to him, though I believe that he looks a tad more Arabic than I do. Besides, he pulls it off much better.

Our mother was the most elegant persona I'd ever been fortunate to meet. She had the same, charcoal hair and the sharp, Arabic edges I've learned to love so much. She was the epitome of exotic, with hazel eyes and a voice that could soothe almost about anything and everything. She was Bahraini, which means that Alim and I are both half-Bahraini.

She met dad during a vacation she'd taken to Miami. Call it faith, but the two hit it off instantly and by the day it was time for her to return home, my father begged her to stay.

She stayed. They fell in love. They got married. They got Alim, and four years later, they got me. My parents were hopelessly in love, stuck in the honeymoon-stage for the rest of their marriage, and in my mom's case—the rest of her life.

I frowned at the direction my thoughts had taken, immediately shrugging them off. Today was the first day of my senior year, and the first day of me being a student at Dalton Preparatory High School. Dad transferred me to ensure my academic future is... well, ensured. That's a load of crap, of course, because my old high school was fine and I doubt Dalton Prep is better. The school may be more expensive, more excessive and more for Manhattan's elite, but I still call bull.

It's not that I'm too bothered by this. My old high school is five minutes walking distance from Dalton Prep, and everyone lives close enough for me to pop by for a visit will I desire it. On top of that, my best friend Gigi Henderson goes to Dalton Prep, which means that one, I'll have someone, and two, it's my best friend.

My heart flips. It's been a dream of both Gigi and I to go to the same high school, and now it's finally happening. Nothing will ruin senior year, not with Gigi by my side.

"Guys." I murmur absentmindedly, "Are you done? Alim is supposed to drop me off and I really don't want to be late for my first day."

The shouting momentarily stops. Both men look at me, realization crossing their faces. That's right, the other person in this house would like to get moving!

"We'll finish this later." Dad decides with a wry smile. Alim shakes his head in disapproval, turning on his heels before ambling out of the kitchen. Few seconds later, the door slams and a faint echo bounces against the walls.

Dad sighs deeply, his smile dropping.

"I'll see you later, dad." I say, making my way over to him. For a moment I wince at the sound of my heels clacking against the floor, considering they were talking about my shoes just a short while ago, but my dad doesn't say a word.

"Have a good day, kiddo." He says, kissing my forehead. My lips curl into a satisfied simper. Call me a daddy's girl, but I love my father and I love it when he coddles me. "I will, dad!" I briefly peck his cheek before grabbing the dark Kate Spade bag on the counter and then rush over to the door, waving my hand after me.

Outside, I've come to face a smooth, polished BMW, with my brother's hulky body leaned against it. He had been staring at the sky before he heard me approaching, his eyes falling to meet mine.

"Sorry for inside." He quickly mutters. I shrug, smiling. "It's okay. Your arguments were so weak you had to drag me into your pointless fights."

Alim laughs wholeheartedly. "Bitch."

"Asshole."

We both step into the car, lightly chattering about his new car and my expectations for Dalton Prep. My brother and I rarely differ in our opinions, which can be great at times.

"Are you nervous?" He asks, carefully starting the car.

Am I nervous? I don't know. I don't think so, at least. Whether the students of Dalton Prep will like me or not; I don't need them. I have Gigi, I have Alim and I have dad, and those are the only people I need in my life. Hopefully it won't come to that and I'll just make a bunch of new friends. After all, I want to enjoy my senior year.

However, the rapid thumping in my chest indicates different. But I keep that to myself.

Perhaps I am nervous. Who cares?

I mean, I care. But that's not the point.

Oh, God. I'm very nervous.

My hands feel clammy as I readjust the mandatory tie around my neck. Just like most schools in the Upper East Side, Dalton Prep has an uniform they take very seriously. I'm not a fan of the outfit—especially the ridiculously little skirt—but I guess it'll do. Plus, we're allowed to wear our own shoes.

