Chapter Text
Hey Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here, and do I have the story for you. Spotted at Grand Central Station, our little slice of Texas, looking as prim and proper as ever. But that’s not how she left us of course. Wasn’t it only a year ago our it girl ran off to daddy’s bible-thumping boarding school? And just as suddenly, she’s back. Will we see her running back to her Golden Beau, or does she have her eyes on someone a little more… volatile? Keep an eye out. Xoxo Gossip Girl.
Shelby rolls her eyes at the text alert from Gossip Girl and gets out of the yellow taxi. So much for a low profile. Looking up, she takes in the sight of the lavish building she calls home. It’s been a long year away, and she’s lost more than just time. The doorman she’s known since she was a child makes his way to the trunk of the car.
“Ms. Goodkind, what a pleasure it is to have you home again,” he says sweetly, politely tipping his sleek top hat in her direction.
Shelby smiles, “I’ve missed you too, Grant. It’s wonderful to be back.”
Grant gives Shelby an all-knowing smirk. He knows she detests being around her family. But, she has a part to play, and so does he, so Grant carries her bags to the elevator and they don’t break the silence all the way up to the penthouse. It’s not awkward. It’s never awkward. Grant is one of the only people Shelby has ever enjoyed silence with, other than Becca.
The elevator doors open to the marble flooring of the foyer and everything looks exactly the same. Not a speck of dust to be seen, the furniture hasn’t been moved an inch, and the light scent of Palo Santo is still floating in the air from her mom’s diffuser. Shelby gazes up the grand spiral of stairs that lead to the upper tier of their apartment, peering past the intricate crystal chandelier for any signs of life. Unsurprisingly, the only approaching footsteps belong to a maid rushing to keep up the impeccable tidiness of the Goodkind household.
Grant sets Shelby’s bags to her left and with a “Have a lovely first day back, Ms. Goodkind,” he returns to the elevator, descending to the first floor.
It’s as if nothing’s changed, as if she hasn’t spent the last year on the other side of the country without so much as a phone call from her parents. She wonders if they’ll even be around to see her off to school this morning.
Shelby watches a butler pick up her bags, she starts to follow him when she suddenly smells a whiff of breakfast food in the air. With a curious brow, Shelby walks to the dining room to see her parents and siblings eating breakfast. The room is lit up with nothing but the light from the windows and a view of the New York City skyline. Her eyes divert to the cabinet against the east wall, a photo of her and Becca’s first day at Constance was now replaced by a photo of her and Andrew at one of his Dalton Honor’s events. A sting circuits through Shelby’s chest and as a shaky breath leaves her throat she sees Andrew sitting behind the big bouquet centerpiece, right next to her brother. He looks up when Spencer and Melody call out Shelby’s name.
Andrew stands up to greet Shelby with a tender, “You’re back.” He looks no different from before: clean and proper, with his Dalton uniform pressed and his tie expertly knotted. Exactly how her parents like him.
He brings Shelby into a tight hug. The gesture feels awkward considering how they left things last year. He wrote Shelby a few letters while she was gone, but she never wrote him back. With everything that’s happened before she left and after, she just didn’t have much to say. But here he is, eating breakfast with her family like he’s part of it. It makes Shelby’s stomach turn because she knows it’s her father’s doing.
The kids run up to Shelby wrapping their arms around her waist with cheerful I missed you ’s and prodding did you bring me anything back ’s. Shelby giggles and smiles with her arms wrapped over them. Unlike Andrew, they certainly had changed, at least in Shelby’s melancholic mind.
“Of course I did. But I’ll show you tonight, okay?”
The kids cheer in excitement and make their way back to their seats. Shelby runs her hands down her clothes to smooth out any creases.
Her mother, Jobeth, pulls at the fabric of Shelby’s dress from her seat, “Honey, you need more fitted clothing. People are going to think you’re a mess on your first day.” Shelby looks down at her perfectly fitted school uniform. Her mother won’t bother with so much as a hello before getting straight to a critique of her wardrobe. Jobeth Goodkind, New York’s most luxurious fashion designer, should have never been a mother. At least, that’s what Shelby thinks. Still, Shelby offers a polite smile – one that you wouldn’t expect from a daughter who hasn’t seen their mother in months – and lets her fuss over adjusting the diamond broach that Shelby had attached to her ribboned crossover tie.
“Good mornin’, mama. I missed you too,” she quips.
