CHAPTER THREE
[ 3 ]
song: what goes around / comes around by justin timberlake

"That's what I told her." Sammy continued. "Part of my art style translates to my clothes and she didn't care."

"And what'd she say?" Her mother asked.

"I told her that it was self-expression, and she said self-expression was for outside of school grounds." Sammy walks over to the small wooden kitchen table with the freshly-toasted bagel on her plate. "So, yeah. I'm stuck in this uniform."

"The pamphlet says personalization is encouraged." Her mother stands with her dirty dishes in hand, wrapping the soft pink robe around her.

"Yeah, for the trust-fund kids." Sammy responds sarcastically, taking a large bite. "You know, all of them would've been dress-coded at my old school—"

"Chew first." Her mother comments, gesturing to her daughter as she goes to pour another cup of coffee.

"Sorry." Sammy responds with her mouth full, covering her mouth as she chews and swallows. "—some of those skirts are so short I don't know how they walk around Manhattan without getting catcalled."

"They don't." Her mom says with a sigh. "Just give it time. Maybe you'll find someone that you really click with."

Sammy was taking out her resentment on the wrong things. The short skirts weren't the problem. It was the people wearing them. But her mom was so level-headed, it was hard to get in a good rant with her.

She wasn't looking for advice, she was just pissed off.

Rolling her eyes, she took another bite. "One of them— Daphne— it was like she was actively trying to get me sent to the hospital playing field hockey yesterday. Field hockey."

"They feel threatened." Her mom says.

"No, they're just assholes."

The door creaked open, and Sammy's older brother, Carson, poked his head into the kitchen. "Thin walls. Still asleep."

"Oh, sorry." Their mother put a finger to her mouth and spoke in a whisper. "We'll keep it down."

Sammy stood from the table. "I have to go anyways. Do you want to meet me after school?" She gestures to her brother. "I want to get hot dogs and walk through Central Park. I think then we'll start to feel like real New Yorkers."

Her brother didn't seem amused at all, keeping his blank, unpleasant scowl on his face as he stepped back and closed the door on her.

She gave her mother a knowing look, who frowned. "Give that time, too." She says.

Sammy shook her head, swinging her bag over her shoulders. "Is he gonna be mad at me forever?" She lets out a small scoff.

"No." Her mother shook her head. "Someday. A few years from now, when he's sobered up and healthy again, he'll thank you."

This didn't bring Sammy much comfort. "Right."

—

[ GOSSIP GIRL ]
SPOTTED!

Attention, Upper East Siders! I've got some scorching tea to spill. It seems our newest addition to Constance Billard, the Santa Monica native Sammy Cortéz, is next on my hit-list, as she's already causing quite the stir amongst our esteemed student body. From her daring fashion choices to her mysterious background, Sammy's every move is under my microscope. But is she really here to join our elite ranks, or is there something more sinister lurking beneath that polished exterior? Whether she's trying too hard or just playing us all, one thing's for certain: Sammy is shaking up the status quo, and Gossip Girl is anxiously awaiting baby's first scandal.
XOXO,
Gossip Girl

Sammy slammed her locker shut, sending an echo of startled gasps throughout the locker room. She pushed past a group of girls, who had their noses in their phones, reading up on the latest blast.

Steam flooded the room from the showers, as girls with their hair up in towels eyed Sammy as they walked past her, then erupted into their own fits of laughter.

She bee-lined it over to Daphne, who combed her hair up into a tight ponytail, already dressed in her white polo tee and red skirt.

"What the hell is this?" Sammy shouted, earning a few more onlookers. She held her phone out toward Daphne, who had her back to her.

Daphne barely spared her a glance in the mirror she was facing. "Your phone, I presume." She says, smoothing over a few flyaways.

"No, this." Sammy pries. "Gossip Girl. Someone took a picture of me and posted it."

Daphne got out a small laugh, turning around to face her. "And you think it's me?" She raises her eyebrows.

Sammy was dumbfounded. "Who else would it be?"

The blonde almost pitied her. "I'm the least of your worries. It's all of them—" she gestured to the onlookers in the locker room. "—the ones with nothing better to do—that you should worry about."