Hence the pair of Louboutins hugging my feet.

"A bit." I honestly answer. "I'm just wondering how everyone's going to be, you know? I'm pretty sure they're worse than people at my old school. The richer, the worse." Myself and my family counted out. We may be rich, but we're nice.

Although I say this myself.

Alim nods, the engine revving. "That's true. I hate rich people."

"We are rich."

"Yeah, but like, those obvious rich people, you know?"

"We live in the Upper East Side. You have seven cars. I have two hundred pairs of shoes. We go to the most posh school in the entire state. I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Alim, but we're one of those obvious rich people." A snicker rumbles out of my throat as I playfully nudge his shoulder. He seems annoyed by my answer but doesn't attack me for it.

"You know what I mean." He just grumbles.

And as a matter of fact, I do.

Dalton Prep is an overstated school. The building is big and complex, with a matching colour scheme of whites and browns. It's intimidating to whoever's passing, indicating that this is not only a paramount building, but also not approachable to those that are less. It has the entire package; from stringent teachers to a lunchroom that queries a whopping twenty dollars for a limp salad.

I, for one, am intimidated. The place is swarmed with students wearing the similar uniform I'm wearing, but it's evident that I don't belong with them. If I did, I would've joined one of the many groups by now, instead of standing on the sidelines with my mysterious-looking brother.

The one that refused to leave my side until Gigi showed up.

"Look, I'm serious, you can go now." I hiss in annoyance. "I'm a big girl, I'll survive."

"You can be a big girl with Gigi by your side, too." Alim counters without even looking at me. I groan loudly. "Alim!"

He clacks his tongue. "What? Can't I wait with my little sister? Maybe I'm curious!"

I snort, my eyebrows raising. "I swear to God, Alim, I will kick you in the throat."

"That's violent, sis. Never took you as the fighting type."

My eyes shut in utmost irritability, feverishly hoping Gigi will show up soon. I don't know what Alim's exact issue is, but I'm done with it. People are already staring at me as it is, I don't need my stupid brother to accompany me every step of the way. He's taken me to school and finished his job. He can go home now.

"Don't you have a dorm to get to?" I snap, my eyes fluttering open again. Alim shakes his head, a strand of hair flapping along. "Colleges start next week. I can't wait to finally go back to Columbia, shit."

And like an angel disguised in a hideous school uniform, Gigi emerges from the masses of people, a smile so wide on her face it could light up the whole entire world.

Her golden hair bounces giddily around her head as she hastily makes her way over to us. I feel like my chest is about to explode in excitement, a shrill shriek emitting my lips. Gigi imitates the sound by letting out a squeal, pulling me into a tight hug. "Oh my God, Alia! I can't believe you're now a Dalton student! Is this real life? Someone pinch me!"

Regardless of how dramatic this must look to outsiders, I still laugh sincerely. As said before, we'd always dreamed of going to the same school.

Acutely, she let me go, her brows furrowed together in confusion. "I was kidding, you didn't have to actually pinch me, you know."

Alim snickers. "Oh. Sorry."

I roll my eyes at my brother's immaturity, though it seems that Gigi isn't all that annoyed by it. Somehow he's got every girl wound around his stupid finger, my best friend included. I don't know how he does it but they all lie by his feet in heaps, kissing his toes, licking his toes, wanting to do anything for him.

"That's okay." She says, a small smile curling her lips. Alim's lips twitch before sending her a dazzling, eye-blinding grin. I gag. "God, stop it."

Alim breaks out in fits of laughter, an arm wrapping around my shoulders. "You're so jealous your best friend likes me better. I can't help it, Al. It's a part of my charm."

Irritably, I narrow my eyes at him. "Go home, idiot. Don't you have some woman to get to or something?" There usually is a woman, whether she is his serious girlfriend or just a quickie. He loves female attention, especially because it comes quite easily to him.

