In spite of the sudden nausea and the whipped cream–filled coffee—or maybe in protest of it—Casey’s stomach started to growl loudly. The girl standing next to her, wearing a pair of heavily distressed Seven jeans and the same Imitation of Christ tank Madison bought yesterday, paused while sending an e-mail on her BlackBerry to give Casey a disgusted look.
“There’s, like, food over there, you know,” she said, staring at Casey from behind an oversize pair of pink-lensed Gucci aviators. “Breakfast? You’ve heard of it? The most important meal of the day?” Casey opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to respond. The girl’s hair was straightened within an inch of its life, and it stopped at her exposed collarbones in a razor-sharp bob. “Or, there’s always the rexie table,” she said, pointing at a large table farthest away from the food, filled with a group of extraordinarily pale, wan-looking girls whose collective body weight probably equaled one of the Olsen twins. The rexies were bent over their textbooks, their nutrient-deficient locks hanging limply around pinched faces. A single, cut-up apple sat on a napkin in the center of the table, and not one of the girls acknowledged—much less ingested—the rapidly browning slices. “They’re on the Kleenex diet.”
Kleenex diet? That couldn’t be what it sounded like, could it?
“They eat Kleenex instead of food,” scarily hip-girl said in a tone that insinuated that Casey was quite possibly the stupidest life form on planet earth. “Models do it to get ready before Fashion Week,” she went on, as if that explained everything.
“I’m not…” Casey said, stammering. “I mean, I eat.”
The girl lowered her aviators, exposing expertly applied black shadow flecked with silver glitter. “Sure you do,” she said, her voice a flat monotone. She gave Casey one final look up and down before walking away, already engrossed in a conversation on her wireless headset just as Drew Van Allen walked through the doorway.
Casey’s heart began to race and all at once she realized she was totally panicking. She wanted to run out of the Dining Hall and never come back—or throw herself in his arms and declare her undying lust. Why was talking to guys so completely stressful? Casey pulled her already out-of-control curls behind her ears and tried to look contemplative as she studied her apple latte like it held the riddle of the Sphinx.
Drew shuffled over to the register, sunglasses on, and ordered a coffee. In his Triple Five Soul cargos and white button-down shirt, his tanned arms protruded from the rolled-up sleeves, he was even cuter than she remembered. In fact, he was perfect. Would he even remember her? And, more importantly, would he even talk to her? Casey’s thoughts raced as fast as the caffeine rushing through her veins. Crap. Why do I have to sweat so much all the time? Is my hair frizzing yet? Why am I such a moron?
Casey smoothed down the polished cotton of her skirt as Drew removes his shades, taking a long, greedy gulp of coffee as he looked up, his gaze meeting hers. Drew’s face looked totally blank—and the black sunglasses didn’t help. Oh God, he doesn’t even remember me! Casey thought with no small amount of dismay, her stomach flipping over as she shifted her weight from her left foot to her right. And these stupid shoes are killing me.
“Hi,” Casey mouthed, scraping up every ounce of courage she possessed, then looked away. If he didn’t come over, she was probably going to pass out or die of embarrassment right on the spot, holding her stupid froufrou coffee drink, which she didn’t really want anyway. They could just throw some roasted veggies and organic tater tots on top of her and bury her right there, and Madison and the rest of Meadowlark would surely walk on top of her in their ankle-snapping stiletto sandals, completely oblivious to her prostrate corpse.
“Hey, beautiful.” Casey heart jumped as she looked up into Drew’s grinning face. He’d even shaved for the first day back, and the skin of his throat looked so soft that she had to dig her fingernails into her palm to keep from touching it. “You look really…” Drew gestured with one hand at the length of her body, taking in the dress and shoes as he bent his tousled dark head and sipped at his coffee, “different.” Drew pulled off his shades and slid them into his bright blue Tim-buk2 messenger bag.
“Yeah…” Casey said sarcastically, her voice way more confident than she actually felt. “I’m wearing a dress.”
