Elite 02 In Too Deep
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
the spanish inquisition
welcome to the real world
hello, sailor
tea and caviar
meet your new mommy
a model life
poison ivy
secrets revealed
lights, camera, distraction
strike a pose
get the party started
bad hair day
skyrockets and flight
female bonding
model behavior
girls on film
secrets and lies
grandmotherly advice
needles and pins
my london, london bridge wanna go down . . .
that’s entertainment
shake your groove thing
it’s like thunder . . . and lightning
mommie dearest
change partners
baby i’m a star
one big happy family
there’s got to be a morning after . . .
plaza suite
about the author
Berkley JAM titles by Jennifer Banash
THE ELITE
IN TOO DEEP
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Banash.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
BERKLEY® JAM and the JAM design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley JAM trade paperback edition / January 2009
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Banash, Jennifer.
In too deep / Jennifer Banash.—Berkley JAM trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
“An Elite Novel.”
Summary: While Madison ponders revenge and a possible modeling career, Casey fears she has lost
herself by adapting fully to luxurious New York City life, and Phoebe keeps a secret, Sophie seeks to
bring her birth mother to her sixteenth-birthday party.
eISBN : 978-1-101-01454-7
[1. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 2. Wealth—Fiction. 3. Mothers and daughters—Fiction.
4. Identity—Fiction. 5. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. 6. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction.]
I. Title.
PZ7.B2176In 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2008039858
http://us.penguingroup.com
acknowledgments
I’d like to thank Kate Seaver, my wonderful editor at Berkley, who took a chance on an unknown kid; my agent, Jennifer Jackson, who always has my back; and Willy Blackmore, who read every draft and kept me sane through the entire process. To all the YA bloggers and teen reviewers everywhere—thanks for getting the word out and making my books matter—I am eternally grateful. And, most of all, I’d like to give a huge shout-out to all the readers of The Elite series—you are the reason I sit in front of a computer for hours at a time, dreaming up what comes next.
Who’s your best friend? Who’s your worst enemy?
“One can never really know . . . Enemy? Who cares?”
—KARL LAGERFELD,
Elle MAGAZINE, SEPTEMBER 2007
hot lunch
Madison Macallister straightened the silken sleeve of her floral-patterned black and crimson wrap dress, and stabbed her fork into the desiccated remains of her smoked salmon salad, bringing a mouthful of baby greens up to her matte ruby-red lips. If she kept on eating this way, she was definitely going to blow up—and not in a good way. She was already changing into her baggy sweats the second she got home from school every day, and the waistband of her favorite new Citizens of Humanity jeans was decidedly snugger than when she bought them in a depression-fueled shopping incident a few weeks ago—a binge of Posh and Becks-worthy proportions that resulted in Edie storming into her room and cutting up her Amex Black card right in front of her. Madison exhaled deeply, spearing the last hunk of salty smoked fish and popping it into her mouth while checking out the six-carat square-cut emerald ring that shone brilliantly on her ring finger, winking in the fluorescent lighting. It had been worth it.
Besides, now that she was more miserable than ever, it seemed crucial to have a few things in her life that actually gave her pleasure—and shopping was definitely one of them. Drew may have been history, but at least she had her new black leather Furla tote trimmed in the softest gray fox fur ever to console her. Madison was beginning to see that boyfriends came and went with alarming speed, and friends were clearly not to be trusted. But clothes? Clothes never let you down. And accessories were forever . . .
It had been three weeks since Drew’s party—three long, agonizing weeks as the leaves in Central Park began turning orange, then red; the nights growing progressively cooler. More often than not, Madison found herself reaching for a sweater to throw over her shoulders in the early mornings, and pulling her caramel-colored Hermès riding gloves over cold hands that felt more like icicles than fingers. And even though the weather was definitely changing, things between her and Drew were not. Much like the first chilly days of winter—which were definitely now on the way—their relationship had completely frosted over. When they passed each other in the hall, Drew dipped his eyes away from her gaze and stared at the floor—especially if he happened to be walking with Casey. It had gone on for so long now that even if for some bizarre reason they did end up talking again she wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to say. Somehow—at least for her anyway—it was easier this way. Out of sight, out of mind—just like her credit card bills.
And if she wasn’t thinking about the way he’d clearly dumped her for Casey, she didn’t have to deal with the fact that he might just prefer someone else to her. But, no matter how hard she tried, Madison just couldn’t wrap her head around the idea. How was
that even possible? And the only thing that even remotely put a crimp in her plans to pretend they’d both been inexplicably eaten by dinosaurs was the fact that she had to see the both of them every fucking day at school. And, worse yet, Drew didn’t even seem to care—it was as if their entire past had been wiped out with the arrival of one frizzy Midwestern freak with absolutely zero sex appeal, and who, despite her town of origin, was anything but “normal.” Did the last two years mean nothing to him? Not only was this turn of events totally inconceivable, it was ruining her reputation! Everyone south of Park Avenue knew that Madison Macallister was the girl who got what she wanted—when she wanted it—and boys were no exception. Until now.
