All That Glitters Read Free

over the top of his Oliver Peoples hornrimmed glasses at the gilt-edged china, which I’m not sure any of us actually recognized.
    â€œYeah, the sous chef at Otto,” Feb said, retying her green scarf like a headband instead of a turban. “Mom had everything delivered.”
    My father nodded, as if this made much more sense than someone in our family actually preparing a meal. “Your mother is a genius,” he said, brushing his salt and pepper hair off his forehead.
    â€œThat’s where Flan gets it,” Patch said as he walked into the dining room, tousled my hair, and took a seat next to me. He’d changed out of pajamas into a wrinkly T-shirt and a pair of hemp jeans; his hair still mussed in that just-fell-out-of-bed way. “You ready to knock their private school socks off tomorrow?”
    I hesitated. If there was anyone in my family I’d tell about the horrific scene with Kennedy this afternoon, it would probably be Patch. He was the closest to myage, and he’d hung out with Kennedy a few times at parties his friends had thrown. But somehow the ugly topic of Kennedy Pearson didn’t quite fit in with our very happy family dinner, so I just gave Patch my best private school grin and nodded.
    â€œIt’ll be just like old times,” I said. And despite my nerves about Kennedy’s self-declared Thoney domination, I really was excited to return to private school. My first semester of public high school at Stuy had been really important for me, and not just because I got to go to a real high school football pep rally or because of the liberal dress code policy—which revealed the endless options of body piercing and confirmed for me forever that such adornment was so not my thing. It was because after a couple of not-so-great experiences, I learned that Camille and my old friends from Miss Mallard’s were the girls with whom I wanted to make the rest of my high school memories.
    Feb’s BlackBerry beeped, bringing my mind back to the dinner table, and she sighed heavily as she chewed a big bite of escarole.
    â€œSeriously?” She rolled her eyes. “In the future, someone please remind me to limit my travel with obsessive French designers. It’s like Jade thinks we’re packing for a year-long getaway to the moon. Thisis just a quick trip in and out of Cambodia.” She fumbled with her scarf again and rewrapped it pashmina-style over her shoulders.
    â€œJade Moodswing?” my mom asked, cutting delicately into a slice of heirloom tomato pizza. “I just saw on TV that she was involved somehow with the president of Belgium.”
    â€œPurely speculation,” Feb said. “Jade has already said
pas de comment
to
Le Figaro
.” I bit back a laugh. Leave it to Feb to get involved in an international social scandal.
    As we polished off the rest of the Otto feast, I got a slew of parting words of wisdom from each of my family members.
    â€œFind your way to your classes first,” Feb said after a bite of olive oil ice cream. “Then find out where your friends hang between classes. Every girl in that school knows how crucial it is to mark territory. And you know what they say: location, location, location.”
    â€œOne word,” Patch said, pointing his finger at me with a half-joking grin. “Upperclassmen.”
    â€œStudy hard,” my mom said, unabashedly tearing up now and using her napkin to wipe her eyes. “And show the school your beautiful smile.”
    My father looked at me last. “Just be yourself, Flan. Follow that advice and a Flood has nothing to worryabout.”
    I leaned back in my chair and breathed a sigh of relief. I could always count on my family for good, calming advice when I needed it.
    So why did Kennedy’s mocking face keep popping into my head?

Chapter 3
    Weren’t Rules Made to be Broken?
    Bright and early the next morning, I clung for my life to the overhead bar on the