Page 443 of Filthy Elites

“Emma Jerico’s parents are fighting over the ski lodge in Canada, Hayden Long’s dad stole ten million from his clients, and Jeff Winterborne is exploring his sexuality with his family’s Puerto Rico pool boy,” I repeat back to her, my voice monotone and bored.

“Did you hear that Elliot Williams got his ass kicked by some juniors?”

“I actually did, I saw them dragging him into one of the science labs. He’s an asshole, he tried to grope my vagina this morning, he deserves a beatdown,” I say with a shrug.

“Oh my god, he tried to grope you?” She looks aghast, the other thing about Court is that despite the world she inhabits, and the fact that having endless amounts of money tends to give the kids we go to school with an unhealthy sense of entitlement, she isn’t like that. In fact, she’s almost naively innocent.

“I planned to knee him in the balls, but Logan saw him with his hand up my skirt and dragged him off me before I got a chance.”

“Logan has the biggest crush on you,” she smirks.

“He does not. He’s just a nice guy. He saw Elliot being an asshole and stepped in.”

“Would you date him, if he asked?”

“Logan? No, he’s cute, but I’m not interested in dating anyone at GAA. Can you imagine their face if I took them back to my house? The kids that go here spontaneously combust if they step into South Acres,” I laugh.

Rolling her eyes, she pushes open the door to the cafeteria and pulls me inside. “No one would care about where you live.”

“No,youdon’t care about where I live and that’s because you’re the most amazing person I know, but the other kids that go here, they all care. That’s why no one but you speaks to me. I’m inconsequential to them and that’s okay, they’re inconsequential to me too.”

Stepping into the large open-plan dining area, the smell of garlic and tomato hits my nose and I inhale greedily. “Oh wow something smells good.”

“I think I gained ten pounds just from the calories in the air, but it does smell amazing. You need to eat it for me.”

“Come on, let’s find a seat. I can’t believe we order our food from an app instead of having to wait at the counter,” I say, steering her toward an empty table.

“Being a sophomore rocks.”

Sitting down, we both pull out our cells and order our food. I get the lasagna with a green salad and a bottle of water, my mouth already watering in anticipation.

“Skinless chicken breast salad, dressing on the side and a bottle of water,” Court says aloud as she taps at the screen of her cell.

“You don’t need to watch your weight, you’re practically skin and bone as it is.”

“If I want to fly this year, I can’t gain even an ounce. Heidi is making us do a weigh-in each week on a Friday and if you gain, you don’t get to cheer.”

“Having cheerleaders at fencing competitions is ridiculous anyway, you should quit and then you can eat whatever you want,” I scoff.

“Did you see how cute the new cheer uniforms are? There’s no way I’m giving up the chance to wear one of those. And I’m a flyer, it’s practically a one-way ticket to Elite status.”

The uniforms are tiny fitted forest-green crop tops, with the school logo emblazoned across the front in gold, and an equally tiny green skirt with gold trim. I’m sure she’s going to look fantastic in it, but there’s no way I’d starve myself all year just to be able to wear it once a week to hop around cheering when one pretentious asshole stabs another pretentious asshole with a blunt sword.

Our food arrives and it looks as good as it smells. My mom is a quarter Italian. I’m not sure which quarter, because none of the relatives I know of on her side will admit to being a part of the Italian contingent. But her imagined heritage has given her a love for all things Italian cooking. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, this means that my house is always full of freshly made pasta for salads, sauces and lasagna. Cutting into the steaming square of tomatoey, creamy, cheesy goodness, I bring the forkful to my mouth and eat, it's delicious and I hum in approval as I chew.

“God, I hate you so much right now,” Court says, glaring at me then down to the green leafy salad in front of her. “You sound like you’re on the verge of a foodgasm.”

“That’s because I am,” I say, my mouth full of my second bite of yumminess.

“How are you so skinny? You should be the size of a truck.”

“Just lucky, I guess,” I tell her, although the truth is, I work too much, sleep too little and most of the time I forget to eat. The only time I had off this summer was the three weeks when I went to visit with my dad. He owns and runs a fishing boat in Maine so instead of relaxing, I spent my time with him helping out on the boat. It’s hard work and long hours, but it’s the only time I get to see him and I don’t mind a little hard work. For once, hauling nets and lobster out of the sea has paid off. I have a layer of muscle that only comes from exercise and a diet that mainly consisted of things caught on a line from the sea.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles and the horrible sensation of being watched hits me. It’s irrational, I’m in a roomful of people, no one is looking at me specifically, more than likely it’s just kids scanning the surroundings, but I can’t help feeling watched.

Surreptitiously, I take a moment and glance around the room, but it’s packed and if someone is looking at me, they’re not being obvious about it.

“Are you okay?” Court asks.

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