“Let’s see those necks, girls—like a swan!” Mrs. Rodriguez called from her mat as she raised her legs a perfect forty-five degrees. “Not a turtle—a swan!”
Stella was standing in the doorway of Ashton Prep’s exercise room, where the fourth-period class was finishing up Pilates. Cate hovered behind her, texting on her iPhone like the apocalypse was coming. The class winced as they held their legs in the air. Stella was sweating just watching them.
“This seventh-grader at Haverford is collecting intel,” Cate whispered, tucking her iPhone back into her black cropped Nike pants. “Eli is from Westport, Connecticut, he’s half Japanese and half Irish, and completely single.”
“Right, the mysterious Eli Punch,” Stella said. Cate had been talking about their neighbor nonstop for the last twenty-four hours. So far Stella had learned he was five foot eleven, that he wore Saucony running sneakers, and that he’d be Cate’s boyfriend in less than a month. But this morning, when they’d walked by the Warburtons’ old town house, the windows were bare, no lights were on, and it still looked just as empty as it had five days ago. Unless Cate was a ghost whisperer, she was out of luck.
“He exists—I saw him.” Cate squeezed the mat to her chest, like she was enveloping Eli in a hug. “He has thick black hair and perfect skin, and when he says hi, he kind of tips his chin forward like he’s pointing at you with his nose.” Cate made the same gesture, nodding slightly at Stella.
A stream of girls pushed out of the room, patting their foreheads with paper towels. Even with the air-conditioning blasting on high, the place still smelled of old gym clothes. Stella caught Mrs. Rodriguez admiring her own triceps, like she was in some bad Pilates infomercial.
As Cate plopped down on her mat, Paige Mortimer and Betsy Carmichael strolled past. “Hi, Cate,” Paige called. She glanced around Stella, as though Priya, Sophie, and Blythe might’ve been hiding behind her back. “Where is everybody?” she asked.
“This is everybody,” Cate said. “You know my stepsister Stella, right?” Paige offered Stella a weak smile. The two girls unrolled their mats near the mirror, and Betsy whispered something in Paige’s ear.
Cate pulled her legs into a butterfly stretch, bouncing her knees up and down nervously. She’d only missed one day of school, but Blythe had used it to her advantage. She had already told people about the fight at the Pierre and how she was president of the sorority now. She even renamed them the Beta Sigma Phis. In the bathroom this morning, Cate had overheard Shelley DeWitt speculating whether or not Blythe would join Ashton’s improv team, or if Blythe’s new sorority was going to the Turtle Pond after school. She’d only mentioned Cate once—to say how sad it was that she was stuck hanging out with “that British girl” until Blythe forgave her. Cate could handle not being friends with Blythe. But she couldn’t handle being treated like any of the hundred and two ninth-graders at Ashton. Because she wasn’t just anyone. She was Cate Sloane. “We have to go to Jackson Hole after school, or lie out on the Great Lawn. We need people to recognize that we’re a sorority.” She studied Stella’s face, chewing the MAC gloss off her bottom lip. “It’s just hard…because you’re still new.”
Stella let those words sink in. You’re still new. Cate might as well have said, You have boils all over your body, or You have a third arm growing out of your forehead. But Stella couldn’t deny it—she’d only been at Ashton Prep for a little over a week. Even if she and Cate were friends again, the school was still as foreign as Cairo or Hong Kong. Besides Cate and the estranged Chi Beta Phis, she didn’t know one single person in the upper school. Just today she’d mistaken the janitor’s closet for the loo. “Let’s have the meet-and-greet tomorrow then,” Stella offered. “The sooner the better.”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Right now it was four twelve in London, which meant her best friends Pippa and Bridget were done at Millshire Prep for the day. She’d talked to Pippa once since she’d been in New York. For less than three minutes, online. Of course it would be hard to keep in touch with the time difference, Stella had always known that. But they had her new mobile number, the number at the town house, and her new address. Every day she checked the mailbox—looking for a card, a care package, anything—but all she found was Winston’s Financial Times and some flyers for Venezia Pizza.
Just then, Blythe strolled into the room, Sophie and Priya trailing behind her. They were all wearing identical gym clothes: gray yoga pants and purple V-neck tank tops.
“Funny seeing you here,” Blythe called as she unrolled her mat in the far corner. She’d spent two full days sending threatening texts, assuming Cate and Stella would beg and bribe for her forgiveness (FYI: DECIDING ON UR 1ST TRIAL. THERE’S A PURPLE BOTKIER BAG I WANT AT NORDSTROM, HAVING A BETA SIGMA PHI PARTY 2NIGHT—2 BAD U GUYS CAN’T COME…) but Cate had insisted they ignore Blythe, and Stella agreed. They didn’t want to announce Chi Sigma until the meet-and-greet in the garden. Stella stretched over her toes, pretending to have a sudden interest in her shins.
“Pathetic!” Cate hissed, as she eyed their V-neck tanks. “I never made the Chi Beta Phis wear matching outfits—the most important part of fashion is individuality. I bet you from now on they only wear shirts that show off Blythe’s boobs.” A few more girls trickled in as Blythe and the Beta Sigma Phis sat down on their mats. Cate reached toward her ankle, but her gaze was still on her old friends.