It was the start of junior year, and that being said, not only was it time for sweater shopping at TSE’s annual fall sale, but it was also unfortunately the beginning of endless amounts of prep courses, practice exams, and untold amounts of worrying about the upcoming SATs. Not to mention the rapidly approaching nightmare of college applications once the exam was finally over, coupled with the enormous, looming question of what exactly she was going to do for the rest of her fucking life. Madison didn’t waste her time pondering these kinds of questions—mostly because she didn’t have the first clue how to answer them. Choosing just one thing to do for the rest of your life seemed so . . . limiting. And limits were for tiny people with tiny minds—not for card-carrying members of the overprivileged set, who were supposed to have options as wide as the Atlantic.
But when it came right down to it, Madison wasn’t exactly sure what it was that she was really good at in the first place—with the possible exceptions of gossiping and accessorizing. So, at parties, when the topic turned, as it inevitably did, to the future, Madison had made it a habit recently of smiling prettily, and then changing the subject so fast that her audience was left with a bad case of social whiplash. It was unthinkable. Madison Macallister, otherwise known as Ms. Perfect of the Upper East Side, without a plan? Not only could it destroy her reputation as the ultimate Upper East Side robot princess, but it was also a potential embarrassment just waiting to happen. And Madison Macallister had made it a policy long ago to never, ever do embarrassing. If you were going to get all whiny and blubbery, you might as well just raise a white flag in the air, start wearing sweatpants to school, and just fucking surrender what was left of your dignity. The very idea of it made her shiver, her tiny, ski-slope nose wrinkling in distaste.
“Look,” Sophie whispered under her breath, diamond studs glinting in her honey hair, the majority of which was obscured by an Anna Kula gray knit cap. “Check out the happy couple—major bonding at twelve o’clock,” she added in a conspiratorial, fake espionage voice. Ever since The Bourne Ultimatum came out on DVD Sophie wouldn’t shut up about spies and the CIA. Not to mention Matt Damon’s impressive biceps that fairly bulged beneath that hideously grungy jacket he wore for most of the movie.
And speaking of slightly crazier, fashion-obsessed wardrobes, in celebration of the rapidly approaching fall weather, Sophie was wearing a pair of gray wool, wide-leg pants and a white silk blouse with an enormous, loopy bow tied at the neck. An oversized leopard Jimmy Choo clutch sat on the table in front of her, and she absentmindedly stroked it while continuing to stare over Madison’s head, her glossy pink lips parted. After years of being a veritable slave to Mystic Tan, Sophie had mysteriously halted her spray tan obsession immediately following Drew’s party with no explanation whatsoever, and, as a result, her creamy skin glowed, her face rosy from just a hint of cherry-red cream blush rubbed onto the apples of her cheeks. Now that both Sophie and Phoebe were so scarily pale, Madison had taken to calling both of them the cadaver twins on account of the fact that they looked like they belonged in a fucking coffin.
As if she’d somehow read her mind, Phoebe raised her head from her iPhone and quit her incessant texting to glance across the room, her fingers halted on the keypad, her dark hair shining around her pale, heart-shaped face as she sang along with Jay-Z and Rihanna as they blared through the dining hall’s sound system. You can stand under my umbrella . . . ella . . . ella . . . eh. Rihanna sounded as like she had been cursed with a truly unfortunate, incurable stutter—or a case of Tourette’s. Madison rolled her green eyes, exhaling heavily. If she had to sit through this song one more time, she was going to stab herself in the eye with a fork. And if whatever spectacle going on behind her required actual movement, then it had better be good.
Madison stretched her arms over her head, and carefully turned around, her green cat eyes sweeping the crowded room, and settling uncomfortably on Casey and Drew, who were standing over at the coffee kiosk. Like they’d be anywhere else—Drew was so addicted to caffeine there should’ve been a twelve-step program founded in his honor. Casey was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a white sweater that looked like it came from some horrible suburban outlet store. Even so, Madison had to admit that as happy as Casey looked at that moment it wouldn’t have mattered if she were wearing a paper bag. Casey’s cheeks glowed pinkly and her irrepressibly curly hair waved down her back in yellow curls that shone in the glaring overhead light. She was still the total definition of a hot mess though—albeit a happy hot mess. Drew, of course, was yummy perfection as usual—even though his dark hair fell into his eyes, obscuring them from view. Clearly it was time for a haircut—and the loose, white button-down shirt he wore was splattered with coffee stains. Drew was nothing if not a total slob, but it didn’t matter. He was still a vision in khakis. And as she watched Drew feed Casey a bit of a ginormous chocolate chunk cookie, Madison felt like she was about to claw her way out of her own decidedly green skin.
