Page 8 of SNOB

The blonde blinks before walking behind a large wooden podium. Her white blouse sits unbuttoned just enough to tease any guy walking through those golden doors. “Your name?”

“Ember Everett.”

Her golden pen trails the page. “So it is.” Disbelief peppers her haughty tone. “You can head towards the Sumptuous Salon.” She points the pen towards the room with velvet chairs outlined in gold.

I thank her with a nod and a smile. I’ll show these folks that where I’m from, we still have manners. If my resume was enough to get me this interview, it’s enough to land me this job. Okay, maybe I embellished it a bit. I didn’t work at that Michelin Star restaurant and I wasn’t the executive assistant at Vanity Fair. But they don’t need to know that.

It’s hard to ignore eyes on me as I walk through the ornate room with golden statues and more dangling crystals.

“Loser.”

“Why are you even here?”

“You think you belong here?”

Not even five minutes in and the wolves have clocked the kid from The Valley.

My head held high, I take a deep breath, readying a comeback. But when I look around for who said those words, I don’t see anyone.

“No one wants you here.” A snooty voice rings through the room, high-pitched and proud. “Nobody wants that outfit you’re wearing either and as far as I know, not even your parents want you around. So why don’t you do us all a favour and disappear?”

My eyes narrow in on the side of the room. A group of girls my age gather around a small table. Another girl with an angled bob is there too, but she's the only one actually sitting. She keeps her head down, her shoulders hunched. Her outfit doesn’t look as bad as mine and it’s clear she fits into The Hill. But something about her is different. Her eyes on her book, she scribbles something on a sheet of paper while the rest all stand around her laughing.

“So now you don’t have a mouth? Or do you save it for sucking dick?”

Turns out, even those who belong in Paradise Hill aren’t welcome. They laugh some more and The Bob sinks further into her seat. She won’t even stand up for herself.

“Don’t worry, that outfit doesn’t make you any less of a whore.”

Teeth clenched, my feet move towards the table.

Don’t do it.

Don’t get involved.

Worry about yourself.

But it’s too late.

Passing a table with a leftover glass of wine, I grab it and keep walking as I pinpoint the leader. There’s always a leader.

This one has long black hair with streaks of glitter and her makeup beat to perfection. She wears a white dress with a furry jacket, her nails matching her white, glittery ensemble.

My hand tightens around the glass as their laughter roars through the lounge. They’re way too caught up in making this girl's life hell to see what I’m about to do.

If she won’t fight back, I will.

THREE

EMBER

“Oops!”

My chest crashes into the leader’s. Hard.

She shrieks as red wine pours down the top of her dress into her cleavage.

“I’m so sorry.” The bored tone in my voice says the opposite. “I didn’t see you on my way to the ladies’ room.”

---