Shelby flicks her eyes to her father who hasn’t said a word. He puts his newspaper down on his empty breakfast plate and gives Shelby a once-over. Then he leans forward, plucking a sugar cube from the china pot and stirs it into his coffee, his scrutinizing stare never leaving his daughter.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jo. She’s never looked better,” he says, bringing the mug to his lips.
Shelby timidly walks over to him, “Thank you, Daddy.”
He embraces her in a side-hug.
“Maybe when Andrew escorts you back home from school you can stop at Bendel's on the way. Pick up something you like, I know how much you inherited your mother’s love for seasonal fashion,” he says with a playful smirk as he glances over at his wife. His eyes meet back up to Shelby’s and he hands her the Platinum Amex he took from her before she left last year. “I know how much you must have been missing your wardrobe.”
Shelby’s smile is a bit mischievous when she takes the card and it doesn’t go unnoticed because suddenly her father’s fingers are curling around her wrist somewhat tightly and it shocks Shelby enough for her to let out a huff of surprise.
“This is for new clothes, now. You understand?” He asks sternly.
Shelby’s brow furrows as she nods her head quickly, “Yes Daddy.”
He lets go of her wrist, the outline of his fingers are traced in red on her skin.
“That’s my girl,” his tone of voice lightens. “Now Andrew, please walk my angel of a daughter to her first day of senior year. We don’t want her being late now.”
Andrew quickly stands up from the table, his messenger bag sliding over his head to rest on his shoulder.
“Yes, sir! Come on, Shelbs,” Andrew extends his hand out. She notices how it trembles a little and wonders how long he goes without a line nowadays.
Shelby hesitantly reaches for it. She doesn’t want to. Everything about Andrew repulses her, but she doesn’t have a choice. The fact that her father didn’t completely disown her after…well, she doesn’t want to think about that right now.
{+++}
Grant opens the heavy steel door that leads into the September sunshine on Fifth Avenue. Shelby and Andrew exit, hands still intertwined. “Thank you,” Shelby says. Grant nods with a smile.
The couple walks without a word for a few minutes, crossing the first crosswalk.
“I missed you,” Andrew breaks the silence. Shelby flutters a quick eye roll. She knows he didn’t miss her at all. Pictures of him getting cozy with Christa Finley in clubs all over the Upper East Side were plastered on the Gossip Girl forum all year long. Andrew’s dim, coked-out wit is really showing if he thinks she didn’t have access to that the entire time.
“I missed you too,” Shelby replies politely. She can feel his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand.
“You never replied to any of my texts, or the letters.”
Shelby awkwardly purses her lips. She instinctively wants to lie but finds herself feeling kind of bad for her actions. Or lack thereof.
“I’m sorry. Just…with everythin’ that’s happened…You weren’t the only person I wasn’t replyin’ to, I promise.”
Fatin Jadmani, Shelby’s best friend (aside from Becca), had sent a couple letters asking why Shelby had disappeared without a word. She even wrote after she heard about what happened to Becca four months later…but Shelby doesn’t want to think about that either. At least not right now, not before school. Not before everyone else looks at her with empathetic smiles and relay sympathetic apologies.
“Speaking of. Do you want to talk about that?” Andrew asks.
Shelby sighs, letting go of his hand. She tugs on the hem of her uniform shirt, sliding her hands down her fresh skirt in case any creases formed while walking. If she’s not put together on the inside, she surely won’t show it on the outside.
“No,” she answers harshly. She notices the malice in her tone and releases the muscles tensed in her throat. “We’re almost to school anyway,” she breathes out with a forced smile.
Andrew meets her gaze with his own forced expression.
“When you’re ready, then.”
{+++}
Toni’s body slumps down into the comforting leather seats of her limo, her Cartier browline sunglasses hanging halfway down her nose. The soft snores grow deeper as her mouth drops agape.
Martha is sitting across from her, reading the most recent Gossip Girl text on her phone. Unlike her delinquent of a best friend, she has the sense not to be hungover on their first day of senior year.
She kicks Toni’s foot, startling her awake.
“Hey, did you see Shelby’s back?” She asks in a singsong tone, adjusting the frilled sleeves on her Ralph Lauren blouse.
Toni shifts herself, grumbling non-words in reply as she opens one eye at her best friend.
“She’ll be at school today, I bet. What’s she gonna think about you and Regan?” Martha prods.
