The Daughters Join the Party

by Joanna Philbin

  She reached into the suitcase that she still hadn’t unpacked and grabbed her journal. I HATE MY LIFE, she wrote on a blank page under the date August fifteenth. She flipped forward to Tuesday, September fifth. For the first time ever, she couldn’t wait for the first day of school.

  chapter 6

  “You’re probably going to have Mr. Weatherly for homeroom. He’s pretty cool, unless you walk in late,” Remington counseled Emma as they walked up Eighty-ninth Street in the sunshine.

  It was only eight in the morning but it already felt close to eighty degrees. Emma felt her new seersucker kilt brush against her legs. Her first uniform. So far she’d avoided going to a school that required one. She could practically feel her identity start to disappear.

  “And definitely make sure you say hi to Mr. Barlow,” her brother continued as they crossed Madison Avenue. “He’s the head of the Upper School and a super-great guy. Used to be a Marine, so he’s got really straight posture and a commanding voice. He’s a lot less scary than he looks.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you might have Mrs. Bateman for History,” he added as they passed an armada of women with strollers. “She’s kind of a piece of work. Just remember: Her bark is a lot worse than her bite. Tell her you’re my sister.”

  “I get it. Everyone there loves you,” Emma said.

  “It’s just a friendly place,” her brother explained. “And they like having siblings.”

  Even when they’re not as impressive as their brother? Emma wanted to ask, but she didn’t say anything.

  Despite her nerves, it felt good to finally be starting school. For the past three weeks, her mom had seen to it that Emma hadn’t gone anywhere or done anything fun, aside from going to a hair salon to get her hair dyed back to dark brown, and running around the Central Park Reservoir every morning—neither of which exactly qualified as a rollicking good time. While a steady stream of people went in and out of her parents’ office, conducting meetings with her dad before he returned to Washington, she stuck to her room, plowing through the Chadwick summer reading list. She picked the shortest books she could find—The Great Gatsby, Ethan Frome, Washington Square—but even those took most of her time to get through. She almost texted some of her old city friends from junior high, but she’d deliberately lost touch with everyone when she went off to Rutherford. She’d expected never to come back here. The only person she contacted was Lizzie, whom she texted to say that she was definitely going to Chadwick. Lizzie had sent back a one-word reply: “AWESOME!!!”

  Now they turned onto Ninety-first Street and Emma could see a stream of girls in seersucker kilts and boys in white shirts and black pants walking into the beige limestone building at the corner of Fifth Avenue. Across the street were the lush green trees of Central Park.

  “Don’t worry, Em,” Remington said. “They’re gonna love you. Just wait.”

  She managed to give him a smile. Her brother could be pretty cool, sometimes.

  They walked into the brightly lit lobby, and a middle-aged female receptionist waved at them from behind her desk.

  “Hi, Remington!” she called out.

  “Hey, Dori!” he yelled back, and then waved to the security guard who stood by the stairs. She hadn’t even had her first class at Chadwick yet, but she could feel her brother’s shadow stretching over her already.

  “Is this an old house?” she asked, glancing up at the twenty-foot ceilings as they walked up a grand set of stone steps.

  “It’s an old mansion,” Remington said. “This all used to belong to some guy and his two kids. Some parts of it are supposed to be haunted.”

  “Seriously?” she asked, as they passed a large library stocked with tables and sofas.

  “That’s what they say,” Remington said.

  Then they headed up another set of stone steps, to the next floor. “The Upper School is the third floor,” Remington said over his shoulder. “Most of your classes’ll be here.”

  “Got it,” she said, hoping that none of the students climbing the steps behind them could hear.

  At the third floor, he pulled open a set of doors. “Here it is,” he said. “The lockers are to the right.”

  Emma turned in that direction, eager to get away and find Lizzie. But before she could get anywhere she walked straight into somebody. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a wave of steaming coffee leap right out of a cup and splatter all over a sleeve. “Oh!” she said. “Sorry!”

