All That Glitters Read Free Page B

the socialites of my generation, whose romps around town dotted Page Six of the
New York Post
on a daily basis. I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride when I saw my own mother’s senior shot. Her black off-the-shoulder shell was so classic that not only was it still hanging in her closet, I’d worn it to the Bergdorf Christmas gala with SBB as well.
    When I turned away from the photos, trying to mimic the confident smile my mom wore in her picture, I accidentally caught the eye of a girl wearing an iPod and a green headband in her curly mop of blond hair. She returned my grin.
    â€œLove your blazer,” she said, before disappearing into the horde of girls heading into the North Wing assembly room.
    â€œThanks,” I said, fingering the buttons of my jacket. It didn’t matter that she was already gone. I’d just had my first girly moment at Thoney. As I joined the stampede of girls funneling into the assembly, my boots clunked on the marble floor a little bit more happily than they had a minute before.
    The auditorium was abuzz with post–winter break chatter. I could barely hear the bell ring over the chorus of all the “Omigod, I love your—” ringing out, and suddenly my “I’m confident” smile faltered. Even though Stuy had about a million more students than Thoney, the vibe there had always felt so much more diverse and mellow than this. There was something about so many of the same type of girls having the same type of conversation all in one room that was a tiny bit overwhelming. Almost dizzily, I sank into an open seat on a bench at the back of the room.
    No sooner had I loosened my cranberry-colored Benetton scarf from around my neck than I felt a sharp pinch on my elbow. I spun around to see Camille’s grimace as she practically yanked me off the bench.
    â€œWe don’t sit here,” she hissed. “Upperclassmen do.”
    For a second, I thought there might have been a tinge of real exasperation in her voice, but then she winked at me and tossed her long brown hair playfullyas she pulled me onto a more permissible bench in the third row.
    â€œI’ve never been so glad to see you in my life,” I whispered to her. “Was I about to get thrown to the upper-class wolves?”
    Camille nodded. “That’s the senior bench. It’s incredibly bad luck to sit there till you are one. You have no idea how insane the Thoney superstitions are.”
    â€œI guess not,” I said, tucking my scarf into my bag.
    â€œBut you’ll learn,” Camille said happily and produced two Dean & Deluca coffee cups from her tote. “Hazelnut latte, no whip, right? Be stealthy”—she nodded toward a hovering teacher—“they don’t call her Professor Daggers for nothing.”
    Before I could thank Camille for reading my caffeine-deprived mind, she nudged the girl to her left.
    â€œFlan Flood,” she said, gesturing toward me. “Meet your new crew. This is Harper Alden,” she said, pointing to the wholesome, blond girl unbuttoning her black Searle coat to her left. “Watch out for this one. She’s the captain of the debate team and she takes no prisoners.”
    â€œOmigod, don’t scare her, Camille,” Harper said, laughing and giving me a friendly wink. “Don’tworry, Flan, I only bring out the claws at the podium.”
    Next to Harper was a gorgeous Filipino girl with amber-colored eyes and long black hair. “This is Amory Wilx, drama buff extraordinaire,” Camille said as Amory curtsied dramatically in her seat.
    Finally, Camille pointed to the same curly haired girl who’d complimented me in the foyer a few minutes ago. “And this is Morgan Burnette, resident DJ.”
    As Morgan turned off her iPod, I noticed that she was listening to the new Cat Power cover album that I’d been playing on repeat since I’d bought it the week