Page 11 of Wicked Elites

“You’ve been reading too much Stephen King. And it was a bucket.”

“Huh?”

“Carrie.”

“The movie?” She smirked.

I shook my head and sucked in my belly. We had both stolen that book from Dad’s shelf and read it together when we were ten. It was one thing for a girl to dumb herself down to appear cute, but Ashley turned it into an art form.

* * *

A taxi navigated through the unlit, twisting roads leading from the academy to the mountains and dropped us off outside an Edwardian mansion set back to the roadside. Light shone from six-foot-tall windows on both sides of the door’s stone archway, and loud, techno music boomed out into the gravel courtyard.

I sucked in a deep, steadying breath and tried not to gape. Why would a bunch of high-school students hold a party somewhere so grand?

“Do you think Leopold is really expecting us?” I gave the brake lights of the retreating taxi a wistful glance.

Ashley gave me a gentle nudge in the side. “Everyone worthwhile was talking about Hessington Hall in classes today.”

“No one mentioned it in my classes.”

She bounded up the steps that led to the entrance and pressed the brass doorbell. “I doubt that anyone would invite a scholar to a party. Look at your friend, Cormack. He’s a loony.”

“He’s grieving.” My throat thickened. “Just like us.”

She sniffed. “He acts like every good-looking mainstream student was to blame for his twin’s death.”

The door swung open, revealing two girls I recognized from Leopold and Prakash’s table. Tall, slender types like Ashley but with significantly fewer clothes. Each wore leather hot pants and tiny bandeau tops that exposed their flat, tanned bellies.

“Who are you?” asked the blonde.

“Ashley Evergreen. And this is Willow.”

The dark-haired girl smirked. “Evergreen doesn’t sound like the caliber of name on the guest list. It looks like you’re hitching a ride back to your housing estate in Carlisle.”

My jaws tightened. Carlisle had a few estates for social housing close to the city center, but the way she said housing estate made it sound like an insult. Even if she came from a wealthy family like Leopold and Prakash, there was no need to be nasty.

Ashley scowled. “But Leopold—”

The dark-haired girl snorted. “That man-whore tells everyone about his parties.”

“You don’t get it,” Ashley said between clenched teeth. “He told me to come.”

“What were you doing, sucking him off?” The blonde mock-pouted. “He probably meant C. U. M. ”

Wrinkling my nose, I placed a hand on my sister’s shoulder. We didn’t need to party with such crude girls. “Ashley, let’s go.”

“Good idea, Ashley,” said the raven-haired girl. “There’s no place here for a cheap tart and her fat side-kick.”

The blonde hooted. “Isn’t it pathetic when girls hang out with ugly frumps to make themselves look good?”

My insides cringed, and my gaze dropped down to the dress Ashley had told me not to wear. I’d worn it to a charity fundraiser for the local university. Mom and Dad had told me I looked beautiful and sophisticated.

I clenched my fists and squared my shoulders, struggling to think up a retort, something to put these girls in their places for being so nasty, but experiences with mean girls at Cummersdale Comprehensive had taught me the futility of exchanging insults with flawless-looking girls. It only made them more eager to dredge up even more painful insults.

As if a second personality had pushed itself to the forefront, the dark-haired girl’s face morphed into a warm smile. “Leo!”

I turned around to find a red Audi TT pulling into the courtyard. The door opened, and Leopold Brunswick stepped out. He looked like he had just tumbled out of bed with his messy blond hair and easy grin with his faded denim jacket, white t-shirt that clung to his bulging pecs and black jeans that showed off his muscular thighs.