Welcome to Bridgeport Academy, an elite boarding school in New York where glamorous rich kids don't let rules get in the way of a good time.
[ Based on the It Girl series by Cecily Von Ziegesar ]
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A few minutes later, after the rain cleared and the late-summer sky began to turn a faded orange, students walked in cliquish groups from their dorms to the dining hall, and Alex strode down the stone path toward Bridgeport's front office. A crisp wind suddenly lifted the edges of her sheer silk scarf, which made her think of winter. Most kids hated winter at Bridgeport, because you were stuck indoors and there was nothing to do except watch old movies at the library and go to class. But Alex loved it.
The dorm mistresses lit fires in the common rooms, and the teachers canceled classes on the first day of snow. By four it was already dark, and she and Robyn would drink spiked hot cocoa while they gossiped about their latest crushes. Alex was pretty sure she wasn't going to be drinking cocoa with Robyn this winter (they were barely talking) but maybe she'd have someone else to drink cocoa with. Naked.
As she sidestepped a couple of fat brown squirrels fighting over a Cheeto, Alex's cell phone beeped with a text message. Sorry we got cut off before, it said. Luv you, Sissy! Alex quickly called Bree back and got her voicemail.
"I'm about to go out to dinner with a Jordan," she whispered delightedly into her phone. "Be jealous. Be very jealous." Then she pressed end.
Alex entered the front office, a giddy, sour feeling festering in the pit of her stomach. The lobby was empty, and magazines were arranged neatly on the huge coffee table. The old cherry floors squeaked under her three-inch black Jimmy Choo boots as Alex approached the front desk attendant, Mrs. Tullington.
"I need a pass for the night," she said casually. And, because you always needed an appropriate reason: "I'm accompanying my uncle to a silent auction of ancient Russian artifacts in Hudson." She knew that a lie sounded more convincing when you threw in a whole bunch of ridiculous details.
Mrs. Tullington eyed Alex over her glasses and the wrinkles around her mouth puckered in disapproval. Alex wore a tight, slit-down-the-side Armani skirt. Her lips were bright red, her arms were bare, and the V in her silk black top was so low you could almost see her black lace bra.
Finally Mrs. T. wrote out the pass. "Enjoy the artifacts," she said primly. "And your uncle. Nice that you girls stay close with family."
The thing was, if Mrs. T had bothered to look out the building's bay window, she would have seen Alex get into a sleek white Jaguar—a car that most definitely did not belong to her uncle. Michael wore dark blue pressed jeans and a crisp tucked-in white button-down. Alex covered her knees with her skirt, feeling slightly overdressed.
"You look nice," Michael grinned, gripping the gearshift sexily.
"Oh. Thanks."
The windows were down, and a cool late-summer breeze wafted in. As they swept down Bridgeport's front hill past the practice fields, Alex felt a sudden, disorienting thrill. Maybe they were leaving the school for good and never coming back. Suckers. She thought about everyone else sitting down to dinner right now at the dining hall. On Thursdays it was pasta with watery tomato sauce and nasty fried chicken.