“I can see that,” Drew said, his lips curving into a smirk, his eyes giving her an appreciative once-over. “But, why are you standing here all by yourself?” Drew grinned, obviously enjoying their bantering. “Did you scare away all your potential suitors?”
“Yeah, right,” Casey scoffed, blushing even harder and mentally ordering her face to return to its normal freckly paleness. Madison would know exactly how to get her flirt on—but then again she wasn’t Madison, not by a long shot. Realistically, at this point in the conversation, Madison would probably have Drew buying her lattes, promising to do her laundry, and eating dry cereal out of the palm of her hand.
“So,” Drew said, toying with the lid of his coffee, still flashing his bright-white smile, which was starting to make Casey feel even more uncomfortable.
“So yeah,” Casey replied, feeling as if there was a giant red neon sign floating over both of their heads, the tall angular letters flashing AWKWARD SILENCE in a red light bright enough to cast a sheen on the rexies across the room that would make them pass for living beings.
Say something saysomething saysomethingsaysomething!
“So…being new pretty much sucks, huh?” Drew said, a wry grin on his deliciously apple-red lips. “And I should know—I transferred in the middle of freshman year. Before that, we lived all the way downtown.”
“Really?” Casey said, her heart leaping, It was more than she dared hope for. He was new, she was new—clearly it was meant to be. It was kismet—right in the middle of a cafeteria that smelled enticingly of freshly brewed lattes and cinnamon rolls. “Wow, it seems like you’ve been here forever.”
“It definitely feels like forever sometimes,” Drew said sarcastically.
“So maybe there’s still hope for me yet…” Casey smiled, wishing she could stop sweating for even five minutes.
“A few weeks will pass and you won’t even feel new anymore,” Drew said reassuringly, his blue eyes so bright and clear that Casey had to force herself to look away just so she wouldn’t become hypnotized. “And by the way, I’m having this party a week from this Saturday. Well, I’m not really having it, my parents are. But it’s for me.” Drew coughed and looked away. “It’ll probably be totally lame, but you should come anyway.”
Casey tried to smile and looked at her scarily unpainted toes. It wasn’t exactly the most convincing invitation she’d ever heard. “OK,” she said nodding, “maybe I will.”
“So,” Drew said, gulping the last of his coffee and throwing the plastic cup in the trash, “can I get your digits? I still owe you a private tour.”
“That’s true,” Casey said, her heart beating so fast she thought it might explode out of her chest and splatter all over the creamy beige walls of the Dining Hall.
“But anybody can show you around Meadowlark,” Drew said, grinning widely, “I was thinking of something a little more…interesting.”
Oh my God, he’s actually asking me out on a date! Casey tried her best to look nonchalant, but like a scene out of a bad teen comedy, the hand clutching her coffee starting shaking wildly, making her nervousness completely transparent. She didn’t have a ton of experience flirting with guys, and she wondered abstractly if she was even doing it right. Was there a formula? Maybe she could find some sort of chart on the Internet…
Drew looked down at her cup, a quizzical look on his face.
“Too much coffee,” Casey blurted out, tossing the cup in the trash.
“Clearly.” Drew smiled, pushing a shock of thick hair from his forehead. “So,” he said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “how about a private tour of the city? I promise to share all the secret hot spots and insider info. You in?”
&nbs
p; “I’m in,” Casey said, smiling into his dark blue eyes, feeling that if her stomach dropped any more toward her shoes, she’d have to send out a search party to eventually locate it. “Definitely.”
“Cool.” Drew pulled his cell from the pocket of his cargos and flipped it open. “Give me your number and I’ll call you later.”
Casey couldn’t believe it, she felt like she’d just won the New York Lottery. Drew Van Allen had not only just asked her out, but now her number was, even as they spoke, being programmed into his cell phone—where hopefully it would stay for all eternity! This was it: It had to be love.
