"Sweetie, are you feeling ok?"
I poked at the pile of scrambled eggs on my plate, wondering if I could fake being sick to delay my first day of senior year a little longer.
Maybe I could claim food poisoning from the takeout I ordered yesterday?
Nah. My mom would never buy it, and even if she did, I really didn't want my favorite Chinese restaurant to be slapped with a lawsuit.
Hmm…what about the flu? Mono? Strep throat? Sudden amnesia? My mind raced through a million fake excuses as to why I wouldn’t be able to go to school today, but I had a sinking feeling my mom would see through all of them in a minute, and I'd just earn myself a nice grounding instead.
"…Maya? Maya!"
I jumped, my fork clattering against the plate. "What did you say?" I asked, trying to regain my bearings after being lost in my thoughts for the past ten minutes.
"Are you feeling ok?" my mom repeated. "You've barely touched your food."
I looked down and realized she was right. The scrambled eggs and bacon—usually my favorite breakfast—were far from gone.
I took a deep breath, about to lie and say no, I didn't feel ok and I'm not up for classes today, but unfortunately, my conscience kicked in at the last minute.
"I'm fine," I said, pasting a smile on my face. "I'm just not really hungry."
My mom arched her eyebrows and took a sip of her coffee. She's like Lorelai from Gilmore Girls—a total coffee addict. She had at least eight cups a day, despite my insistence that so much caffeine was not good for anyone. You would think she'd know that, since she works in the health industry and all.
"Nervous?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."
That's one way to put it, although “nervous” didn’t seem like an adequate description for the Texas-sized pit of anxiety in my stomach.
"You'll be fine, sweetie," Mom said soothingly. "You were fine last year. Straight A's! And you're not even new anymore."
That's precisely the problem. I'm not new, which means after a year at Valesca Academy, I know how it works. Trust me, it's not pretty. But more on that later.
"You're right," I agreed. I valiantly spooned some eggs into my mouth, my mom watching closely. They tasted like cardboard, which I knew was more me than her cooking. Nevertheless, I managed to eat about half before I couldn't take it anymore.
If I had to go to school, I might as well just hurry and try to finish this day up as quickly as possible.
"Ok, I'm heading out," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "I'll see you later."
"Have a good day, honey. Love you."
"Love you too."
When I got outside, I was relieved to see that even though the sky was overcast, it wasn't raining—yet. Hopefully the rain won’t start until I'm safe and warm inside Valesca's walls, with safe being a relative term.
I guess now is a good time to back up and explain everything to you. My name is Maya Lindberg, and up until a year ago, I was happily living in San Francisco with my parents, doing all the things a normal teenager does and attending a normal high school that, while it had its clique problems, was paradise compared to Valesca.
Then, at the end of my sophomore year, my dad got promoted to his company’s headquarters in New York. By the time we found out, it was too late for me to apply for any of the good schools in the city. Unluckily for me, his new boss knew the headmaster of Valesca Academy, located two hours from New York. He pulled some strings so I could apply for late admission, and not only was I accepted, I also received a hefty scholarship, which was how my family uprooted itself to settle into one of the richest towns in the U.S. I mean, the only school there was private and cost $100,000 a year to attend.
Objectively speaking, Valesca wasn’t bad. In fact, it was considered the best school in the country, and boasted enough Nobel, Pulitzer, and Oscar-winning alumni to fill a ballroom (like the one on school grounds, which was usually used for dances).
Unfortunately, it was also filled with the snobbiest, most superficial, and most materialistic people I've ever met in my entire life. What makes it all the more worse is the way they all cower before the Scions, who are a whole other story unto themselves.
The Scions is the nickname given to the four hottest guys in school: Zack Perry, Carlo Tevasco, Parker Remington, and their leader, Roman Fiori. Their families, some of the wealthiest in the world, actually founded the town and the school, which means everyone is terrified of them. They usually keep to themselves, unless they are terrorizing some poor kid who looked at them the wrong way.
No, I’m not joking. One wrong look at any of the Scions and you might as well kiss your social, and sometimes academic, life goodbye. The abuse wrought by the rest of the students on the offender is so notoriously horrible most are forced to transfer schools.
As for me? Well, I've never had a direct run-in with the Scions. It took me all of one class period when I started here last year to realize how things worked, and I had gone out of my way to avoid them. Astonishingly, it had worked. I've never been closer than fifty feet to them, which is definitely a good thing. I mean, it might seem cowardly to some, but I know the Scions had the school faculty eating out of the palms of their hands. I didn't want to risk doing something that might provoke their wrath, or there goes my teacher's recommendations and my dream of attending Stanford goodbye.
