After one of the most embarrassing experiences of her life, Viola Hawkins is left feeling hopeless and demoralised. So when she's told that she's able to work as an undercover agent in a boarding school, she's given a new chance to change her life...
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When we arrive at Georgia's house, we don't even need to check if we got the address right due to the booming sounds of music trailing down her street.
Although, to reiterate what I described earlier, I said 'house' - but the best way to describe it would be more like a mansion. A humongous driveway leads up to it, with a waterfall in the centre and two perfectly carved hedges on either side of each lower window.
It takes us at least a minute to walk to her door, before we knock and wait for someone to answer it.
Finally it swings open, revealing a girl with a blonde bun and lots of freckles dotted across her face. She has on a short black dress that hugs her shape, and bright red lipstick that seems to be slightly smudged. I can only guess that it's Georgia, considering by the large painting hung up on the opposite wall of her and her family.
"Heeeey!" She greets, throwing her arms in the air. "Come in! Come in!"
After she walks backwards to make room, we all trudge in, the bottles clinking together in our plastic bags.
Georgia almost immediately trips over, grabbing onto Callum's arm for stability. "Whoopsie! I might be a little tipsy."
Sydney appears not long after that, her smile reaching her ears as her eyes find mine. "You came! And you're wearing the dress! You look incredible." She squeezes me tightly when I reach her, and suddenly I come to the realisation that this is the first time I've ever hugged Sydney Moreau.
"Thanks," I say, grinning genuinely back. "But says you!"
And I mean it. She really does look incredible, but I guessed as much. That's all anyone can ever expect of Sydney. To always look her best.
The house is just as beautiful inside as it is outside - each room is enormous, with a set theme of dark purple and grey, contemporary furniture and paintings hanging on each wall, looking placed to perfection.
It doesn't even surprise me that there are numerous chandeliers, the glass hanging from the ceiling reflecting sharp rays of light like fragments of shattered ice: picturesque and exquisite.
But the beauty of the house has no doubt been isolated - as exemplified by the pulsing strobe and the flashes of coloured spot lights. The low drone of the bass causes a deep hum in the air, the mansion echoing its resentment through the floorboards that move under our feet.
Around fifteen minutes later, the once glamourous house is now nearly completely full of teens. A table has been set up in the grand living room, with hundreds of cans and bottles lined up for anyone to take, despite Sydney stating to bring your own booze. Maybe someone was feeling extra generous?
Emily, Amie and I all take three shots from our vodka, wanting to cut loose before it's all gone. As the party properly begins, I start to feel the hum of the alcohol getting to my head, making me feel slightly giddy with happiness.
