The Elite

by Jennifer Banash

  “So who’s your grandmother anyway?” Phoebe asked, pulling out a slim Bobbi Brown compact and checking her coral lip gloss in the mirror. Phoebe looked like she should be pouting on a beach somewhere in St. Tropez, waiting for some cute pool boy to bring her a frozen daiquiri with a tiny pink umbrella in it.

  “Elizabeth Conway?” Casey said, wondering why the hell everything she said was coming out like a question today. “On the seventh floor.”

  “I know her,” Madison said, looking over Casey’s shoulder and out onto the sun-baked streets. “She’s been here, like, forever. So, what’s that?” she asked, pointing one slim finger at Casey’s battered violin case like a cockroach had just crawled in the front door.

  “Umm,” Casey stammered, her face flushing furiously the way it always did when she was anxious or embarrassed—and right now she was definitely both. “It’s just my violin.”

  “Are you, like, some kind of child prodigy or something?” Sophie asked excitedly.

  “Does she look like a child to you, Sophs?” Phoebe quipped, rolling her eyes heavenward in obvious exasperation.

  “Don’t answer that,” Madison said quickly, holding out a hand in Sophie’s direction.

  “I’m definitely no prodigy,” Casey answered, looking down at her violin case for moral support. “I’ve been playing since I was six—but I’m really not that good. I don’t even take lessons anymore.” Casey was aware that she sounded vaguely desperate—like she was making excuses. She wasn’t exactly embarrassed about her musical abilities, but she also knew that violinists weren’t usually included in the upper echelons of cool. It was bad enough that she came from a town that was clearly geographycally undesirable—she didn’t want the first people she met in her building to think she was a clueless band geek on top of it. And besides, she wasn’t sure how seriously she even took music anymore, anyway. For the last few months, she’d been contemplating quitting altogether.

  “Since you were six?” Sophie said with amazement, her green eyes wide as saucers. “That’s like, practically forever!”

  Just then Madison’s cell phone stared to ring with a series of hyper-annoying beeps and chirps. She pulled a limited-edition cranberry Razr covered with sparkling Swarovski crystals from her Coach monogramed tote, and rolled her eyes. “Ugh. It’s Drew. Again.” She pressed a button on the side of her cell, and the beeping magically stopped. “I’m sorry.” She turned to Casey apologetically. “I’m all blown up today.” Madison shoved her phone back into her bag.

  “Blown up?” Casey asked, her brow wrinkled with confusion. She felt like she’d landed on some foreign planet where everyone spoke a different language.

  Sophie rolled her eyes and smiled. “She just means that her cell’s been ringing off the hook.”

  “Is Drew your boyfriend or something?” Casey asked, fidgeting with her stainless steel Fossil watch. She liked oversized watches. They made her feel comparatively tiny and delicate, which was a plus, considering that most of the time she felt like a big galoot—totally uncoordinated in every way possible.

  “Ha!” Madison snorted. “He wishes.”

  “I don’t know why you won’t go out with him again,” Phoebe whined. “He’s an adorababe.”

  “Yeah,” Sophie giggled while surreptitiously swiping the hair away from her left eye, “he’s totally the hotness. He just got back from spending the whole summer in Amsterdam. So, I’m sure he’s fried what’s left of his brain drinking beers and smoking way too much weed in gross bars with weird Euros in black turtlenecks and high-concept glasses.”

  “I’ve got it,” Phoebe exclaimed, the corners of her cherry-red lips turning up into another smile. “He’s AMSTERDAM-AGED!” Phoebe and Sophie burst into another giggling fit, wiping the wetness from their eyes with their manicured fingers while Madison tried her best to look completely annoyed.

  “Oh my God, you guys, STOP,” Madison said, finally giving in and laughing along, her relentlessly white teeth shining in her lightly tanned face. She pulled an elastic band off of her wrist, pulling her shoulder-length hair back into a smooth ponytail that fell down her back like a waterfall of silky blond strands. “So,” she said coolly, turning to Casey. “Do you know where you’re going to school yet?”

  “Umm…” Casey mumbled, watching as both Phoebe and Sophie glanced at her battered suitcase, then looked away. “I think it’s called Meadow something…Meadow View maybe?” Her voice trailed off into nothingness. Oh, crap. Why couldn’t she remember the name? It’s not like her mother hadn’t told her at least fifty times over the last month.