He looks like he's pondering. "Actually, there is." And then, he slapped a quick kiss against my cheek, squeezed Gigi's shoulder and turned around before calling, "Have a good first day! Call me if you need anything—both of you!" We watched him disappear into his silken car, speeding forward. Only then did we acknowledge the other again, our smiles wide and sincere.

"You're here." Gigi said, her eyes twinkling. I nodded, "I'm here."

Gigi—Georgia, but nobody calls her that—is probably the most beautiful person I know. Her hair is ashy blonde, cascading mid-back, her eyes are fiercely blue and she has the tallest, most slender body I've ever seen. She's a true ballerina and practices nearly every day out of school. She's been doing it since she was five, so saying she's gifted is an understatement.

She hooks her arm through mine, pulling me to start walking. "You'll love it here," she said, "It's the perfect place to graduate from."

I chortle shortly, raising my brows. "Is it?"

"Yes."

School grounds were swarming with students. Girls pranced around in their little skirts, and guys stood by the sides, taking satisfaction in watching the girls. We made our way through the school, a conversation being tossed to the other as we blatantly ignored our surroundings. I didn't really take in everything until Gigi halted and showed me my locker.

The school had extraordinary lockers, high ceilings and expensive-looking floors all around. The echo's of heels clacking against the tiles floated through the air, together with squealing and laughing. It was the first day after the big summer break and multiple students were hugging whilst others were in deep conversations. I guess that with the big gap in between there must be tons of gossip to thrive on.

It was obvious the students of this school were rolling in it. The girls styled their simple (but tiny!) outfits with Alexander Wang boots and Sergio Rossi heels, and the guys wore Louis Moinet watches and Tom Ford glasses. I could swear that I saw a guy whipping out his Brequet pocket watch. Posh as it was, it was utmost clear that Dalton Prep was only for the finest; the richest; the snobbiest.

Then again, most of the Upper East Side is. In fact—most of Manhattan is. It's sickly fixated on money, scandals and reputations. Being a socialite here stands higher than actually achieving something on your own. And sadly, I am a part of this community.

Of course it has its upsides, like not being waitlisted.

I inwardly scold myself. I'm a sucker for anything fashion-related and unfortunately I turn into a complete diva once it's brought up. I can't help it. I love clothes.

After I finished emptying my books in my locker, Gigi looks at me with big, expectant eyes. "Are you ready for your first Dalton Prep class, ever?"

The bell chimes throughout the building. I snicker, looking at her. "Your timing is perfect. Yeah, let's go."

She squeals. "Of course it is. I'm a ballerina. My timing has to be perfect."

There weren't many new students. Other than the annual new load of freshmen, barely anyone got transferred into one of the higher grades, which resulted into hushed whispering and secretive pointing at me wherever I walked. Gigi often got pulled aside so they could ask her how the hell she knew me, the new girl. Nevertheless, I'm used to this. Manhattan's elite may be well-off and snobby, but its originality isn't too broad. New people—especially in high school, where everyone is still immature—get treated like unique, unknown animals until their level in the school's popularity rank becomes clear. I, for example, now have the chance of either ending up on top, or at the bottom.

Luckily, I don't care. I just want to hang out with Gigi.

We met up again after the first set of classes. She was exhilarated, gushingly asking me about my opinion on her beloved school, the teachers, the students, the building...

"And you'll have to admit," Gigi muttered as we plopped down on the grass outside, "The guys are freaking hot."

I would be lying if I said they weren't. "That's very, very true." I mumble, a smirk gracing my lips.

My fingers graze through the plucks of grass, excitedly chattering with Gigi about everything I'd seen so far. The sun stood high and scorching, blazing her beams upon us even more than she'd done during the summer. I was silently grateful for the short skirt because I wouldn't have been able to handle wearing jeans.

Because it was lunch break, many other students gathered on the field or on the benches. It was too hot outside to stay inside, so I now had to deal with the pointing and the staring too.