Daphne started to walk past her, picking up her field hockey stick, but Sammy took a step in her way.

Sammy smiled, almost as if she was in shock. "I know you think you're better than me—"

"No, no, I don't think anything." Daphne interrupts, her voice cool and sweet. "I am better than you."

Sammy was so taken aback by it all she couldn't even gather enough thoughts to continue her original statement. Daphne had already made her way outside before a single coherent thought popped back into her head.

Grabbing her own hockey stick, she followed the rest of the girls outside.

She was last to be picked for the teams, again. But it wasn't for a lack of skill. Sammy had never played field hockey before this week and still kept up with them all pretty well. But she was almost positive Daphne had scared the rest of the girls into not picking her. That, or maybe she was putting too much faith in these girls. Maybe they were just as elitist as Daphne.

She ran after the ball, trying to snake it from the opposing team. Bumping shoulders with them, stepping on a few toes.

There was a moment there that she actually had it, she'd taken it out from under their sticks and started pushing it in the opposite direction towards the other goal. She'd even heard a few cheers from her teammates on the sideline.

But there was a sudden thud to her side, a force so strong she couldn't comprehend how it came from a girl as small as Daphne. She'd shoved herself into Sammy and pushed her out of the way, and into the grass.

Sammy awaited the sound of the whistle, letting out a sharp exhale as she tried to let back in the air that was knocked from her. But Daphne carried the ball right back where Sammy had taken it from. "Is that even allowed?!" She shouted over the commotion to the coach.

It was an hour of this. An hour of playing like two, unsupervised men with egos bigger than themselves. Sammy wasn't going to lose. Especially not to Daphne.

She'd purposefully stuck her foot out, tripping Daphne and taking the ball from her.

The blonde let out a frustrated shriek, digging into the grass with her fingernails before standing back up. "Bitch!" She shouted.

Sammy, after she'd scored a goal, and was surrounded by the cheers and encouragement of her teammates, got in a good, satisfying smile towards Daphne as she got to her feet.

"Penalty, red team. Language." The coach yelled after blowing the whistle.

Daphne scowled, unhappily yanking her hockey stick back off the field.

But the five minutes of fame weren't worth what came next. In another face off between Sammy and Daphne, Sammy tried the same trick on the girl. Purposefully letting the ball go out of her reach, before sticking her foot out under Daphne's as she went to grab it.

And again, Daphne fell for it. But this time, she crashed to the ground, and cried.

No, not cried. Screamed.

The coach blew the whistle, and the game stopped. Everyone rushing over to her, everyone crouching down to see if she was okay.

"My leg! My leg!" Daphne cried out.

Sammy stepped back, panicking. The commotion consuming the middle of the field, their coach urging everyone to give Daphne some space.

"She did it on purpose!" Daphne yelled.

Now, all eyes were on Sammy. Even the coach's. She felt her heart plummet to her chest. Even if she could form words, there was nothing she could say that would make anyone believe her over Daphne.

"Cortéz, you're out. Locker room." The coach pointed in the direction of the school.

Sammy shook her head, eyes desperate. She glances down at Daphne, who clung onto her leg on the ground, yet somehow, through her tears, found time to send Sammy a proud smile.

Sammy stuttered over her words. "She's lying— are you— Coach, she's—"

"Locker room. Now." He insisted.

Daphne watched as Sammy threw her stick to the ground, and turned to storm off to the school. She laid her head back onto the grass, finding a bit of peace in another scholarship student out of her hair. That might've been her quickest work yet.

She was carried from the field on the shoulder of her coach, and another girl. Behind them was a trail of worried peers, all wishing Daphne a speedy recovery.

In the nurses office, she asked for a massage. Something to take her mind off the pain. And she got one, for an hour. It was either this, or Biology. And this was much more enjoyable. Yet nothing was as satisfying as seeing someone put back into their place.

The door to the office swung open, and Madeline rushed in. Daphne opened her eyes and leaned up on her elbows on the massage table. "Miss Van der Bilt." Daphne greeted gleefully.

