Page 606 of Filthy Elites

“True, but I’m not sure everyone else might share the same opinion if I turned up at a party.” I can’t stand people talking about me. I’m in a fragile state of mind, so I don’t have the strength for that.

“I guarantee you by Friday, the whole school will most likely be talking about the Cindy Parker and Pierre St. John bust up.”

I think for a moment, and even I can agree with that because the bust-up was definitely Jerry Springer worthy.

The argument broke out this morning in homeroom when Cindy declared she was gay and leaving Pierre—who she was apparently engaged to—for her best friend, Torri.

I’ve been here for two minutes, and this is day two of school. Apart from my unhallowed presence, that bust-up seemed to be the biggest news to sweep through Raventhorn’s walls.

Pierre being the quarterback of the football team and one of the most popular boys at school, did not take too kindly to the news.

I used to love a little gossip as much as the next girl. When that happened this morning, I was just grateful people wouldn’t be talking about me for a while.

“How about I think about it?” I need to decide if I even want to go. I might be busy on Friday if all goes well tonight.

“Okay, but since I won’t see you for lunch, do you want to go shopping after school? The new fall collection just arrived at Neiman’s, and I don’t want to miss it.”

“I can definitely do shopping.”

“Alright, see you in class.”

I nod, and she saunters away.

I continue to my car—which I now have. It’s on the other side of the parking lot.

My little midnight blue Porsche arrived yesterday when I got home—a present from my mother, probably to try and smooth things over after the unpleasantness of yesterday morning.

I already knew I was going to get a car and hoped it would be soon, so I’m glad to have it.

As much as I don’t want anything from my Mom or Cal, I took it because it will come in handy for a number of things I’m about to do.

Seniors are allowed off campus for lunch, so I told Isabelle I wanted to go into the city to get some stuff. She had to have a short lunch anyway, so it worked perfectly.

I am leaving campus, just not for the reason I gave.

I need some privacy for an hour.

That was why I parked where I did.

My phone beeps with a message in my bag. Knowing exactly who it’s from, I reach in and pull it out.

It’s from the Decadent Agency. The people I’m willing to sell my soul to, to get the money I need to leave New York and go to UCLA next fall.

They’re a high-end escort service run by the same people who own the Dark Odyssey sex club in Chicago and L.A.

They make dark fantasies come true. I’m applying to be one of their angel dolls.

The position is mainly online work where you can do anything from selling nude pictures, doing naked videos, or even becoming an escort if the men you meet like you.

I came across them when I hit an all-time low and realized my life wouldn’t be mine again unless I did something to take it back. The problem, of course, in doing so is having enough money.

Chad wouldn’t know just how badly I want to leave this place. I’m only here because Mom threatened to cut me off if I didn’t come.

If I leave now the same threat applies.

In the interim I’ve done as I’ve been told because of my dreams to become a doctor. I can’t afford med school, and any student loan I’d get wouldn’t cover everything I need because of the specialist course I want to pursue.

Like my grandfather, I want to go into medical research and work specifically with childhood related illnesses.

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