"Man," I mumble, partially annoyed, "It's like they've never seen anyone outside the school. Honestly, Gi, do you see those girls staring at me? Do I have 'Look at me, gossip about me!' plastered on my forehead? This shit is ridiculous."

Gigi nods distractedly, not even facing me. I raise my brows, following her gaze.

She's staring at a group of guys, their heads lolling backwards in laughter as a boosting rumble of husky voices erupts. They've just walked out of the school and seem to be heading towards the field, just like most students had. Regardless, they don't look like most students. It's like they're captured in a lovely bubble where only they can come, like the outside world doesn't matter to them.

They're cute. I think. They're too far away for me to have an opinion.

It seems that Gigi realizes they're walking over here too, because her head snaps back and she eyes me startled, a faint blush rushing up her cheeks. I laugh, "They're cute, huh?"

She shrugs like she wasn't flat out staring seconds ago. "They're fine."

"Oh come on," I reason, "They're cute, admit it!" They're closer now, and I look again. I notice that I'm not the only one—everyone is looking at them. The girls are swooning, and the guys just look in longing.

"Yeah, they're cute." Gigi admits.

"Everyone is staring at them. Doesn't it bother them?"

She shrugged, carefully peering at them again. "They don't really care about anything other than...each other."

That's surprisingly refreshing. A group of guys being not interested in the gawking girls and the undivided attention? That's new, especially in a school like this one. "That's cool."

And then I add, "Gigi, they're coming over here."

"I know."

"I mean like, here here."

"I know."

"Where we are sitting. On the grass. In our miniskirts."

"I kind of know them." She murmurs, her cheeks reddening even more. My mouth gapes as I punch her side with wide eyes. "And you didn't think of ever mentioning it to me? All those times I was in desperate need of male lovin', you never told me about this group of sexy guys you know!"

Gigi put a finger to her lips, desperately trying to shush me. "Shut up, shut up!" she hissed, while I continued to rant and hit her as much as I can. "You. Can't. Hide. Hot. Guys. From. Me!" I snap in between every jab, as she dramatically tries to shield herself from me.

"What hot guys is she hiding from you?"

The voice was low, gruff and extremely male. It then downed on me that the guys had made their way over the field to us, and that they'd heard part of our stupid, childish argument. We both promptly stopped, watching in surprise as they lowered themselves on the grass and sat down. All four of them.

And damn, were they a sight.

The guy on the furthest left was slim and tall—and slim. Slender fingers, a static neck, beautiful, dark brown eyes, pointy nose, choppy, short hair, an expression that appeared awfully disinterested... His eyes were slightly red and I could see the outlines of tattoos underneath his white blouse as he crossed his arms, his gaze intensely fixated on Gigi.

The boy sitting next to him was quite the opposite. He was tall, too, but wide. Muscular. Sinewy veins ran up his firm, round arms. His blouse seemed too tight around his biceps and his six pack, and the khaki pants surrounded his athletic thighs and sharp calves vigorously. His face, however, did not match his powerful body. It was soft, with light blue eyes and a timid smile curling his lips.

On the far right sat another guy, who has got to be the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Beautiful, because 'hot' simply won't do. He's...perfect. Brown, tousled curls, soft features but deep, electric green eyes, rounded, plump lips and the cockiest smirk I've ever seen. He almost looked angelic—but then again, he appeared like he knew this.

And then, in between the muscled guy and the beautiful one, sits a guy with cheekbones and a jaw carved by the Gods, swollen lips, an admirable body with slim hips, a narrow waist and broad shoulders, piercing brown eyes... and dimples. Oh God, those dimples. That smile.

Sitting before me, shock evident in his face, is Adrian Lancaster.

Shit.

"Adrian?" I exclaim in surprise, the very moment he said, "Alia?"

And then Gigi shouts, "He's elevator boy?" when the angelic dude cries, "She's the elevator girl?"