  The sleeve belonged to a tall, wiry man with thinning white-blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and unmistakable ramrod-straight posture. Emma gulped. She had a feeling she knew who this was. “I take it you’re Miss Conway,” the man said, shaking out his sleeve.

  “Uh… yes,” she said.

  “You certainly know how to make an entrance,” he said. He handed her his coffee cup. “Take that, would you?” He pulled a Kleenex from his back pocket and began to blot his sleeve. “I need to mop this up.”

  Remington appeared at her side. “Hey, Mr. Barlow,” he said, looking a little nonplussed. “This is my sister, Emma.”

  “Let me just say,” she started. “I’m so happy to finally be here. I’ve… uh… heard such great things about Chadwick.”

  “We’re happy to have you,” Mr. Barlow said, taking the coffee cup from her. “Even if you pose a threat to people walking around with hot beverages.” He gave her a friendly wink. “Have a good day, Miss Conway,” he said, and strode off down the hall.

  Emma watched him go, feeling slightly mortified. But at least he hadn’t said anything about Remington being Chadwick’s star student. That she wouldn’t have been able to handle.

  “Don’t worry,” Remington said. “I think he liked you.”

  “Really?” she asked, just as someone came up behind Remington and slapped him on the back.

  “Walker!” Remington said, turning around. “What’s up?”

  Emma did a double take. Walker Lloyd, her brother’s best friend since the seventh grade, had always been cute, but the guy standing in front of her now was gorgeous. African-American, with large brown eyes and close-cropped hair, Walker looked like he’d shot up at least several inches in the past fifteen months—and packed on ten pounds of muscle. “How was Cambridge?” he said to Remington. “I hope you’re glad you took my slot!”

  “Hey, you turned them down, remember?” Remington said, grasping Walker’s hand in a bro-style shake. “How was Stanford?”

  “Amazing,” he said. “And look who’s here,” Walker said, turning to Emma. “So your brother finally convinced you to come to Chadwick, huh?” he asked, showing a row of perfect white teeth as he smiled.

  “It wasn’t easy, but I managed to do it,” Remington said.

  “Yeah, I finally caved,” she said, leaning forward to hug him. “How are you?” As Walker’s muscled arms wrapped themselves around her, Emma couldn’t help but feel a shiver pass through her. “Long time no see, Walk.”

  “If you need anything, and your brother doesn’t want to help you, just ask. We all know that he can have his head up his butt.”

  “Hey!” Remington said, punching Walker in the arm.

  Walker and Remington had always been competitive, even as kids. Emma could remember each of them trying to outdo the other in everything—doing the biggest cannonball off the dock at the lake house, serving a perfect ace on the tennis court, getting the best GPA every semester. She’d always thought it funny that guys could be that openly competitive with each other and still be friends. Girls could be friends while competing with each other, but not in such a good-natured way.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you,” Walker said to Remington. “They’re not gonna give us the theater. So we’re back in the library.”

  “That’s lame,” her brother said. “But whatever.”

  “Are you gonna join?” Walker asked Emma.

  “Join what?” she said, too distracted to have figured out what they were talking about.

  “Spee
ch and debate,” Walker said. “I’ve seen you argue before. You’d probably be great at it.”

  The idea of jumping aboard Remington’s favorite after-school activity was less than appealing. And it was also embarrassing to remember just how much arguing she’d done in front of Walker, usually with her mom, over clothes and makeup. “No thanks,” she said. “Maybe next semester.”

  “So you’ll be okay, right?” her brother asked her. “You know where you’re going?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Bye!”

  She walked away feeling light-headed and a little giggly, the way she always did when she was around a cute guy, but she shook it off. This was Walker Lloyd, the guy who had known her only as his best friend’s annoying little sister. The guy who had watched her get into a screaming match with her mom at the dinner table about how much lipstick she could wear. The guy who remembered when she wore clear braces. It was ridiculous to have a crush on him, especially when she was surrounded on all sides by new male faces.