Avoiding them was actually quite easy, considering the Scions had their own classroom, where they came and went as they pleased; their own private nook in the dining area, and a mass of students surrounding them whenever they went. It was a wonder they learned anything at school.
Then again, they probably didn’t. Why would they need to, when they were already set to take over their family’s empires?
I took a deep breath as Valesca's perfectly manicured campus came into view. I could do this. Just one more year, and then I would be on my way to college, where I can pretend my experience here was just been a bad dream.
I was annoyed but unsurprised to see the crowd gathered on the flight of stairs that led to the entrance. Everyone was laughing and hugging after an oh-so-taxing summer apart at their parents' villas in the south of France (note the sarcasm) but they were all casting surreptitious glances at the four empty, prime parking spots in the parking lot.
Locate directly in front of the school and slightly separated from the rest of the lot, they were reserved for the Scions. On normal days, the Scions usually carpooled two and two, but on the first day, they each liked to make a grand entrance in their own overly priced sportsmobiles. During the other school days, of course, two of those spots would remain empty, since no one would ever dare park in one of them.
Already in a bad mood, I elbowed my way through the crowd, ignoring my peers' curious glances. Before I could get inside, however, I heard someone scream my name.
"Maya! Mayaaaaaaa! MAYA LINDBERG!"
The last utterance was yelled directly into my ear, and I flinched a bit, waiting for the ringing in my ears to stop before I turned to face the petite, pretty redhead.
"Hi, Venice," I said with a genuine smile.
"Hiiii!" She enveloped me in a crushing hug that had me staggering back a few steps. For someone so small and thin, she sure weighed a lot. "I missed you so much!"
"I missed you too," I laughed, listening patiently as Venice rambled on about her amazing summer eco-tour of Costa Rica.
Venice France (yes, that really is her name. Her parents, apparently blessed with a sick sense of humor, also named her younger sister Kyoto and her older brother Frankfurt; understandably, he goes by Frankie) is one of the few genuinely nice, down-to-earth people in this school. In fact, she might be the only one.
We became close last year when we both had the unfortunate luck of being stuck in fifth-period AP Calculus with Mr. White, who is as albino-complexioned as his name suggests and who is way too pen-happy with his detention pad. Venice is also the only person who is privy to my seething hatred of the Scions and everything they stand for: elitism, superficiality, tyranny.
Suddenly, the entire school, it seemed, erupted into deafening cheers and hoots.
Oh shit.
I was about to slip inside the school when Venice grabbed my arm. "Where are you going?" she hissed.
"The bathroom," I blurted. "I really gotta go."
"No you don't. You just don't want to see them," she observed shrewdly.
"Well, if you know, why'd you ask?"
"Because I'm not going to let you slink away from them anymore!"
"I don't slink away," I protested. "I strategically miss them."
She ignored me and tugged on my arm, forcing me to walk down the steps with her until we were blocked by the crush of students. "I don't care what you call it, it's not healthy."
I eyed her suspiciously. "I bet you only want someone to gush to about how amazingly perfect they are."
She shrugged, not even bothering to deny it. "They are," she insisted somewhat defensively. "Physically speaking, anyway."
"There's more to life than looks," I countered, wincing when I realized how annoyingly preachy I sounded. Gotta work on that.
"Not if you're in high school. Now, shhh."
I shut up, not because she said so, but because the crowd had fallen silent, and I didn't want to speak and bring attention to myself.
Venice and I were standing on the very top of the stairs, and I heard them before I saw them—the sound of screeching tires as four very expensive, very flashy cars turned sharply at the same time into their respective parking spaces.
I swear, if this was a movie, there'd be some dramatic soundtrack playing right now. Everyone except me waited with bated breath for the Scions to emerge, and when they finally did, the ensuing swoons and screams were a million times louder than before. As if the scene couldn't get anymore sickening, the clouds decided to part at that moment, and a golden beam of sunlight highlighted the quartet like they're really the gods everyone thinks they are.
Parker Remington was the first to get out. Slamming the door of his red Lamborghini shut, I felt like the renowned playboy should be moving in slow motion as he raked a hand through his wavy, golden brown hair. The son of the most powerful figure in the international finance and banking world leaned against the side of his car, his eyes shielded by a pair of aviators, and flashed a disarming smile into the crowd, causing more than a few girls to nearly faint.
Gag me.
The next to come out was Carlo Tevasco. The towering, dark Colombian, though equally gorgeous, was nowhere near as overtly smooth and charming at his friend. In fact, he looked a little annoyed at all the ballyhoo that greeted him. I shouldn't be surprised; a black belt in five different types of martial arts and the son of a multibillionaire real estate developer with rumored ties to the mafia, Carlo seemed to be the quietest and least attention-seeking Scion. Even his car, a simple but sturdy black Range Rover, reflected his personality.