Toni stretches her arms up, her legs out, and lets out a roaring yawn. She takes her hair out of the ponytail she had up and uses her fingers to comb down her wavy locks over her shoulder.
“Who? What?” Toni asks groggily, still tasting the dryness that the bottle of Dewars Scotch left on her tongue.
“Shelby Goodkind is back at Constance. Didn’t you get the text?”
Toni’s brow furrows. She slips her flip phone from her pocket and opens up the notification. There’s a photo attached of Shelby at Grand Central Station and Toni immediately saves it to her photo album. The image is small and pixelated, and Toni’s sensitive eyes already struggle to adjust to any newfound brightness. But there is no denying the photo is of Shelby Goodkind.
“Huh. Wonder why she came back?” Toni asks in reply, her eyes never wandering.
Martha smirks, her eyebrows jump as she analyzes Toni’s face. Toni is staring at her phone, her thumb not moving at all, so she puts what Toni’s staring at together rather quickly.
“Could it be for the lovesick puppy she left behind the night before she left?” Martha teases.
Toni snaps out of her stare, looking up with a curious brow, “Who?”
Martha busts out a laugh, “Jesus, Toni. You.”
Toni shakes her head, completely denying Martha’s ridiculous accusation. “Nah, she’s old news, Marty. I’ve been with plenty of women since her, and I rarely go back for seconds. You know that,” she huffs.
“Then what is Regan?” Martha challenges.
Toni meets Martha’s interrogating stare then rolls her eyes and looks out the window.
“I just like having something worthwhile to do at school.”
“Yeah? You might want to stop her from getting the wrong idea then . I’m pretty sure she has you tagged in her relationship status on Myspace,” Martha hints.
Toni’s tired eyes widen, “No she fucking doesn’t!”
She scrolls to the internet, her Myspace page already logged in. She types in Regan’s name and presses her profile. Low and behold, ‘In a relationship with: Toni Shalifoe’ is marked right under her profile picture.
Toni groans pathetically, “Fuck. Why do girls take everything so seriously?”
Her sour mood is now only worse on top of the damning headache she feels. Martha tries to hide her giggle, but Toni hears it and shoots her an angry glare as the limo pulls up to the curb of the school.
“You worried what Shelby’s gonna think about all that?” Martha asks, a smirk edging out of the corner of her mouth.
Toni scoffs, “If I ever start to worry about what Shelby fucking Goodkind thinks of me, remind me to kill myself,” she says as she aggressively opens the limo door, crashing into a random passer-by.
They both hear the person scream and they rush their way out.
“Watch where you’re fucking walking, asshole!” Toni yells. Her sunglasses are on the correct way and she looks a little more intimidating with them on. Her voice is a little hoarse from the smoke the night before, “Are you fucking stupid?”
The girl on the ground is frozen still, with a disheveled textbook lying open by her side. She looks like she may have lost a few seconds of consciousness.
Martha rushes out behind Toni.
“Toni, knock it off! Oh my God, are you okay?” She asks the girl. She’s wearing the school uniform, so she’s definitely in the right place. Unlike the two girls emerging from the dark interior of the limo, she is dressed in standard accordance to the dress code - a plain white button-up, navy skirt and crew-length white socks. There is nothing defining about her. Not that Toni defines her as anything other than in her way.
“Ye-Yeah…I think so,” the girl replies. “I didn’t know you were going to open the door.”
Toni narrows her eyes behind her sunglasses, shaking her head forward like this girl just said the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.
“It’s a fucking curb…with cars? What did you expect?” Toni asks brutely.
“Please don’t mind her. She’s always like this. Hi, I’m Martha,” Martha segues. She extends her hand out to help the other girl up and that’s when she notices the girl’s crystal blue eyes.
“Thanks. I’m Leah,” she replies. She brushes herself off, clenching onto the strap of the leather messenger bag she’s wearing.
“Jesus, Marty. Are you the Snow White of NYC? You don’t need to befriend all of the sewer rats,” Toni bites. She tilts her head up just in time to catch Leah nodding her head with an impressed expression.
Toni doesn’t expect it when Martha swings her forearm into Toni’s ribs, but when she does she lets out an embarrassingly nauseous groan.
“You are disturbingly rude,” Martha says. “This is Toni. I would say her attitude stems from the hangover she earned at The Penrose last night, but it’s just her nature,” she nods to Leah.
Leah just smirks at Toni who doesn’t bother to look back at her at all.