  “You mean Meadowlark,” Madison said knowingly, nodding her sleek blond head approvingly. “That’s where we go. We’ll be juniors this year.”

  “Thank God,” Phoebe moaned.

  “Me, too” Casey said shyly, scuffing her flats against the smooth marble floor. Phoebe and Sophie started whispering to one another, jabbing each other in the sides with their thin, pointy elbows. “Well, I should probably go and get settled in.”

  “We’re going over to the park to lay out.” Phoebe waved her hands as she spoke, a set of gold bangles tinkling on one wrist. “You should come by later. We’ve got mojitos-to-go,” she trilled, pointing to an expensive-looking aluminum thermos poking out from her baby blue Tod’s tote.

  “The park?” Casey asked, wondering if there was more than one in the neighborhood, and how to ask without looking completely clueless—which, of course she totally was.

  “Uh, hello?” Madison snapped, looking at Casey like she was a moron straight from the planet Don’t-Talk-To-Me. “Central Park? Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s right across the street.”

  “Oh,” Casey said, flushing bright red. “Central Park. Yeah, I know where that is.”

  “I should hope so,” Madison said dryly, “considering that if you go out the front door of this building and walk straight ahead, you can’t miss it.”

  As the trio walked off with brightly colored beach towels bulging out of their bags, Casey couldn’t help but feel a little sad as she dragged her suitcases into the elevator. She felt really…alone all of a sudden. Her ears popped as the elevator climbed skyward, and she couldn’t help thinking about Marissa and Brandy, her two best friends back home. On her last Saturday in Normal, they had wandered around the mall, trying on the evening gowns and lingerie in Saks Fifth Avenue—just for fun, until they collapsed in a pile of giggles in a booth at Starbucks, ordering caramel lattes and gossiping over the latest issues of In Touch and Us Weekly. Casey felt a lump rise in her throat and her eyes were hot and wet at the corners. Back home in Normal, they were probably driving downtown like they always did on hot, lazy summer afternoons, stopping for ice cream at The Brain Freeze and checking out all the cute guys wearing wifebeaters and board shorts.

  Casey felt the tears that were welling up in her gray eyes threaten to spill over onto her lightly freckled cheeks, and she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, smudging the black eyeliner she’d tried to apply so perfectly that morning back in the Midwest. But before she could really start to cry, she stopped herself. Ugh. Stop being such a baby. Casey sighed, sniffling just a little now. You’re in New York City—a place where anything can happen. And anything just might! And besides, she thought with a smile as the elevator stopped at the seventh floor, I’ve already made new friends here.

  Well, sort of.

  cruel

  summer

  Madison Macallister lay back on her turquoise and lemon–striped Frette beach towel and scowled into the sun. It was a perfect August afternoon in Manhattan, the kind she liked best. The cloudless sky overhead mirrored the exact color of her new baby-blue Jimmy Choo alligator sandals, the heat blazed through her white Eres bikini, turning her skin an even darker shade of caramel, the humidity hung in the air like the promise of something sticky. Even though most people thought New York in the summertime was the definition of hell on earth, the hotter it got, the happier Madison usually was. But in spite
of the flawless weather, the cute guys playing Frisbee in their board shorts, the mouthwatering scent of grilled burgers and french fries wafting through the air, she was in a bad mood and everyone was going to pay.

  “Ugh.” Madison pushed her D&G shades on top of her blond head, and stared at Sophie and Phoebe—who were busy sipping mojitos from crystal tumblers Sophie had swiped from her parents’ well-stocked bar. “Did you see her clothes?” Madison shivered with revulsion, her perfect ski-slope nose (courtesy of Dr. Stone, the Park Avenue plastic surgeon her mother positively swore by), wrinkling adorably. “And don’t even get me started on that hair.”

  “Her hair wasn’t that bad,” Sophie offered meekly, her eyes hidden by an enormous pair of white Pucci sunglasses.

  “Maybe we should rethink your look after all,” Madison said with a dismissive snort, lying back on her towel and pulling her shades over her green eyes. “You’re obviously going blind.”