  With that in mind, she checked out her new schoolmates as she made her way down the hall. They seemed to be pretty much the same as the kids at boarding school: The girls walked in twos and threes, talking excitedly with one another, while the guys seemed to stay put in clusters here and there, laughing and yelling at the top of their lungs. Everyone seemed so much more keyed up here than the kids at Rutherford. Maybe it was the city. Or maybe it was that people didn’t have to spend every waking hour together, like they did at boarding school.

  Suddenly she noticed a girl walking toward her, smiling at her as if they knew each other. She had blond-streaked hair and a smattering of freckles on her snub nose, and her brown eyes seemed lit up from behind. “I’m Carina!” the girl said, extending her hand. “Carina Jurgensen. Lizzie told me you were starting today. You’re Emma, right? I’m your angel.”

  “Angel?” Emma asked.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just what they call a guide around here,” she said, reaching into her backpack. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and gave it to Emma. “Here’s your schedule. We’ve made sure that you’re in class with one of us at all times.”

  “Us?” Emma asked.

  “Me, Lizzie, and Hudson. We’re all sort of your angels, I guess,” she said, her brown eyes shining.

  Jurgensen, Emma thought. She knew she’d heard that name before. And then she remembered: Carina’s dad had to be Karl Jurgensen, the man who owned Metronome Media and its gazillion newspapers, magazines, and social-networking sites. “Oh. Cool,” Emma said, slightly amazed at how down-to-earth Carina seemed.

  “Here’s Hudson.” Carina started waving her arms. “Hey!”

  Emma turned to see another girl walking quickly toward them wearing a huge smile. She was very pretty, with light brown skin, green eyes, and dark, wavy hair. And she’d managed to dress up her blue kilt with purple tights, an ivory-colored blouse with diaphanous sleeves, and dangly silver earrings. Wait, Emma thought. This is Hudson Jones. As in Holla Jones. She’d seen Hudson’s picture countless times in Us Weekly and Star. And now here she was, standing right in front of Emma. This is one heck of a school, Emma thought.

  “Hey!” Carina called out to her. “Emma’s here!”

  Hudson glided up to them. “I’m Hudson,” she said, giving Emma a hug. “Lizzie’s told us so much about you.”

  “She has?” Emma asked.

  “Sure,” Hudson said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for Lizzie to gush about her. She pushed her hair behind one ear, and Emma saw that her earrings were actually serpents with red stones for eyes.

  “You’re going to really like it here,” Carina offered.

  “Yeah, Chadwick is a really friendly place,” Hudson said. “Except for a few people,” she added as her gaze wandered past Emma. “Incoming.”

  The “incoming” in question was another girl who strutted down the hall, her extra-short kilt swinging like a bell over her slim, tan legs. Perfect, frizz-free auburn curls bounced up and down on her shoulders, the result of what had to be a professional blowout every few days. “Hey, everyone,” she said in a way that seemed to imply that she barely had any time to chat. Even so, she stood right next to them.

  “Hey, Ava,” Hudson said after an awkward pause. “How was your summer?”

  “Oh, you know, Southampton, tennis camp in Florida, blah blah blah,” Ava said with a sigh. “But we did take an awesome family trip to Kenya. And I got some super-cool woven bags. Everything’s so cheap there.”

  Nobody seemed to know what to say to this. “This is Emma,” Carina said. “She’s starting today.”

  Ava finally looked at Emma and yawned into her hand. “Oh,” she said, looking Emma up and down. “Where’d you transfer from?”

  “Rutherford,” Emma said.

  “Really?” Ava asked, sounding shocked. “Why would you leave?”

  “I just felt like a change,” Emma said coolly.

  “She’s Remington’s sister,” Carina added.

  “Oh,” Ava said, in a much nicer voice. She looked at Emma more intently. “We should have a welcome party for you or something. And invite your brother’s friends.”

  “Uh, sure.” So she’s into Remington, Emma thought. What a shocker.

  “Hey, Emma. Do you need to find your locker?” Carina asked, already steering her away.

  Emma could tell that this was a strategic move to get away from Ava. “Actually, yeah.”

  “Okay, we’ll see you in homeroom,” Carina said. “Bye, Ava.”