Madeline shook her head. "I just checked my texts— what the hell happened?"

"I happened." Daphne snorted knowingly, she turned to the nurse who'd been working tirelessly on her back. "Could you give us a sec?"

Madeline gave the woman a soft smile as she passed her and went out the room.

"That new girl needed a good humbling." Daphne shrugged it off like it was no big deal, sitting up from the table and stretching.

"But she hurt you?" Madeline responded worriedly. "Right?"

She gave her a knowing look. "That's what she thinks."

"Daphne." Madeline dropped her face in her palms.

"Hey!" Daphne started defensively. "She wanted to play dirty. I just happen to play dirtier."

"She's gonna get expelled!" Madeline exclaimed. "I just got out of a meeting with Headmistress Burton!"

"Great." Daphne sighs happily as she gets to her feet and pulls her shoes back on. "One last stain on this school's reputation."

"Yeah, and one more on mine." Madeline says, concernedly. "Daphne, I'm her student ambassador. This goes on my track record, too."

She shrugged. "They know it's not your fault. Who cares?"

"I care." Madeline says. "This is too far. Way too far."

Daphne looks at her, a bored look in her eyes. "Since when does that matter to you?"

"Since I've decided to grow up!" Madeline scoffs, suddenly raising her voice a little.

Daphne was unfazed. Actually, she kept the same stoic expression on her face that made Madeline a little uneasy. "And your reputation matters more than mine?" Daphne asks.

She shakes her head. "This should not be your reputation." She was in shock.

"Well, it is." Daphne spoke sharply, as she took a step over to her. "And it used to be yours, too."

Madeline clenched her jaw, trying to appear as if Daphne's comments didn't get to her. "Please, I'm asking you. As my best friend please make this right. If not for Sammy then for me."

Daphne kept steady eye contact with the girl. Weighing her options. Her mother always told her to trust her gut. And right now it was feeling just the tiniest bit guilty. It hadn't, until Madeline was pulled into the equation, but that was reason enough. "Fine." Daphne spoke. "I'll talk to Burton. But you owe me."

Madeline huffed out a big sigh of relief. "I love you." She beamed.

Daphne had already stepped past her with a roll of her eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

—

"Gossip Girl posted again." Owen spoke as he walked alongside Sebastian through the halls of St. Jude

"Who's that again?" He asked casually, turning to exit with him.

"This." He spoke, handing him his phone. "That gossip account, I don't know."

"I thought we blocked that?" Sebastian said, before clicking on a photo. "Is that Madeline?"

He zooms in on a photo of her. She wore big grey sweatpants, and a black hoodie, stepping out of some random apartment building, shielding her face from the rain.

[ GOSSIP GIRL ]
SPOTTED!
In the dead of night, amidst the city's recent downpour, our darling Madeline was spotted in a most compromising state- clad in sweats, hastily leaving the confines of one mysterious apartment. Is it the smoldering embers of a secret romance, or perhaps the beginnings of a scandalous affair? Only time will tell. Keep your eyes peeled, dear readers, for this tale is just beginning to unfold.
XOXO,
Gossip Girl

"When was this?" Sebastian asked Owen.

He took his phone back from him, shaking his head. "Not the point. This could be a lot worse than we're thinking."

Sebastian took a seat at their respective table outside the school. He sat up at the top and leaned back on his hands, inhaling a deep breath. "You worry too much."

Owen shakes his head, almost offended. "I looked it up. This Gossip Girl thing used to harass Constance Billard students back in like 2007."

"Oh, so they're a millennial that's obsessed with high schoolers? Yikes." Sebastian yawned, unbothered.

"No, no." Owen says. "I think it's a current student. Someone taking the alias and making it their own."

"Okay so... another student who's obsessed with us." Sebastian leans up, looking at Owen through the top of his sunglasses. "Add them to the long list. You—" He grabs Owen's blazer sleeve and pulls him over to the table. "Need to chill the fuck out for a minute, at least."

Owen almost stumbles beside him, feeling Sebastian's grip on his shoulders, and the way he dug his knuckles into the top of Owen's head, scratching it. "I am chill." Owen said, laughing softly as he swatted Sebastian's hands away.