  “Oh, come on, Madison,” Phoebe said, removing a bottle of OPI’s I’m Not Really a Waitress from her baby-blue Tod’s tote, the fuchsia shade winking in the sunlight. “She’s not that bad. I mean, the clothes are kind of a disaster, but it’s nothing a little retail therapy can’t fix.” Phoebe leaned over and began touching up her pedicure with the bright polish.

  “It’ll be fun, Mad,” Sophie said from behind her huge white shades. “And besides, why would you want to deny me the plea sure of doing a makeover—you know they’re practically my only reason for living!”

  Madison sighed and closed her eyes, feeling the warm sun on her skin. She had bigger things to worry about than her so-called friends’ imminent adoption of some Midwestern, frizzy haired loser. She couldn’t believe that she was so depressed already—and the year hadn’t even started yet! Everything should’ve been perfect—she was a junior now, and the year would surely be filled with parties, sweaty nights at Bungalow, Pangaea, The Box, and late-afternoon brunches at Pastis with coddled eggs, champagne cocktails, and freshly baked baguettes. The trouble was, she thought she’d be doing those things with Drew.

  The truth was, it had been the worst summer on record. After spending three blissful weeks at her parents’ beach house on Martha’s Vineyard, lying on the beach breathing in the warm, sea-salt air, she had no choice but to leave the sun, sand, and breathtaking water views, and head back to Manhattan to repeat last semester’s English class in the most dreaded of activities—summer school—where she’d spent her days reading boring, depressing-ass novels like Silas Marner and Great Expectations. Adding insult to injury, the air conditioner in her dad’s Lincoln Town Car went on the fritz two weeks into the summer semester, and she’d gotten so dehydrated during the six-block ride to school every day that it was a miracle she didn’t come down with fucking heatstroke. And on top of ruining what should’ve been the best summer yet, having to repeat English—which was basically her mother tongue—was totally embarrassing. She wasn’t naturally smart like Phoebe or Sophie—not that she’d ever admit it—and if she didn’t study, she usually wound up in serious trouble. It had never been a problem before—being gorgeous and a Macallister, she could usually talk her way out of anything—but not this time.

  Madison flipped on her stomach, burying her face in her arms, momentarily reassured by the scent of the Marc Jacobs Blush Intense body lotion coating her skin. When she was really honest with herself, she had to admit that her life had been a complete mess ever since that warm night last spring. Not that she’d ever confide any of this to either Sophie or Phoebe, but the night before Drew left for Europe everything between them went suddenly, horribly wrong. After two years of breaking up and getting back together, flirty text messages, making out on the floor of her bedroom, two years of lost calls and turning their phones off just for spite, they finally lost their virginity to one another—and it couldn’t have been more of a disaster.

  The night had started off promisingly. Drew arrived at her apartment wearing a pair of crisp khakis and a white T-shirt, his blue eyes glowing in his chiseled face. As Madison stood in the doorway, her lightly tanned skin covered by a simple Theory sundress in white eyelet, her hormones went into overdrive—all at once she wanted to drag him inside and burn his clothes so that he could never leave. She wanted to vote everyone else off the island of Manhattan but Drew.

  When she regained what was left of her sex-addled brain, she noticed that Drew carried a wicker basket under one arm, a frosty bottle of Dom peeping out from beneath a white napkin. The air was balmy and warm, and the moon glowed with such ferocity overhead that it seemed to obliterate even the streetlights. They’d gone to the park and spread a blanket out on the soft spring grass, and Drew had produced one delicacy after another, feeding her Beluga caviar and homemade blinis, fresh buffalo mozzarella and cherry-red tomatoes strewn with dark leaves of basil. When she leaned in and licked extra virgin olive oil from his fingers, she wondered if Drew had lost his V-card yet, or if he was still extra virgin himself. And if somehow, he wasn’t a virgin anymore, would she just seem totally inexperienced to him? The thought made a lump of mozzarella stick in her throat and lodge there—making her cough like a lunatic, tears welling up in her eyes. Drew patted her on the back until she stopped, his hand lingering on the bare skin of her arms and shoulders. She felt a shiver run up her spine, and an almost overwhelming bolt of excitement run through her body.