  “Bye,” Ava said, just as a trio of girls floated over to claim her. Emma didn’t get a good look at them, but they all seemed to be wearing the same amount of makeup and jewelry as Ava was.

  “Meet Ava Elting and the Icks,” Hudson whispered as they walked down the hall. “Ilona, Cici, and Kate. Or Icks for short.”

  “We were all praying Ava would go to boarding school this year,” Carina said as they walked.

  “She’s totally obsessed with boarding school,” Hudson said.

  “Well, I can tell you right now, if she’d gone to Rutherford with that hairdo and eye makeup they would have never stopped laughing,” Emma said, which caused both Hudson and Carina to crack up.

  After figuring out her locker combination, she followed Hudson and Carina to a cluster of desks in homeroom. A quick sweep of the room turned up a couple of cute boys, but nobody as good-looking as Walker. She thought of asking Hudson and Carina about him, but she figured she should wait and feel out the scene first.

  Just before the bell rang Lizzie ran in, followed by a cute guy. Her hazel eyes were radiant, and it didn’t take Emma long to figure out that the cute guy was Lizzie’s boyfriend. “You’re here!” Lizzie cried, leaning down to give Emma a hug. “Todd, this is Emma!” she said to the guy. “She’s new.”

  “Hi there,” Todd said in a faint English accent. “Lizzie’s told me so much about you.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said. She wondered if that included getting marched out of the Boathouse for swigging champagne, but she didn’t ask.

  “So you got rid of the purple?” Lizzie whispered to Emma, glancing up at her hair.

  “I told you, my parents freaked,” she said.

  Lizzie shrugged. “This color looks good on you, too,” she whispered, as Mr. Weatherly began to call attendance.

  With his pointy chin and long nose, Mr. Weatherly reminded Emma of a character from one of those Doonesbury comics her dad used to love. “Angelides,” he called out.

  From a few rows away, a voice said, “Here.”

  “Brennan.”

  “Here,” said a boy toward the back of the room.

  “Conway,” Mr. Weatherly finally called.

  Emma raised her hand. “Here,” she said.

  Mr. Weatherly looked up from his class list. “Emma?” he said, his face lighting up. “Are you Remington’s sister?”

  “Yes,” she said, feeling herself start to blush. Every head in the room had tu
rned.

  “Your brother’s quite a student,” he said. “When I have you next year, I’ll be expecting great things.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said. She hadn’t meant to sound so sarcastic, but it was too late. A few people giggled. Mr. Weatherly frowned and picked up the class list again.

  Carina punched her in the arm. “Hi-lar-ious,” she whispered, and Emma smiled with relief. People had thought it was funny.

  “Did that bother you? What Weatherly said?” Hudson asked after homeroom, as she and Emma walked to their first class.

  “No,” Emma said. “I guess it just comes up a lot.”

  “Yeah, your brother is kind of a rock star around here,” Hudson said. “In case you didn’t know.”

  Emma took out her schedule. “So what’s American Political Structures?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Oh. That’s Mrs. Bateman. No one knows how old she is. And she calls on people. All the time.”

  “But it’s the first day of class,” Emma said as they turned into the classroom. “How much are we supposed to know?”

  Hudson made a face. “A lot.”

  As they filed into the classroom Mrs. Bateman stood with her back to the desks, writing on the board. Tall and solid, with hips that looked like they could do some serious damage to any furniture she bumped up against, Mrs. Bateman wrote quickly, letting the dry-erase marker squeak mercilessly against the board. Her large hand scrawled two words: CAMRALIEB LAUREGISTLE. Emma squinted at them, willing them to rearrange themselves into something she could recognize. But nothing happened.

  “All right,” Mrs. Bateman snapped, wheeling around on her orthopedic shoes. “We have a lot of material and very little time, thanks to this school’s observance of every possible holiday, so let’s start.” She scanned the room with her deep-set eyes. Emma could see what Hudson had meant about her age: Mrs. Bateman looked like she could have been in her fifties, or so ancient that she could have possibly been friends with Ben Franklin. “Who can tell me the main difference between the House of Representatives and the Senate?” she barked. “Anyone?”