Gilt_ By Invitation Only - Geneva Lee Page 0,1
and ‘are you okay’ is one of them. Then there’s the jerks that have made it their mission to hold me accountable for what happened that night, because I’m the only one left to blame. The whole lot of them make Belle Mère Prep feel more like the nine circles of hell than high school.
Only a few more hours. But the mental cheerleading does nothing for my apathy, especially when I spot Hugo Roth, my least favorite mistake, loitering near my English class.
“Hey pawn star, ready for summer vacation?” I don’t have to turn to attach the sneer in the voice with his stupid face, but he darts in front of the doorway so I still have to look at him. He’s taller than most of the boys in class, which is a blessing given that he has to hold up his gigantic ego all day. I hate to say he cleans up well. Still there’s no denying his movie star jawline or his silky blond hair that’s just long enough to grab onto when he makes his move. I’d made that mistake once. Never again. “I was thinking of coming into the shop. I have something I know you’ll want.”
“Sorry. We’re all stocked up on junk.” My family's Las Vegas pawn shop is considered a tourist landmark, but to me it's just another embarrassment.
I push past him, but his arm flies out to stop me. With his other hand, he grabs his crotch. “What will your daddy give me for this? Or maybe you and I can discuss its value.”
“Or maybe I can show it the barrel of one of our many in-stock shotguns.” I plaster a smile on my face as I wiggle my pinkie for emphasis. “If I recall, it should slide ride in.”
Hugo’s face darkens as he moves away from the door. “Bitch.”
“Good to catch up!” I call after him sweetly from the doorway.
Mr. Hunter doesn’t look at me as I rush into the room to the sound of the final bell. “Nice of you to join us, Miss Southerly.”
I slide Great Expectations out of my bag and hold it up. “I couldn’t stop reading. I didn’t get any sleep.”
Mr. Hunter has apparently read Dickens because he presses his lips together in disbelief. He probably watched the movie, too, but he doesn’t push my tardiness. I slump in my seat as he starts a discussion on whether or not Pip’s benefactor did him a favor. Apparently, he didn’t get the memo that it’s the last day of school. Since I thought the story was stupid—a poor kid trying to impress a rich girl—I stare at the wood-paneling some board member sprung for during the academy’s renovation. The result is all Vegas. Oak paneling, bookcases full of dusty leather-bound volumes—a show meant to trick over-qualified teachers and elite college recruiters into thinking that the students here are as competitive as east coast prep students.
Growing up in Belle Mère, I know the truth: all that glitters isn’t gold.
“Miss West?” Mr. Hunter calls across the room to a blonde with her back turned to him, catching my attention.
Monroe West glances over her shoulder and stares at him like she’s waiting for him to answer. Her Jimmy Choo’s probably cost a week of his pay and she knows it. Who said our priorities aren’t in place at Belle Mère Prep? But when you’re a West, doors open for you. Just not Southerly doors. After Monroe put a pink streak in her hair, Clark County ran out of dye for two months. Girls drove to Los Angeles to get theirs done, and by the time, they had their appointments, she’d moved on. Her latest look is more Miami than pop star, bright citrus hues. She’s a step ahead of the game. With her daddy’s money and her latest stint on reality TV, wannabe designers are falling all over themselves to send her clothes. It’s more proof that life isn’t fair. The girl could buy anything she wants and she doesn’t even have to. But it’s not class warfare that has her on my blacklist. No, she’s earned her spot and then some.
“Do you have thoughts on the question?” he prompts her when she doesn’t respond.
“Of course, he did him a favor. Everyone wants money. I’d rather be dead than poor.” She flicks her bleached locks over her shoulder and returns to her previous conversation.
A snort escapes me and they both turn to stare. Acknowledging Monroe said something is akin to drawing