  Their eyes met and they kissed long and hard, and when Madison pulled back, she noticed that Drew was not only blushing—his cheeks burning with circles of pink—but that he was fiddling nervously with the neck of the unopened bottle of Dom with one hand. Drew Van Allen, nervous? She couldn’t imagine such a thing. Maybe he just needed to loosen up a bit.

  “Aren’t we going to drink that?” Madison asked in what she hoped was a seductive whisper. Drew popped the cork with a sound that echoed across the park, and poured the foaming golden liquid into two crystal-stemmed glasses. But before she could hold up the crystal flute to make a toast, Drew had downed his glass in one long swallow and grabbed the cold green bottle for a refill, guzzling the champagne like it was liquid oxygen. “I can’t believe that after all this time…” Drew murmured, one hand stroking her hair.

  “I know,” Madison said simply, shrugging her shoulders. “But it feels…”

  “Right,” Drew said, taking her hand in his and squeezing tightly, his blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

  “Have you ever…” Madison asked, her voice trailing off into a whisper. She couldn’t believe how small and faraway her voice sounded, or how scared she was all of a sudden that he would say yes. Drew shook his head from side to side, wordless, as she moved in for another kiss, his lips locking on to hers like they’d been doing this forever—which they kind of had been.

  When they finally made their way back to her apartment and stepped inside the cool marble elevator, Drew took her face in his hands and kissed her over and over, the ground falling away from beneath their feet as they breathed into each other’s mouths, her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him closer. Madison’s stomach dropped to her knees, butterflies swooping and dipping inside her. She couldn’t believe she was feeling this way. When Drew had transferred to Meadowlark in the middle of freshman year, at first she’d barely noticed him. Drew was just the dorkily cute guy who always looked like he was in dire need of a haircut, with the weird, artsy parents—until she saw him playing soccer one day in the park. Standing there bare-chested in the weak winter sunlight, his skin still tanned and slightly shiny with sweat, she found herself staring, stopped in her tracks, her mouth falling open. Who knew that underneath all those moose-infested sweaters he insisted on wearing there was a total hottie, just dying to get out? After that, the rest was easy—like everything else in her life. When Madison Macallister made up her mind about something, nothing stood in her way. Of course, it didn’t hurt that every guy at Meadowlark was dying to get in her pants. So when she asked Drew if she could borrow his notes from AP Algebra one day afte
r class, he didn’t exactly run screaming from the room or anything…

  In her bedroom, she lit all her Diptyque gardenia-scented candles, stripped down to her La Perla bra and thong set in cream-colored lace, and lay beside him on her white bed, ready to be de-virginized. She wondered if it would hurt, if it would feel anything like wearing a tampon, if she would bleed all over her spotless white comforter. Her brow wrinkled momentarily as she stared at the white bed the color of freshly whipped cream. Maybe she should’ve put some towels down…

  When they began making out again, there was a kind of urgency in the air between them that she’d never felt before—she couldn’t seem to get close enough to him, she wanted to climb inside Drew’s clothes, inside his very skin. When it finally happened, she gritted her teeth against the sharp pain, and he smoothed her hair back from her flushed face, gazing at her intently…and then his expression changed completely, his face taking on a decidedly greenish cast as he leapt from the bed and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Madison sat up, pulling the sheet around her naked body, which all of a sudden seemed a little too naked, and listened to the unmistakable sounds of retching coming from behind the closed bathroom door.

  Oh. My. God. This was not happening. Not to her. This moment was supposed to be perfect—like the rest of her life. Instead she was lying in her bed, naked, recently deflowered (Did it even count? He only put it in for a minute!), listening to her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend flush their picture-perfect picnic dinner into the Hudson River. The next thing she knew it was morning, light streaming through the sheer white curtains covering the French doors that led to her private patio—and she was alone in the bed. Madison sat up and looked around in disbelief. The bathroom door was open, the light still burning, but the room was empty. He was gone. She felt like Alicia Silverstone in Clueless. What happened? Did she stumble into a patch of bad lighting? Did her hair go flat? Except, unlike Alicia’s pseudo-boyfriend in the movie, Drew wasn’t gay. Well, at least she hoped not. But then again, hetero guys usually didn’t toss their cookies at the most crucial sexual moment of their lives, did they?