“Forget them,” Stella whispered, knowing it was easier said than done. She’d just met the girls, but even she was having trouble forgetting them…and everything else that had happened last week. She and Cate still hadn’t talked about their fight, and Cate certainly hadn’t apologized. Not for telling her friends about her father’s affair with the pop singer Cloud McClean, not for putting Stella “in trials” to make her prove she was worthy enough to be a member of Chi Beta Phi. Even at the wedding, as they danced to the band’s rendition of “Rock Your Body,” Cate kept glancing at the door. Stella couldn’t help but wonder if she was waiting for her real friends to arrive.
Cate gripped her shin with her sweaty palm, trying hard not to look up. The last time she’d spoken to her friends was at the Pierre. She’d managed to go three whole days without responding to Blythe’s texts or talking to Sophie and Priya on IM. But she could barely eat, and when she heard Blythe’s name her entire body tensed up. Everything—the framed photos on her dresser, the four matching sleeping bags in her closet, or the Feist songs Priya had put on her iPod—reminded her of her ex-friends.
She felt for the Tiffany locket on her neck. Blythe had given it to her as a gift so her mom could be with her, always, wherever she went. Cate knew Blythe, Priya, and Sophie were mad, but her father had gotten married two days ago, and none of them had even asked her about it. Priya said nothing in homeroom, and Sophie barely looked at her when she passed her in the hall. It was as though their Beta Sigma Phi hazing involved Cate Sloane lobotomies.
Cate glanced across the room just as Blythe approached. She was swinging a disinfectant spray bottle in her hand, Priya and Sophie close behind her. Sophie offered a quick little wave, looking like she was on the verge of tears. She was never good at fighting with anyone. Even when Priya slow danced with Sophie’s Haverford crush at the eighth-grade bon voyage dance, she’d only stayed mad for twenty minutes.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Blythe cooed, her gaze settling on Cate. She put her hands on her hips, sticking out her newest assets.
“Wow.” Cate glanced at Blythe’s yoga pants. “I’m surprised you managed to put a whole outfit together by yourself. It must be hard for you to function without my running commentary on your life.” As the former president, Cate was always the one who gave final verdicts on outfits, the one who marked everyone’s birthdays (and half birthdays) on her iCalendar, and planned every sleepover three weeks in advance so they never conflicted with Blythe’s weekends in L.A. with her dad, or the times when Priya’s sister was home.
“I’m doing just fine—thanks for your concern.” Blythe turned to Stella. “Ready for your first trial? My dad’s visiting next weekend with my baby brother—I could use someone on twenty-four-hour diaper duty.”
“Isn’t that what Priya and Sophie are for?” Stella asked innocently.
Priya’s nose scrunched in disgust. “Very funny,” she mumbled.
“I don’t want to change diapers,” Sophie whispered nervously, tugging on a flattened strand of light brown hair.
Blythe ignored her. She cracked her knuckles so loud the entire room turned around. Eleanor Donner and her friends were perched on the edge of their mats, as though they were watching an episode of The Real World: Ashton Prep. “I need to see some more enthusiasm, girls. It’s going to be an incredibly busy year for me, being the new president of Beta Sigma Phi and all.” She paused, as though she were appreciating the sound of the word president. “I don’t have time for your games.”
Cate could feel Paige and Betsy’s eyes on them, watching from the other side of the room. “We’re not playing games,” she said through clenched teeth.
Blythe pressed the disinfectant bottle into Cate’s hands. “You can start by wiping down my mat. Kimberly Berth was practicing over there, and now it reeks of her Britney Spears perfume.”
“Actually,” Cate said coolly, “there won’t be any trials. We’re starting our own sorority.” She pressed the spray bottle back into Blythe’s hand, the pink liquid sloshing around inside. Cate watched Blythe’s smile fall.
“So, in other words,” Stella hissed, “wipe down your own bloody mat.” She was good at a lot of things—still-life drawing, talking Bridget and Pippa out of boy-induced moping, finding Heath Bar whenever Lola frantically claimed he’d “run away”—but she’d never been good at taking orders. “We have more important things to worry about. It’s very demanding, being in the most popular clique at Ashton Prep.”
Blythe leaned down, like she was addressing two small dogs. “Nice try, but two people isn’t a clique,” she pointed out. “It’s just friends.” She smiled triumphantly. The Beta Sigma Phis stalked back to the other side of the room and spread out on their mats, a bundle of gray legs and purple torsos.
“What does Blythe know?” Stella whispered under her breath. She reached her arms above her head.
Cate glanced around. There, in front of the room, Eleanor Donner and her four friends were stretching against the wall. There, by the mirror, Shelley DeWitt was practicing plank with Betsy Carmichael and Paige Mortimer. And there—sitting all by themselves—were she and Stella. Two friends.
As Eleanor’s clique erupted in laughter, Cate couldn’t help but feel that maybe—just this once—Blythe had a point.