Following Carlo was Zack Perry. The grinning Greek-god-look-a-like hopped enthusiastically from his bright yellow Porsche, his golden hair gleaming under the sun like a halo. In my opinion, the eternally good-natured Zack seemed to be the only one who's even remotely human in the group. A musician and singer, he constantly has a smile to his face, though I guess if I stood to inherit billions thanks to my family's dominance in the steel and railroad industry, I'd be happy too.
Suddenly, a low murmur rippled through the crowd, and when I looked to see what had everyone in such a tizzy, I was shocked to see a girl had emerged from the passenger seat of Zack's car. She was stunningly beautiful and supermodel tall, with a cascading mane of perfect blonde waves and a delicate, heart-shaped face that boasted bright blue-green eyes, high cheekbones, and rosy pink lips. Her slender, perfect body was encased in a beautiful pale green silk sundress that probably cost more than an average person's monthly rent.
Actually, now that I looked more closely, she bore a striking resemblance to Zack.
"No way. No. Freaking. Way." Venice's jaw was almost grazing the ground.
"Who is that?" I asked curiously. The Scions had never, ever made an entrance with a girl before.
"If I'm correct, that's no other than Adriana Perry, Zack's twin sister."
I blinked. "He has a twin sister?"
"Yeah." Venice didn't tear her eyes from the spectacle. "They're really close but she's been at some Swiss boarding school since eighth grade."
"How do you know all of this stuff?"
Venice just looked at me. "Um, I live for gossip, remember?"
Oh yeah. I’d forgotten about that.
Everyone had quieted down again, I realized, because the main attraction was finally showing his face.
Roman Fiori. The sole heir to the world's largest fortune, which encompassed shipping, oil, electronics, telecommunications, textiles, and sports franchises; an athletic prodigy hailed as the second coming of Michael Jordan, Pele, and Joe Montana rolled into one; the single hottest specimen to ever walk the face of this earth.
According to all the girls who are currently peeing themselves in excitement, anyway. I mean, I guess I can kind of see it. The entire package—the thick, wavy black hair, the naturally golden bronze skin, the sleek muscular body, the cut-glass cheekbones, and those one-of-a-kind, gold-flecked dark violet eyes—was made to melt girls' hearts.
Ok, so I can totally see it, but luckily, it takes more than just supernaturally good looks to win me over. As far as I'm concerned, Roman Fiori is the biggest jerk alive and as arrogant as they come.
The small group made their way leisurely towards the school. Roman was at front, of course, flanked by Carlo and Parker; Zack and Adriana brought up the rear.
The crowd on the stairs parted like the Red Sea for Moses.
Roman's face was expressionless as he made his way up the stairs and inside the hallway.
Everyone waited until all the Scions and Adriana were safely out of earshot before they started buzzing about the latter's sudden appearance.
"Do you think something happened at boarding school?"
"Ohmygod, I can't believe she's going here now!"
"Man, she's hot!"
It was at that moment that the bell finally, blissfully rang.
I let out a relieved sigh. "Come on, let's get to class or we'll be late," I said, pulling Venice like she'd pulled me earlier.
"Yeah, I make you watch the hottest guys ever and you make me go write essays," she grumbled. "Some friend you are."
I smirked. "You'll thank me one day."
* * *
Rrrring! The bell signaling the end of third period and the start of lunch hadn't even finished ringing before the hallways were filled with hungry high schoolers clamoring for their daily intake of gourmet sushi and pastries flown in from France.
Yes, that is really what they serve in our Dining Center, or DC, as everyone calls it. Fitting, considering the politics in our DC outrivals that of our nation's capitol tenfold.
I sidestepped an overly PDA-ing couple and pushed my way into the girls' bathroom, which is all done up with Italian marble, sterling-silver faucets, and jewel-toned velvet furniture in the lounge area, though why a public bathroom—or any bathroom, for that matter—needs a lounge area is beyond me. There's even a bathroom attendant presiding over an array of European toiletries.
There were already three girls in the bathroom when I came in, all stick-thin, whose green-and-gold plaid uniform skirts were shortened to the skankiest proportions possible.
They're the type of girls who usually take the time to shoot me a disdainful look before going right back to their primpfests, sometimes throwing in a snide comment about me being a scholarship student or something.
Scholarship students were very, very rare at Valesca. Academically speaking, that was a good thing, since recipients were viewed very favorably by college admissions committees (according to my guidance counselor). Socially speaking…not so much. Merit was a main factor in scholarship decisions, but so was financial need. Being a scholarship kid basically implied my family wasn’t rich enough to afford the schools six-figure tuition bill in full—which was true—and since there is virtually nothing more important than money in Valesca, you can see why my scholarship status might be a problem.