“It’s three-oh-nine—”
Drew’s fingers halted on the keypad, and his eyes moved as if transfixed to the doorway. Casey broke off, her number incomplete as Drew continued to stare over her shoulder like he’d become suddenly hypnotized, a strange look coming over his face. “Uh, let’s pick this up later,” he mumbled, shooting her a weak smile and putting his shades back on before turning around and walking quickly away.
Casey stood there watching as the rexies gathered up their apple slices, throwing them in the trash. What had she done? Was she being too forward? Did her hair get frizzy? Or worse yet, did he suddenly realize just how uncool she really was? Casey’s face fell dejectedly, as she turned around to see Madison standing in the doorway, flanked by Phoebe and Sophie.
Madison wore a silky, lime green, peasant-style dress, the spaghetti straps accentuating her burnished tan, her hair falling to her shoulders in a wave of silken strands. Suddenly, Casey felt like she was wearing an old dishrag and some dental floss. Madison’s A-line skirt only served to make her already long legs look impossibly gazelle-like, and her skin was clear and golden, her lips brushed with just the faintest touch of rosy gloss. She was, in every way, the definition of teenage perfection. Casey sighed dejectedly. She might as well tie a cement block to her feet and throw herself in the Hudson River. How was she ever going to compete with someone as jaw-droppingly gorgeous as Madison Macallister when she was just…a normal girl—and one who didn’t even know how to give herself a pedicure at that.
Casey watched with something not unlike the fear the rexies experienced daily when confronting even the tiniest morsel of food as Drew paused briefly at Madison’s side as she half-turned her body to greet him. Even though Casey couldn’t hope to hear what they were saying, Madison’s stance—her very presence—spoke volumes. She was sexy without even trying: The way she simply stood there dared the entire male population not to rip her clothes off on the spot. Casey drew in a sharp breath when she noticed that even though Madison’s attention appeared to be solely on Drew, her cat-eyed gaze was focused directly on Casey, the faintest tinge of a smile moving over Madison’s glossy lips.
Please let him turn around and smile—or at least wave, Casey pleaded silently, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of Madison and Drew together in the halls of Meadowlark once again, a place they both clearly belonged. Watching them together, it was clear to Casey that they belonged not only in this world, but to each other as well. Casey looked at her shoes, her vision blurring. She couldn’t compete with Madison Macallister. No one could.
And as Casey looked up to watch Drew walk out of the Dining Hall without turning around, Casey thought of her number in Drew’s cell, incomplete—like their conversation. And she knew that even if every last digit of her number did someday make it all the way into Drew’s phone that, alphabetically speaking, Macallister would still always come before McCloy…
little
white
lies
As Madison entered the Dining Hall, her eyes locked upon the heinous sight of Drew wrapped in an intense-looking convo with Casey. Until that moment, the day had been aces. She’d woken up before the alarm went off, which for her was a massive miracle, and after she got out of the shower, totally invigorated from the grainy, citrusy goodness of her Bliss Body Polish, she could just sense that it was going to be a good hair day. It was an almost mystical feeling—and as close to spirituality as Madison ever got. When she communed with the hair gods, she couldn’t help feeling all glowy and lit up inside—and the feeling just kept getting better as she slid into her new Tadashi pleated chiffon halter dress in the most luscious shade of green…
After two double espressos and a short ride in the black Lincoln Town Car that drove her through the urban maze of the same six blocks each morning, she felt totally ready to dominate Meadlowlark, and Drew, for the third straight year. Yesterday was obviously just a blip on the otherwise perfect radar screen of her life. But as she watched Drew pull his cell from his pocket and prepare to enter Casey’s digits, Madison felt her ego deflate like someone had pricked a hole in her La Perla gel-insert bra. She’d only just dumped him yesterday! Was he really getting another girl’s number one short day later, potentially replacing her? And was that even possible?
Apparently. And, worse yet, it was happening right in front of her face.