“You have really gorgeous eyes, Leah,” Martha marvels. Toni scoffs as she closes the limo door, slinging her Burberry backpack over one shoulder.
“And I’m the flirt?” Toni grumbles as she stares at the back of her best friend and a stranger, walking towards the front steps of the school.
{+++}
Shelby’s phone buzzes in her black-trimmed, Lady Dior bag as she struts through the courtyard of Constance Billard. She pauses to excuse herself from her head of administration, who had been explaining her class schedule alongside her. A text pops up on her screen.
Gossip Girl. Who else?
This just in: East Side royalty is back on campus, but is there a new Queen Bee on the rise? Careful S, I think you’ve been dethroned.
Shelby lets out a short, suppressed groan. Every stare has been on her from the second Andrew left her at the front gate so she isn’t surprised that the illusive gossiper is prowling nearby. She isn’t remotely surprised by the notion of animosity from some of her fellow students. Being Queen Bee came with all the perks of popularity, but the downside of a few enemies. No one she couldn’t handle though.
She struts through the courtyard and into the alcove where the boys from St. Judes and the girls from Constance congregate between classes like a redbrick watering-hole. The alcove has five large stone tables, each occupied by various contenders of the teenage hierarchy. You wouldn’t think a girl like Shelby Goodkind would take the time to learn the names and faces of the girls who idolized her, Lord knows no other Queen Bee would. But Shelby’s lifelong strife for perfection has taught her a few things about being the epicenter of the social elites, most importantly that: being powerful doesn’t mean being unkind. Sure, she has a mean streak, what girl doesn’t? But patience, forgiveness, and a dash of southern charm was all part of what made her worthy of her title. So, she looks to each table and makes a mental note of every familiar student or new face she’d need to learn.
However, if Gossip Girl is right and there’s a new Queen Bee at Constance, Shelby knows they won’t waste precious time when it comes to being placed at the center of it all. And she is; regally perching on the edge of the middle table with her thigh-high heeled boot crossed over her leg. Her navy skirt is comically short and the girl clearly gave up on the formality of wearing a tie, instead opting for a dark choker. Wherever the possibility for exquisite jewelry is, lord knows she’s wearing it. The sight doesn’t shock Shelby, why would it? It’s Fatin Jadmani.
Fatin’s attention is elsewhere, avidly discussing something out of Shelby’s earshot. Some of the faces around her are familiar friends, as well as some younger admirers hoping to one day claim the crown. Jeanette Dao, always the sheep, never the shepherd is using a pocket mirror to reapply a fresh layer of Louboutin lipstick. Beside her, Martha is hanging dotingly onto Fatin’s every word. Shelby found herself missing the morally sound member of their clique almost every day that she was away, with her kind brown eyes and unwavering loyalty. She would have benefitted from the positivity Martha naturally radiates inside that hateful institution her father called a school.
The one actually joining the conversation is Regan Monroe. Shelby notes that she’s changed a lot. In fact, the change was undeniably similar to Fatin’s promiscuous style. No effort is being made by Regan to button her white shirt up any higher than her sternum, and her navy tie is in a loose knot around her neck rather than the collar. Like Fatin, Regan’s wrists and fingers are bedazzled by rings and bangles, making it look like she’d robbed Boodles before breakfast. Shelby hedges her bets that Regan’s skirt is just as short too, but she’s too distracted by the student in her lap to find out.
Shelby’s body tenses as her eyes land on Toni Shalifoe. She’s sprawled out on Regan’s bare lap with one slack-covered leg draped across the stone bench and the other bends closer to her thigh. Regan’s got her fingers tangled in Toni's brunette curls as she laughs at whatever Fatin says next. From the way Toni’s reclining with her sunglasses on she could be asleep, her chest rising and falling under her cable knit sweater. Her collar is turned up like it always is, and her dark blue bowtie is undone around it. All in all, she looks annoyingly good. However, Shelby’s not sure what feels more like a shock to her system; seeing Toni partake in sober (hopefully) PDA with a girl she actually knows the name of, or that the girl of choice is Regan. Maybe that uncontrollable feeling is the sight of Toni regardless.