The British accent doesn't go unnoticed, but for now, I'm too stunned by Adrian's sudden appearance to swoon about the angelic guy's accent.

The muscled boy clears his throat awkwardly, "Oh, wow. You even gave each other the same nickname. This is awkward."

The corners of Adrian's eyes crinkle as he smirks widely, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You told Gigi about our little adventure in the elevator?"

I narrow my eyes. "You told...three guys about having sex with me? Jesus, Adrian!"

"Hey, we're best friends! I'd be a bad one if I hadn't told them. Besides, the sex was memorable. I had to tell them."

"Okay! Well," I snap, discarding his comment about our memorable sex. I know it was memorable. I was there. "Gigi is my best friend too! I had to tell her, we always tell these kind of things to each other."

The silent boy, the one that hadn't spoken a word so far, scoffed softly, shaking his head.

Adrian glanced at him before glancing at me again, looking at me as if to say 'what do you want me to do?'. I groan but shake my head, "Whatever. Everyone knows now anyway, nothing we can do to change it."

He just laughed—that wholehearted, rich laugh I really, really liked—and shrugged, calmly leaning back against his arms.

"So, your name is Alia?"

The British accent again. Angelic boy. I leered at him and nodded, unable to stop myself from staring at him. "That's a beautiful name. I'm Etienne." He harmoniously introduced himself, sticking out his hand. I shook it, smiling at him friendly. "Etienne. That's an unusual name."

"It's French." He explained.

God. Not only is he unbearably mesmerizing, he has a foreign name too.

Muscled boy was the next to introduce himself, sending me a sheepish smile. "I'm Nathaniel, but everyone just calls me Nate. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Nate." And it really was. Never in a million years had I expected to meet a shy, careful jock.

I half expected the third guy to introduce himself too, but he kept quiet and looked at me defiantly, as if he wanted me to dare to ask him. So, I didn't and just went back to eyeing Adrian, whilst the silent guy went back to intensely fixating his stare on Gigi.

Gigi seemed to avoid his gaze and wrapped her arm around my shoulders, viewing the guys. "Guys, this is my best friend Alia. Al, these are the guys I hang with at school."

"Oh, so we're the hot guys she's hiding from you?" Adrian queried, his dimples deepening. I rolled my eyes, "Get off your high horse, Adrian."

"Why, Shorty?"

I groaned, loud and dramatically, covering my face with my hands. "You have got to be kidding me."

"No can do, Shorty."

All the guys laughed, even the silent one. "You're new here?" Etienne asked, still sniffing. I nodded, smiling at him sardonically. "Yes, and don't even think about calling me New Girl."

They laughed again. There was something satisfying about the simultaneous laughter of guys, especially when they all had such deep and husky voices. "Well," Etienne proceeded, "As Georgia's best friend, I think we should celebrate you transferring here, yes?"

I raised my brows, though I would be lying if I said I didn't like the attention. "Yeah? And how do you suppose we do that?"

"We could meet up at my place after school." Etienne shrugged, a full shrug only foreigners were experts at. "Booze and snacks are all on me, all you have to do is show up."

"Whoa, you go in for the kill."

"Someone has to make you feel welcome."

"That's my job!" Gigi chimed, tightening her arm around me. The guys snickered again, and Etienne dismissively waved a hand. "I'm trying to impress your best friend here, Georgia, can't you see?"

I couldn't stifle the snort coming out of my mouth.

Etienne looked at me, his brows raising. "Is it working?"

Some determination this guy had. However, my eyes kept darting to Adrian, seeing he had completely silenced down. "I'm impressed," I decided to say when Adrian shrugged at me again, as if he wasn't interested in the conversation me and his best friend were having.

Etienne smiled contently, his green orbs flashing in confidence. "So you're coming?"

Gigi beat me to it. "We are coming, indeed."

Again, the guys erupted into laughter.

"Splendid. Nathaniel? Adrian? Tyler?"

