The cold morning air seared through the sheer black fabric of my tights, almost making me regret my decision to wear a suede skirt in January. Dressing up for the first day of term was an unspoken tradition at Cannondale, rooted in flaunting wealth and cementing social standing. I wasn't bold enough to defect from the status quo.

"If you walk any faster you're going to wipe out," Kelsey called through chattering teeth, a few paces behind me as we neared the dining hall at the heart of Cannondale's campus. "There's black ice everywhere."

"Dr. Martens have great traction," I said, dismissing her concern with a flick of my wrist. "Thought you would've known that since you wear yours practically every day of the year."

Appearing at my side, Kelsey rolled her eyes amicably. "Just know when you're down on your ass, I won't help you up."

"Wow, I'm so lucky to have a friend like you," I scoffed and curled my hands up into the sleeves of my black puffer jacket as a gust of icy wind pushed against our backs. With strands of my brown hair slicing up my vision, I threw open the heavy oak door to the dining hall and held it open for Kelsey.

Soft classical music floated from the speakers in the lobby that hosted smartly dressed students, and a draft of warm air carried the smell of maple syrup and toasted bread. We crossed under the massive skylight, the sunlight enhancing the warmer tones of the wood paneling on the walls. Despite its recent renovation, the dining hall was the oldest building at Cannondale. It showcased the prominent hallmarks of Gothic architecture with its ribbed vault ceiling and stained glass windows in the formal dining room.

When we joined the line to check-in, a couple of eyes conspicuously darted in our direction. This was predictable yet amusing.

"It's my bell-bottom corduroys, isn't it?" Kelsey asked in a stage whisper, smoothing her hands over the midnight blue fabric of her pants. "God, I love being a fashion icon."

"I'd say it's a mix of that and wondering where their beloved Macallan is," I answered with a wry smile.

Kelsey hummed in agreement, her gaze drifting around the lobby as though she half-expected Macallan to materialize. She'd departed Roosevelt Hall ten minutes before us to perform her duty as a glorified tour guide, but promised to meet us here. No matter how tired the three of us were, we always arrived at the dining hall before 7:30 AM. That allowed us a full thirty minutes to have breakfast before heading off to our first-period class starting at 8:20 AM. We never wanted to risk being tardy as tardiness equaled a Saturday morning detention. There were very few exceptions to that rule.

Once we swiped our student-ID cards at the check-in stand, we parted ways to acquire our breakfasts. Maneuvering through the throngs of students, I flashed an occasional smile at teammates and other familiar faces in my orbit. I wasn't aware I was searching for Trip until I spotted him across the dining room.

Sunlight shone through the high stained glass windows, casting soft colorful hues across the table at which Trip sat alongside Grayson and a few other senior athletes. He was leaning back in his seat, a casual smile on his face and a mug of what I knew to be black coffee in his hand. Even though the noise from the dining hall drowned out their conversation, I could tell that the other boys at the table hung onto Trip's every word when he spoke. They might have been seated at a circular table, but Trip was the center of attention.

Never being one to stare, I turned away and wished that his smile would quit lingering in my mind like the afterimage of a camera flash.

When I met Kelsey back at our usual corner booth, I set my bowl of oatmeal down on the wood table and slid into the bench across from her.

Kelsey leaned her head against the back of the booth, stifling a yawn. "We haven't even had one class yet and I'm already tired."

"There's nothing wrong with looking a little sleep-deprived." I flashed her a smile as I propped one elbow on the table and rested my chin against my knuckles. "The bags under my eyes are designer."

"That's real hot girl shit, Chan."

When Macallan finally arrived at our booth, she wasn't alone. Standing beside her was an unfamiliar girl who I could only presume was Gianna Lash. She was all sharp edges with high cheekbones and an angular jawline. Her ashy blonde hair fell in long, loose waves over her cream tunic that appeared to be cashmere.

"Gianna, I'd like you to meet my friends and roommates," Macallan began with a sunny grin as she gestured to us. "Chandler and Kelsey are juniors on the lacrosse team too, so you'll be seeing a lot of them this spring."

"Hi," Gianna greeted warmly, sliding into the booth beside Kelsey. "It's nice to meet you both."

When Macallan had returned to our room last night, she debriefed us on her dinner with Gianna. It took a great deal of bitchiness for Macallan to dislike someone, so it wasn't at all shocking that she had nothing but kind words to say about the new girl. She could barely restrain her excitement when she informed us that Gianna also played lacrosse. I didn't share that excitement. Not even in the slightest.

