Chapter 1 6 September 2016 #2
Bash, to the contrary, looked older than his years – toned, athletic and ready to take Wall Street by storm.
His nearly black hair was cropped short, and his shoes were shiny as mirror glass.
A burgundy pocket square peeked from his blazer.
Frequent sessions with a private trainer had sculpted chiselled abs and pecs beneath his shirt, and biceps the envy of high school boys everywhere strained the sleeves.
His dark eyes locked with hers. ‘You’re beautiful, but a bit rough around the edges.’ His eyes trailed up and down Hannah’s body, sending a shiver up her spine. Ew. ‘I imagine Prescott will polish you up in no time.’
Hannah swallowed. Bash Beaumont was undeniably stylish, fit and darkly handsome, but he gave her the ick.
‘Bash, Bash, Bash.’ Theodore Fitzgerald, known to all of Prescott as Theo and as Teddie to Elle alone, placed a heavy hand on his best friend’s shoulder. ‘Hannah just got here. Call off your dogs before you scare her away.’
Madison snorted, a surprisingly ungraceful sound for such a lovely girl. She could behave absolutely any way she pleased and it would only make the others envy her more. ‘Bash is the dog, dear Theo. Woof!’
Elle linked her arm through Theo’s. He was tall and classically handsome; if you saw him on the street, you might mistake him for a movie star.
White blond hair dusted his pale brows; his cheekbones were high; his lashes enviably long.
Delicate freckles dotted the bridge of his nose, and he wore a timeless pair of Oliver Peoples frames that made him look more distinguished than any seventeen-year-old had the right to be.
Hannah bit back a smile. He was gorgeous, but also very taken.
There was no mistake: Elle and Theo were the Queen and King of Prescott Academy. Which made Theo squarely off-limits.
Hannah wrenched her gaze back to Madison. She was in her own category altogether. A golden goddess, immortal.
Elle turned to Bash. ‘Speaking of dogs, how many of our lovely classmates did you take to bed this summer?’
A sly grin spread across his face. ‘A gentleman never tells.’
Madison scoffed, and his grin widened.
‘Fortunately for you, I am not a gentleman. While Elle and Theo summered in Paris and Madison was the envy of Nice, it was a summer of pleasure for Sebastian Beaumont right here on the Upper East Side. As of last night, the tally has reached fourteen. That’s only the women of Prescott, of course.’
‘Disgusting.’ Elle’s grip tightened around Theo’s arm, and something flickered across Bash’s face.
Then the grin reappeared, as if it had never left.
Across the Kingsley Room, leaning against an aisle seat near the back, was a petite, curvy girl with a blonde pixie cut.
Layers of Van Cleef Alhambra pendants and chains hung from her neck and spilled into her cleavage.
Her skirt was rolled at the waist displaying several inches of smooth, tanned leg between the tops of her knee socks and the hem of her skirt.
She raised her hand and gave Bash a four-fingered wave.
‘Gemma Phipps, really, Bash?’ Elle sneered.
Bash chuckled and returned Gemma’s wave. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘But the year is young, and I’m on the market for lucky number fifteen.’
Bile rose in Hannah’s throat. She was overcome by a wave of protectiveness for this girl she didn’t know – Gemma Phipps. Sure, she was dressed to call attention to her curves, but Bash struck her as the worst kind of playboy. Surely, Gemma deserved better than that.
‘Seats!’ At the front of the hall, Mr Harris stepped behind a large mahogany podium and clapped his hands together, three tight raps.
‘The Class Czar has spoken,’ Theo quipped. ‘Better get in line.’
Hannah turned to follow her new classmates – calling them friends seemed premature – to an empty row of seats near the front of the hall. But before she could sit, a hand brushed the small of her back, and she spun around.
‘Hannah Miller!’ a bright voice exclaimed. ‘I thought that was you.’
‘Oliver?’ Hannah grinned, overwhelmed by the relief of seeing a familiar face in this strange new world.
Before she’d received her acceptance to Prescott, Oliver Morgan had been her classmate at a summer pre-college programme in Pittsburgh.
He’d mentioned attending a prep school in New York, but the city had private schools aplenty, and if he had said it was Prescott – the best of the best – she’d forgotten.
‘Seats!’ Mr Harris boomed again. He removed a pair of thin tortoiseshell frames and placed them on the podium, peering out at the crowd of seniors.
‘Here.’ Oliver motioned to a pair of empty chairs several rows back. ‘Sit with me.’
She gave Madison, Elle, Theo and Bash a small wave and turned to follow Oliver down the aisle.
‘Oliver Morgan,’ Bash called out before they’d gone far. ‘Don’t believe I saw you at the club this summer. Guess your membership was denied, yet again.’
Uh-oh. Oliver’s back stiffened, but before she could ask what he’d done to offend the royalty of Prescott, he guided her to their seats.
‘Ignore them.’ His voice was tight, his cheeks flushed red.
She opened her mouth to ask, then thought better of it.
‘I heard a rumour you might be joining us this year,’ Oliver said, a deliberate bid to change the subject. ‘The comments have been popping.’
‘Comments?’
‘On the latest post. The Upper Edge?’
Her eyebrows arched.
Oliver continued. ‘It’s a gossip account run by someone at Prescott. People send DMs, The Upper Edge spreads the stories. The whole school is a bit obsessed. You’ll see.’
Right. The Instagram account Ami had been drooling over this morning. Guilt flooded Hannah’s chest. She’d barely given her little sister a second glance after they’d arrived at the gates.
Resolving to check on her after first period, she took her seat and turned to Oliver. ‘Comments about me?’
Oliver nodded, curly blond hair bobbing and boyish dimples creasing his cheeks.
The latest model iPhone, in a custom CASETiFY mirror case, rested on his knee.
He switched on the screen and opened Instagram.
Below a post displaying the Prescott fountain were a series of comments speculating about the identity of the two newest transplants to the Upper East Side – scholarship students Hannah and Ami Miller.
‘Unbelievable,’ she muttered. Truly, who cared?
Mr Harris tapped the mic and the room fell silent.
Oliver flipped his phone face down. For the next ten minutes, they listened to an oration on new policies for the new year, brief introductions to each senior seminar teacher, and a discussion of the kinds of topics that would land you a place at Harvard or Yale – and those that would send you to community college.
As Mr Harris rattled off the room assignments for each seminar group, a flurry of low whispers rippled across the Kingsley Room.
Were her fellow students really that invested in their classroom locations?
Hannah looked up from her lap, where she’d been studying her nails. They needed a trim. All around her, phones were out, heads were bent low and students were murmuring.
‘What’s happening?’ she mouthed to Oliver.
‘New year, new drama.’ He tilted his screen towards her.