4

MALLORY

You probably wish you were me.

I don’t actually say this out loud. Not an appropriate topic for our campus tour, and also super bitchy, even though that’s not my intention. Still, I can tell by the way the new girl sizes me up that she believes I have it all, that I check off all the right boxes. How could she not when I’ve got:

natural blond hair, super long and straight but not stringy, never stringy, check.

a British SUV, check.

a twenty-six-inch waist, check.

a cute, popular, universally beloved boyfriend, check.

a limitless future, double-freaking-check.

My Balenciaga backpack’s full of credit cards in my name, yet I’m not even legal to buy cigarettes. That is, if anyone smoked, because, no.

I wonder if this Simone person partakes, though? She seems super European with her bizarre felt clogs and layers of scarves. They LOVE smoking over there. When the Italian Club went to Venice last summer, I noticed every high school–aged kid puffing away, as though lung cancer weren’t even a thing.

At the time, my girlfriends were, like, “The Venetian boys are sooooo hot! We won’t tell if you cheat on Liam!” However, (a) I’m faithful, and (b) every single guy I met was five-foot-three. I was a head taller than all of them. Again, no.

Anyway, my wrist is stacked with Cartier Love bracelets, and not the weird, breakfast cereal–type jewelry this girl has piled on, like she’s wearing a bunch of Cheerios on a string or something. She seems the type to own four T-shirts that she washes in the sink at a youth hostel, whereas my walk-in closet’s the size of a studio apartment. Even clad in my team uniform—a North Shore first day tradition—I have better style.

If I had to describe myself/my life, I’d say I’m kind of a suburban version of Kendall Jenner, except I have two brothers and no sisters. Also, I’m not forced to spend holidays with Kanye West. Can you imagine how annoying that must be, enduring a festive meal while trapped at the table with him? Oh, those poor things! I’m sure he’s always all, “I’m the greatest artist who ever lived!” And poor Kendall is, like, “Bible, Yeezus, but I asked you to please pass the yams.”

Anyway, when this girl looks at me, she probably can’t see past the symmetrical face or enviable accessories, but there’s more to me than that. I’m not just the queen of last year’s Junior Prom and not just the girl the guys want to get with and girls want to be.

I also have a 3.96 GPA from the most competitive high school in the country.

Baccalaureate, baby. Beauty and brains? Yeah, I’m the full package.

Which is why she might secretly aspire to be me.

But if I could offer her a bit of advice?

It’s way easier to just be you.