"I'm in." Adrian spoke firmly, his eyes on me. I didn't understand the gaze he was looking at me with, but I definitely wasn't going to break eye contact first.

"I would, but I can't." Nate said, an apologetic expression crossing his face. "I have the first practice of the year, and I need to be fit for tomorrow's line-up. I can't be hungover and grumpy, besides, I have to study." And although I really wanted to question him about this, because who the hell has anything to study on the first day of school, the others seemed used to this and brushed it off.

"Bummer. Tyler?" Etienne queried, craning his neck to look at his perilous-looking best friend. Apparently the quiet guy is named Tyler.

"Don't know." Tyler said with a simple shrug of the shoulders. His voice was throatier and more guttural than I had expected, and it all just added up to his mysterious appearance.

"Oh, come on." Etienne coaxed, "Georgia is going to be there. You wouldn't miss that for the world."

I felt Gigi shift beside me, her cheeks and neck instantly turning red again. Was Tyler interested in Gigi? Was that the reason he had been looking at her so intently?

Was that the reason Gigi avoided his gaze as much as possible, because she had a boyfriend?

Ben, the guy she met at ballet practice, is a sharp, witted and talented guy, who's been her boyfriend for nearly seven months. Though Gigi claims to be happy with him, I doubt it. He's judgemental and boring, and I don't understand what her attraction to him is, other than that they were interested in the same sport.

"I wouldn't." Tyler simply said, not cowering away from the accusation.

Damn, Gigi. Mysterious, straight to the point, and hot as hell too. What was she waiting for? If I were her, I would've dumped Ben a long time ago.

Gigi let out an awkward giggle, one I recognized as her being uncomfortable.

"In fact, now that we're speaking," Tyler sharply spoke, straightening his back, "how is the boyfriend? You're still dating that asshole?"

"Amen." I whisper. Tyler had heard. His eyes flicked to mine briefly, his lips twitching, giving me the faintest smile, before going back to riveting Gigi. I was satisfied that he finally acknowledged me, because apparently he didn't do that a lot. Acknowledging things.

My eyes dart to Adrian's again, who had already been watching me.

You're awfully silent, I mouth. The corner of his lips tugs up, one dimple appearing. You mind? He mouths back. I shrug. Tyler is in love with Gigi, he then mouthed, jerking his head in their direction. I immediately go back to paying attention to their little conversation.

"Yeah, we're still dating." Gigi said. Tyler clenched his jaw, averting his gaze from her. "Shame."

"Yeah, that's totally bollocks, but are you coming tonight or what?" Etienne exclaimed. Nate laughed, "Aw man, stop hitting on Georgie. She's not available." His arm was around Tyler's shoulders, but Tyler didn't seem like he was in the mood.

"It's Gigi. I don't call you Nathaniel, right?" Gigi snapped in annoyance. I wonder why she hadn't gotten annoyed when Etienne said her formal name, and then made a mental note to ask her about it. Nate nodded, "Totally true. Sorry, beautiful."

Tyler snorted.

"Sorry, Tyler. I know she's yours."

Adrian laughed, his fist boxing Nate's. "Man, Tyler, you're fucking whipped."

Tyler rolled his eyes and shrugged again. He didn't seem too bothered by his best friend's mocking of the situation. Etienne ran a hand through his perfect curls, "Alright, we get it. Tyler thinks Georgia's the bee's knees. Are you coming tonight or are you leaving Georgia and Alia alone with Adrian and I?" His eyes glinted meaningfully.

Tyler made up his mind quickly. "No," he hurriedly mumbled, "I'm coming. I'm not leaving her with you and Adrian."

This got another set of laughs out of the guys, and this time, I laughed too. It was remarkably obvious that Tyler was a bit protective of Gigi, a tad attracted to her too, and I wonder what all that's about.

I turned my head to look at Gigi, and then caught her staring at Tyler in adoration.

Tonight will be eventful, I suppose.