“They really are kind of ridiculously cute together in a Saturday-morning-cartoons-and-Lucky-Charms kind of way,” Phoebe said after noticing Madison’s unbroken gaze toward the coffee kiosk.
“Lucky Charms make me want to vomit. Seriously,” Madison said. She was having none of this cutesy bullshit.
“You don’t like Lucky Charms?” Sophie practically screamed. “I LOVE Lucky Charms. I would always eat all the cereal bits first so the marshmallows would get all soft and the milk would turn purple . . .”
“ME TOO!” Phoebe squealed, interrupting her and then attacking her phone again as it beeped noisily.
“I’m not talking about cereal, damnit,” Madison interrupted, trying to hold herself back from spitting her pent-up venom all over Sophie. “And who the hell are you texting anyway?” she snapped, pointing at Phoebe’s phone. “We’re practically your only friends.” Phoebe’s face turned crimson as she giggled nervously, shoving her phone into her oversized Tod’s cream-colored leather tote that perfectly matched her ivory pants and cabled-cashmere sweater.
“Well, we’re the most important anyway.” Sophie giggled, leaning over and sipping her iced hazelnut latte through a red plastic straw. “Did I tell you guys that we finally found a location for my party?” Sophie asked. Her green eyes were bright with excitement as she pushed her latte away and began absentmindedly flipping though the pages of her cocoa-colored Hermès leather notebook she used to take notes in AP Algebra class, the pages filled with neat mathematical diagrams in precise purple ink. “And, oh my God, it’s going to be soooo amazing! Just last night I heard that . . .”
Madison sighed in exasperation and turned away, staring off into space, the sounds of Sophie and Phoebe’s incessant gossiping fading away like a bad radio signal. How could they not understand that what was going on in front of them was downright treasonous? In fact, it was an assault against all that the sovereign nation of Madison Macallister stood for. She had a mind to have Phoebe call Jason Bourne in to put a hit on the two for their crime against her. Or maybe there was another way . . .
Madison turned back to her empty plate and smiled as she pushed it away from her. She knew from experience that the best way to recapture a guy’s interest was usually by getting interested in someone else, and Drew was definitely no exception. Besides, all guys were basically the same ent
ity anyway—all they wanted was what they couldn’t have. As soon as Drew saw her with another guy, he’d want her back all over again. She knew he’d start sending her flowers, showing up at her door-step, basically groveling—and she was going to enjoy every ego-boosting minute of it.
Madison watched as Drew leaned in and gave Casey a long kiss good-bye, his hands on her shoulders, his fingers buried in her hair. Let him kiss whomever he wanted . . . now. By next week, she’d have a new boyfriend, and then he was going to be really sorry. Just the thought of her being interested in someone else would make him completely crazy—even if he didn’t know it yet. And just because she got played didn’t mean she had to sit around moping all year long, did it? Manhattan was a big city—and there were more than enough cute guys to distract her while she got this Drew problem ironed out. And, with Drew out of the picture, the Casey situation would naturally take care of itself: Before the fall term was over, her frizzy ass would be on a bus back to Nebraska, or wherever the hell she was from. Count on it, Madison thought as Casey tentatively approached the table, a bashful smile on her glowing, freckled face.
As much as it killed her to do so, Madison parted her lips and smiled back, remembering the advice her mother, Edith Spencer Macallister, had given her after Becca McCormick had the nerve to declare on the first day of fifth grade—and in front of the entire class—that Madison Macallister was a stuck up little priss:
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer . . .
the spanish inquisition
Casey walked over to The Bram Clan’s table, the imprint of Drew’s lips still lingering on her mouth as Madison’s icy green eyes regarded her with obvious disdain before quickly turning away. Casey watched with growing unease as Madison pulled a pair of huge Valentino shades over her eyes like a very expensive, couture smokescreen. Ever since Casey and Drew had become a “thing” (she still wasn’t sure exactly what to call it, and asking him seemed like a decidedly bad idea), she’d gotten the feeling that, although she didn’t seem angry, Mad was basically just tolerating her presence most of the time. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the big question that Casey couldn’t help turning over again and again in her mind was why wasn’t Madison more pissed off? Not that she really wanted her to be or anything, but the fact that she was as cool as ever just didn’t seem to make sense—unless she really was over it. Maybe she just really didn’t care about Drew or want him for herself anymore . . .