"Sabrina!" Sebastian greeted her excitedly.

Owen didn't like the isolation that came from Sebastian removing his arm from around his shoulders.

"Daphne almost got that new girl suspended." She exclaimed through small laughs.

"I heard." Sebastian responded, urging Sabrina to take a seat beside him. "Our Daphne. Always making us proud."

"She could've lost her scholarship." Owen says, not finding as much amusement in this as the others. "I talked to her yesterday, and she's actually pretty cool—" He turned to speak to them, but stopped when Sabrina and Sebastian were in the midst of taking a picture together.

"I'll see you guys Monday." Owen says, standing up and readjusting the grip on his motorcycle helmet before he left.

Madeline waited at the edge of the school, at the bottom of the steps, talking to Anthony. "...Yes, I'll text everyone. I think we deserve it."

"Drinks on me." Anthony responds.

"They're always on you. Your dad owns it." Madeline laughs, already typing the text.

"Yeah, but—" Anthony starts, then stops. "Yo, O— where you going?"

Madeline looks up from her phone, seeing Owen already on his way onto the streets, keys in hand. They usually all wait for one another at the entrance of the school. An extra ten minutes at the end of a school day to recap and regroup.

"Uh, home." He says, scratching his eyebrows. "I'll see you."

"Bye?" Anthony turns, watching Owen quickly walk off down the street. He turns back to Madeline and gives her a weird look. "Okay?"

She shrugs it off. "Okay, Bemelmans, eight o'clock—"

"That was humiliating." Now Daphne had suddenly appeared around the corner, crossing her arms.

"What kinda homework do you even fit in that thing?" Anthony asks confusedly, gesturing to the tiny Bottega Veneta bag on her arm.

"Homework is for people who aren't smart enough to get it done in class." Daphne responds to Anthony with a forced smile, before turning back to Madeline and deadpanning. "Walk. Now. Please."

Madeline gives Anthony another nod. "Eight o'clock."

"Eight o'clock." He responds.

Daphne links her arm with Madeline's, pulling her in the other direction and beginning to walk down the street. "I told Headmistress Burton that my injury wasn't that bad and that I was fine. And then she asked how it happened, and then I said that I tripped and—" Daphne spoke quickly, but stopped, like she was disgusted with the next words that were approaching. "—that it wasn't Sammy's fault."

Madeline nodded encouragingly. "See? And you're still here to tell the tale."

"Yeah, with a few bullet wounds to my pride?!" Daphne flailed her arms out. "You know she came up to me afterwards and thanked me? I mean— how rude can you be?"

Madeline laughed. "Your perspective on life is truly admirable."

Daphne got out a loud groan, squirming along with it, like she was shaking out the leftover shame from it all. "Anyways," she started. "Any update? Has he texted you?"

Madeline shook her head, eyes wide like even she was shocked by it. "Nope. Nothing." She said with a scoff. "All he has to do is ask Ruby to ask Owen for my number. That's it. I don't need some grand gesture."

"If he wanted to he would." Daphne nodded along.

"Exactly." Madeline huffed. "I don't know. I'm just bummed. I think I got myself all excited because just for an hour I felt—" she searched for the right words. "Normal?"

Daphne gave her an almost disgust. "You want that?"

"I want to feel like I'm not some— some perfect, politicians daughter, who's being viewed under a microscope twenty four seven and not allowed to make mistakes?!"

"And the... broke guitarist from Brooklyn made you feel that way? The one that gave you gas station food as a parting gift?"

"That was a joke— it was... it was sweet. I don't know. Yes? Is that insane? I don't even know him."

"Yes, it's insane." Daphne nodded. "But that doesn't make your feelings any less valid."

Madeline huffed. "Doesn't matter now, I guess."

The blonde stopped on the street, and turned to her friend, speaking sincerely. "Who needs men when you can waltz into any store on Fifth Avenue and buy yourself everything you want?"

Somehow, this lifted her spirits. "Once again your perspective is just so... Daphne."

She smiled. "Early dinner at Perrine?"

Madeline nodded. "Sure."