What ever, Madison told herself, taking a Guerlain compact from her wicker-and-suede Rafe bag and calmly applying another coat of Nars gloss in Striptease. If he thinks I actually care who he flirts with, he’s sadly mistaken. But deep down she had to admit that as she watched Casey lean toward her now probably ex-boyfriend, instead of being filled with excited, caffeinated butterflies, Madison’s stomach now felt all twisty and strange. As much as she didn’t want to, as much as it practically killed her to even think it, she did care—a lot more than she even wanted to admit to herself. Even from where she was standing, it was obvious that Casey and Drew had the It Factor—there was some serious chemistry going on. If the room suddenly went black, there’d probably be a shower of fucking sparks over their heads. Watching Casey giggle and blush, Madison could no longer deny the obvious anymore. Even though he still hadn’t apologized, even though he acted like a idiot time and time again, she still wanted him back…
Even if it was just so another girl couldn’t have him.
And, besides, Madison told herself as she stood in the doorway of the Dining Hall with Sophie and Phoebe, this isn’t about apologies anymore—this is a total declaration of war.
“Wow, holy hookup, Batman,” Sophie said gleefully, watching as Drew smiled at Casey, who, Madison couldn’t help noticing, looked, ugh—it was going to pain her to say it—almost pretty in her new dress, even though Sophie’s shoes were so totally last year. When she arrived at Barneys yesterday she certainly wasn’t planning on buying Casey anything—it kind of just…happened. After walking out on Drew, she was feeling all vulnerable and angry—a combination she hated more than anything because it made her feel helpless—and more than anything in the world, Madison needed to feel like everything was under control. Come to think of it, Drew was so infuriating that she had probably been suffering from a fucking case of Post Traumatic Stress. After all, it wasn’t like she usually went out of her way to be nice to total strangers. She should’ve spent the day at Silver Hill getting “occupational therapy” with all the other nutcases, not back-to-school shopping as if she hadn’t gone temporarily insane. But, as she stood there watching as Casey fiddled uncomfortably with the price tag, her face getting redder by the second, Madison suddenly felt kind of sorry for her. But now, as she noticed how the daffodil-colored cotton brought out the highlights in Casey’s blond curls, Madison wished more than anything that she’d simply ignored the uncomfortable look on Casey’s face and put the stupid dress back on the sale rack where it belonged.
So this is what you get for being nice to people, Madison thought sourly. You get your sort-of boyfriend stolen from right under your nose by some Midwestern moron. Well, if this was what being nice was all about, she’d rather go back to being a complete bitch. At least then she’d always be in control.
Madison turned to glare at Sophie, who had dressed for the first day of school in her Bohemian Socialite look: a pair of Ralph by Ralph Lauren pink capris, a floaty, ethereal Free People tunic sprigged with tiny embroidered
pink and white flowers, and a pair of bright pink YSL wedge sandals on her feet. The whole ensemble (or train wreck, depending who you asked) was topped off with a large, floppy white straw hat that hid most of her face from plain view.
“What?” Sophie asked innocently, a bemused expression sliding over her glowing, spray-tanned features: “What did I say?” Sophie had a habit of pretending she was dumb when it suited her, mostly when she felt like she was about to get in some kind of trouble. And looking at her smooth, open face and blond hair, you’d almost believe it. Unless you were her best friend, and knew that she had gotten a near-perfect score on her last SAT practice test.
Phoebe pulled her black quilted Chanel tote higher on her shoulder and pushed up her Muse shades to get a better look at Casey’s outfit. “She does look cute though,” Phoebe proclaimed with a decisive nod, straightening the ties on her YaYa silk wrap blouse in a delicate shade of orchid that offset her creamy complexion perfectly, and paired well with her newest pair of dark-washed Citizens of Humanity jeans and gold D&G slides. “But not as cute as me, of course,” Phoebe murmured, giving herself the once-over in the long bank of mirrors lining the far wall of the Dining Hall before realizing her obvious faux pas. She turned to Madison in a desperate attempt to save face and smiled sweetly. “Or you,” she said.
“What about me?” Sophie said, and Madison wondered for the trillionth time how somebody could manage to giggle and whine at the same time—Sophie had practically made it an art form.
The Elite Page 9