In any other town, my family would’ve been considered well-off or even wealthy, but in Valesca, we were middle class at best. I don't really give a shit what other people think of me, but I hate it when my family gets looked down on just because we don't earn millions a year.
That's why I was more than a little befuddled when the girls took one look at me and scurried out the door, heads down. If they had tails, they'd be tucked between their legs right now.
It didn't take me long to realize why.
When I turned, I found myself face-to-face with Adriana Perry, who's even more flawless-looking up close, if you can believe it.
There was dead silence for a good ten seconds as we stared at each other. For the most part, her face was unreadable. I thought I detected a hint of amusement, but it was gone so fast I wasn't sure if I'd just imagined it.
"Hi," I said awkwardly, when I couldn't take the awkwardness anymore.
No answer.
I had just about figured she was ignoring me and was going to leave when she spoke up. "Hi," she answered in a soft, lilting voice. Though her eyes didn't stray from my face, I had the feeling she was examining me in the way only another girl can.
"Ok, well, it's nice to meet you—well, see you—but I'd actually better get going." I edged around her, painfully aware of the odd looks the bathroom attendant was sending our way.
"What's your name?"
I blinked. That, I didn't see coming. "Um, Maya."
Silence again.
"Maya Lindberg," I added.
Apparently, that was what she'd been waiting for, because she then held out her hand and said, "Adriana Perry."
I shook her hand hesitantly. "It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise." Giving me a brief smile, she proceeded to turn to the mirror and fix her already-perfect hair without saying another word.
Ooook.
Not wanting to stay in that bathroom a second longer, I made my way as quickly through the door as possible, without downright running.
The encounter hadn't been unpleasant, but it hadn't been, well, pleasant either. It had just been…weird.
What's even worse, I can't quite shake the feeling that that two-minute interaction had just cost me a year's worth of anonymity.
* * *
"So do you guys wanna go eat in the DC or eat out somewhere?" Zack asked, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together behind his head.
"I vote for eating out. I've been craving Serrano's," Parker said, referencing Il Serrano, the chic Italian eatery that was practically a Valesca institution.
Zack smirked. "Yeah, and I bet that hot new waitress has nothing to do with your…craving."
Parker shrugged. "You know me."
"Yes, we do," Carlo said dryly. "Now, can we please decide where we're going to eat?"
"Let's go to Da Silvano instead," Zack suggested. "We've already been to Serrano's twice this past week."
"Da Silvano is in New York," Carlo pointed out.
"Yeah, but if we go right now and take one of the jets we'll probably end up missing only fourth period."
"Fine by me," Parker yawned. "What's the use of having a private teacher if he can't be flexible?"
"I'm sure he'll be glad he'll finally get a break from you troublemakers," a new, feminine voice said.
Parker sat up a bit straighter. "Hey, Adri."
"Hey." Adriana looked around the room. "Are you guys going to lunch anytime soon, or are you just going to stay in here all day?" she teased.
"We were thinking about going to Da Silvano or Serrano's," Parker said. "What do you think?"
"Oh, I think I'm just going to grab something in the DC," she replied airily. Half a day at Valesca and she'd already gotten the acronyms down pat.
Zack blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah, there's some interesting people here," Adriana said with an oddly secretive smile.
"Not in this school," Roman said, speaking up for the first time.
Adriana rolled her eyes. "You're too cynical, Rome," she chided. "That's no way to go through life."
"It's worked for me so far."
She shook her head. "All you need is a girlfriend," she decided. "A nice one. And then you won’t be so moody.”
"More like, and then pigs can fly," Carlo said loud enough for only Parker and Zack, whom he was sitting in between, to hear. They snickered.
Roman stared at her like she was crazy. "Does it look like I want a girlfriend?" he demanded.
Ignoring his tone, Adriana merely gave him a serene smile. "You will once you meet the right girl."
"I doubt it. The only thing girls care about is my money."
"There goes your cynicism again…"
Roman snorted. "Please. You're seriously telling me you can find a girl in this town who doesn't care I'm a Fiori?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
"I'd like to see you try."
"Oh, boy," Zack sighed.
Adriana raised her eyebrows. "That sounds like a challenge."
"That's because it is."
"Fine." Adriana looked inexplicably smug. "Give me until the end of this semester. If you don't like the girl that I choose enough to ask her to be your girlfriend, I won't ever bug you about it again."
"Well, that's just one less thing I have to worry about next semester then," Roman said cockily.
"You guys are ridiculous," Zack groaned.
"Well, I'm all for it," Parker drawled. "My question, though, is how are you going to find the perfect girl when you haven't even been here for the past four years?"
Adriana smiled. “Parker, dear, never underestimate the power of female determination.”