"I'm Kelsey, in case you need clarification." Kelsey extended a hand, her silver rings catching in the light, and Gianna shook it without hesitation.

"Which makes me Chandler," I said, perfectly content with keeping my hands to myself. "What position do you play?"

Gianna maintained a poised and direct gaze. "Midfield."

"You'll be joining our shuttle at practice then," I replied, tilting my head in Macallan's direction.

I directed the slight edge in my voice at Macallan. While she'd received a respectable amount of playing time as a sophomore on varsity, she wasn't a starter like Kelsey and me. This season was supposed to change that, but now she had Gianna vying for a coveted spot in the lineup.

Gianna cut into her French toast stick with the tact of someone who'd also endured a debutant social etiquette class. "Great, I'll be at the captain's practice on Thursday."

Macallan sent me a pointed sideways look. The copper of her eyeliner intensified the blueness of her eyes.

I remained quiet as Macallan chatted about Cannondale's commitment to sit-down dinners on Thursday evenings that required students to sit at assigned tables and dress in formal attire. It was part of the school's crusade to build community and uphold principles of decorum that made dining, as Headmistress Harvey would say, a 'civilized affair'.

I caught Gianna glancing at me out of the corner of my eye, but I didn't look her way. If she thought she was being discreet, maybe she'd have enough tact to keep her mouth shut about recognizing me. I'd known it was only a matter of time before she did, but that wasn't enough of a reason for me to cut her any slack.

Just because my famous mother's affair with some hotshot Hollywood producer tore through the tabloids like a hurricane last summer, that didn't make my life an open book. I didn't owe anyone anything.

"If you don't mind me asking, what brings you to Boston?" Kelsey asked, taking a sip of her tea.

"My parents' work," Gianna said. "They're both surgeons and got offers from Mass General. That's not a job anyone would turn down."

"Wow," Macallan marveled. "They're lucky you're so supportive."

Gianna shook her head, smiling softly. "I'm not the only student at Cannondale who has parents with demanding jobs." Her gaze shifted over to me, intrigue flickering in her dark brown eyes. "You're probably familiar with that."

There it was - the inevitable comment alluding to my mother. I'd endured enough of them over the last five months that I could strike back in a calm yet calculated way.

"If that's what you want to believe, fine," I said, feigning interest in adjusting the gold bracelets on my wrist. "You'd be just like everyone else here, so no need to stress over fitting in."

Whatever response Gianna was expecting to elicit from me, it certainly wasn't that. A soft yet sharp inhale sounded from her direction.

After a suspended pause, I lifted my gaze to stare at Gianna, hoping it was as cold as the air outside. Her cheeks took on a pinkish hue.

Macallan cleared her throat. "Gianna and I have French together for first period," she announced, effectively ignoring my remark. "Now I'll finally have someone to share an eye roll with when Madame Laurent decides to blast obscure French rap songs at the beginning of class."

"She's not an ordinary French teacher, Mac," Kelsey mused and shot her a comical grin. "She's a cool French teacher."

Macallan massaged her temples and huffed. "You don't know what it's like to wake up in the middle of the night with one of those songs stuck in your head. They haunt me."

A toneless bell sounded overhead, signaling the twenty-minute notice for the start of first period. I'd never been so eager to go to AP Calculus in my life.

Beside me, Macallan was examining Gianna's color-coded block schedule as she shrugged on her white parka. Casually glancing over at it, I noted a striking similarity to my own and miraculously resisted the temptation to scowl.

"I guess I'll see you in AP Government," I informed her, briefly arching my eyebrows.

Gianna gave me a quick close-lipped smile. "Should be fun."

"Don't forget to save Trip a seat," Macallan reminded in a sing-song voice as she slid out of the booth and shrugged on her backpack. Gianna was quick to mirror her actions. "That way he'll take a hint and ask you to be his date to Winter Formal."

I replied with a melodramatic scowl. Now that both she and Kelsey were up to date on my romantic escapades, there would be a surge of subtle jabs aiming to shove me in what they thought was the right direction. Trip's direction.

Once they were out of earshot, Kelsey snorted in amusement. "Would it kill you to be nice, Chan?"

I placed a hand over my chest and gave her a coy grin. "It would absolutely tear my heart in two."