I lived a life where, if a girl came to school with the latest handbag, another girl would automatically show her up with a handbag that hadn’t even been available to the public yet. And then, I would come along and show them both up with a handbag that was custom-made and commissioned to be one-of-a-kind.
Yep.
I was that asshole.
My clothes were designer originals. My shoes came right off the runways. My hair, fingernails, and toenails had standing appointments with the best. My car cost more than most people’s homes. I only hung out with the top ten percent of Blackstone’s wealthiest, and I’ve only had one boyfriend because no one had been good enough for Grace Hale if they hadn’t checked off all the boxes I had been raised to believe they had needed to check off.
I have walked Blackstone’s hallways without a care in the world except for my grades. And even then, who cared? No one would bat an eyelash if any of us females just went on to marry some rich prick and became trophy wives. Socialites didn’t require intelligence. Sad, but true.
For seventeen years, my life has been a bad, tasteless combination of every Housewives reality show ever produced and every teenage fake reality show aired on television. I knew reality television was fake, but…sometimes…every now and again…there were these pockets of truth in those shows. The conceit and the snobbery were real.
I ought to know.
The hallways of Blackstone were littered with the conceited and snobby. I’d have to say London Addison was probably the only female at Blackstone who didn’t get swept up in the politics of social standings and what people thought of her. Granted, she was a knockout and started at the top, much like I had, but I’d never seen any cracks in her armor. If London had any weaknesses, I’ve yet to see them.
On top of coming from a wealthy family, London had been blessed in the gene pool as well. She and I were the same height at five-foot-four but that was where our similarities ended. London had lush, long brown hair and dark blue eyes. Her body was also perfection with her slim build that made her look dainty and feminine.
London Addison was also my best friend.
We’d been friends since the fourth grade, and there were many times I wondered why she was content to follow and not lead. Not that she was a follower, because she wasn’t. London just was never one to lead the charge. For a lack of a better phrase, she was content on being the supporting actress to my starring role when she could have easily been the lead in anything we’ve ever done.
Another thing we differed on was boys. I liked the idea of steady relationships. I liked the idea of true love. I liked the idea that someone could love you above money, status, and power. London believed in those things, too, she just didn’t believe it in while a person was still in high school. She wanted to taste all the colors of the rainbow before she settled down. The funny thing about that is I haven’t seen her taste many colors since we’ve been old enough to date. She’s hooked up with a couple of guys, here and there, but her virginity was every bit intact as mine was.
And when I saw her headed my way, I finally unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of my car. I adjusted my backpack over my left shoulder and click the key fob to lock my car.
“Hey,” she greeted, all smiles and teenage beautiful.
“Hey.” We fell in step together as we headed towards the fortress that was Blackstone. “Sorry I missed your text last night. I fell asleep studying.”
London chuckled. “I figured.” We walked silently for a few seconds before she said, “You missed a hell of a party Friday.”
“Aren’t they pretty much all the same these days?” I’d stopped running with the partying crowd a few weeks back.
“Pretty much,” she agreed. “But this party had Rochelle Kent being dumped in front of God and everyone.”
I winced. “Ouch.”
London nodded. “Ouch, indeed.” She reached out to pull the one of the front doors open. “Milo was talking to Chanel Eaton, quite innocently might I add, and Rochelle flew into her usual jealous rage.” The door swung closed behind us as I looked over at her. “I guess he’d finally had enough because he dumped her ass in front of everyone.”
I shook my head. “I never understood that girl,” I muttered. “Milo’s always been devoted to her.”
“Apparently, not devoted enough for Rochelle’s satisfaction.”
We reached London’s locker first. “I forgot to tell you,” she began as she opened her locker to get her textbook out. “I’ve got detention for a week.”
I choked out a laugh. “For what?” It was practically unheard of for teachers to give out detention here. They were so terrified of rich, angry parents storming the school, demanding retribution, they hardly bothered.
“Sean Nichols thought it’d be a good idea to grab my ass as we were walking out of AP Chemistry Friday, and I showed him just how bad of an idea that had been.”
I laughed. “Oh, God. What’d you do?”
London closed the door to her locker and shrugged a shoulder. “I elbowed him in the nose, then kneed him in his junk, before dropping another elbow on his back. Professor Allen took exception.”
“Yeah, I kind of imagine he would,” I laughed.
She rolled her eyes. “He said violence was never the answer. To which I said, I’d be sure to pass his message along to the many sexual assault survivors who had mistaking fought back against their attackers.” I grimaced. “And I’m pretty sure that was the reason I got detention for a week.”
We reached my locker when the first bell for class rang. I was turning the combination to my locker when I said, “Go on ahead to class. I have to make a pit stop at the office first.” She gave me a quick nod, a peace sign, and strolled off.
And I went to the office, hoping to avoid first period altogether.
Chapter 2
Styx~
One more year.
That’s all I had left of Blackstone and thank fuck for that. The pretentiousness of the place was enough to make you feel like you were suffocating on freshly minted money and gold bars. Or, maybe, I should say rhodium. After all, rhodium was more expensive that gold or even platinum.
Blackstone Prep Academy was everything you’d envision the One Percent to send their children to school at. The huge stone citadel boasted of money, power, and connections. It was where money sent their children, so they could continue in their parents’ footsteps of ruling the world and whatnot.
But it was also a place where mere mortals could also attend if they could score a scholarship or scrape up the money to pay for the tuition. And I do mean scrape. The cost of going to Blackstone was up there with buying a house, except, you couldn’t pay Blackstone off in payments. Blackstone Prep wanted their money upfront and in full. However, it was also a place that could set you up for the rest of your life if you could get in and take advantage of all its perks.
My father, Logan Reinhart, was a cop and my mother, Della Reinhart, was a city clerk. They were a far cry from wealthy or even well off. We were a middle-class family that, normally, could not afford a place like Blackstone. We didn’t live in Wakefield Community, but rather the regular area of Dayton, California. My younger sister, Temperance, was in the eighth grade, and with a family of four, we weren’t going to Disneyland every weekend.