All That Glitters Read Free Page A

beyond crowded uptown 4 train. Usually I took a cab to school, but since I was all about fresh starts these days, I figured I’d start by breaking in my Metrocard.
    Then again, maybe I should have known that expressing my independence via mass transit wasn’t such a good idea, given how my morning had started out. So far, Noodles had turned the brand-new Bendel’s cashmere socks Feb had given to me for Christmas into an argyle war zone on my bedroom floor. My flatiron had short-circuited the left side of our house, so I couldn’t even make coffee or pop in my usual multigrain toast for a quick peanut butter and banana sandwich. Not that I felt like eating much anyway. My stomach felt like it might be tied permanently in a knot the size of Feb’s green batik head scarf.
    Now I was squished up against about a hundred other commuters, probably wrinkling version 2.0 of my back-to-school outfit (the studded leggings hanging in my closet just didn’t look as appealing after I’d seen them in Kennedy’s shopping bag).
    Luckily Camille and SBB had been there to do conference call triage, and we’d come up with a pretty sweet alternative. I’d decided to go with the same notched blazer and white tank, but I paired them with gray leggings and a just-long-enough pleated schoolgirl skirt. The skirt had been my find of the season at Beacon’s Closet, the funkiest consignment store in all of Williamsburg.
    As the doors of the train thudded open, I clutched my Fendi messenger bag and made my way through the masses toward the exit at 86th Street.
    I hurried across Park Avenue, clutching my coat against the cold wind, and instinctively glanced up at my ex-boyfriend Adam’s apartment on East 88th Street. It’d been a couple weeks since our breakup, and we’d spoken only once or twice. Catching a glimpse of the football trophies lining his windowsill, I felt a tiny pang. Still, I had to admit, even as I waved shyly to his doorman, Adam—and my whole life back at Stuyvesant—felt pretty far away.
    With four minutes to spare, I found myself joggingup Thoney’s majestic front steps. This place looked more like the Met than a high school. I’d been here once before, but I guess I’d never paid close attention to the building’s haute aesthetics. Now there was just an ornate wrought iron gate between me and the five-story brick mansion where I’d be spending the bulk of the next three and a half years.
    Hordes of chic girls I didn’t know poured out of town cars and through the front doors. All of them looked chatty and exited, like there was an Intermix warehouse sale going on inside. My eyes searched for just one familiar face, but I couldn’t make out a single girl I knew under the barrage of the latest outerwear from Searle.
    Then, at my waist, I felt my iPhone buzz with a text from Camille. Thank God. Hopefully she’d just tell me where to meet her so I wouldn’t have to enter the lion’s den alone.
    SNAFU AT DEAN & DELUCA…. CUTE BARISTA STRUCK DOWN BY FLU. NEW GUY TOTALLY LAGGING ON FROTHED MILK FOR MY MOCHA. SO SORRY—SAVE ME A SEAT AT ASSEMBLY!!!
    So much for a familiar face. Hmm. Even under my peacoat, shearling hat, and Moschino all-weather boots, I found myself shivering. But wait. I could do this. This was what I’d wanted. All I had to do was takea deep breath and open the doors. The rest of my life was calling—and so was the tardy bell.
    I pulled open the giant heavy door and stepped inside. Thoney was way nicer than stuffy, tapestry-laden Miss Mallard’s, which I used to think was pretty ritzy. Dark purple drapes tumbled from the high ceilings down to the iridescent marble floors of the foyer. Large, framed composites showcased classes of Thoney alums over the years. A quick scan of the faces showed women from all walks of life—from four state senators to the current chair of Lincoln Center, all the way to