Shelby can remember a time when Regan was sweet and innocent, A.K.A: completely off of Toni’s radar. It wasn’t just the innocence though, no one was good enough for the girl whose mother practically owned the New York City skyline. Every student in the school lived in a building that her mother owned. Their last name was basically a household one, a name Toni carries with hubris. Regan’s name was nowhere as notable, and Shelby couldn’t really see Toni giving a damn to associate with someone who couldn’t even afford a bottle of 1973 Dom Perignon. As years went on, Regan’s parents worked harder, spent less time at home, and with that newfound freedom, Regan became a bit more…wild. Her actual appearance didn’t change until now, but her attitude certainly did. She slept with every person she could get her hands on. As her body count went up, so did her parent’s money. And alas, so did her popularity. Regan’s parents are now two of the top surgeons of the Upper East Side, which Toni must have caught wind of while Shelby was away. She certainly didn’t think that would make Regan worthy of public displays of affection. If Toni is tied down to her, it’s completely out of character.
Either way, the sight makes her feel inexplicably nauseous.
It’s Martha that sees her first. She launches from her seat, throwing up her hand with a gleeful wave. “Shelby! Hey! Oh my god!”.
Anyone who isn’t already looking at Shelby, turns now. Including the rest of Martha’s table.
Shelby sees Toni’s head perk up from where it had been resting on Regan’s chest, her signet hand rising to swat the girl’s fingers away. Martha comes right up to Shelby and throws her arms around her. Shelby’s got a feeling that’s the only hug she’ll be getting from the girls.
Fatin doesn’t seem displeased. In fact, given Gossip Girl’s prompt announcement of Shelby’s return, Fatin had plenty of time to plan her reaction. Shelby thinks she would have preferred a venomous stare-down than the sickly sweet smirk she sees spreading on the girl’s face.
“Well, fuck me”, she leans back on her hand like she’s lounging on a chaise-lounge, “She returns”.
Shelby answers when she’s out of Martha’s embrace, “Hey Fatin.” Then she acknowledges the rest of the table with a cheshire smile, “Guys”.
Fatin’s eyes narrow noticeably, but her expression remains unchanged, “Didn’t think we’d see you in the city so soon, S”.
Shelby turns on her charm offensive, “Well, as brilliant as boarding school was for my Dartmouth application, Daddy wanted me with the family for senior year.” It’s a blatant lie. Before leaving, Shelby was Chairwoman of the Community Outreach Committee, the President of Constance’s French club, the unspoken leader of organized school events and not to mention, both her parents excelled at Dartmouth. But, telling Fatin, I was forced out of my home for a year because my parents couldn’t stand to look at me, did not take her fancy. So she continues, flashing a perfect smile at the underclassmen (who are virtually starstruck), “And Andrew mentioned things had been gettin’ a little boring without me. So I guess it’s good timin’.”
Fatin looks disgruntled by the accusation, but by no means defeated. Shelby keeps her eyes on her best friend (well, ex-best friend from the looks of it), mostly to appear unwaveringly calm but also to avoid looking at the way Toni’s head turns away at the mention of Andrew.
“I find that ironic. Andrew Astor calling something boring,” Fatin chimes. She’s not wrong. “You know, I didn’t know you and Mr. Perfect were still…”, she throws her hands up, clutching them to her chest and puts on a poor imitation of Shelby’s southern drawl, “Savin’ ya-selves for one another.”
Shelby notices Toni tip her head forward, her eyes peeking from behind her shades. She winks and Shelby’s heart skips a beat. She should have known Toni wouldn’t let her forget.
“Someone tell Christa Finley that,” Regan whispers like she’s on a loudspeaker and Shelby throws her a glare. She backs off, but there’s an evident smile on her face when Toni scoffs with amusement beside her. Shelby’s heart suddenly drops to her stomach, Toni’s judgment affects her more than she’d like. Still, Regan’s irritable comment on Andrew’s indiscretion at least proves that Toni’s kept quiet about the other reason to discredit her relationship.
Martha shakes her head, ever the optimist, “That’s just gossip, it’s not good to spread things like that.”
“Au contraire, my sexy little killjoy,” Fatin announces with a mischievous wiggle of her eyebrows, “Gossip is good. Gossip is… sexy. My morning croissant tastes better when I wash it down with a bellini and some juicy info.”
Fatin’s disciples giggle at that, like someone behind Shelby is holding up an ‘applause’ sign. Involuntarily, Shelby feels her toes scrunch up in her black Ferragamos and she straightens her already poised posture. She resists the urge to bite back her perfectly crafted smile as she says, “Andrew must be right about the Junior year slump if y’all are gettin’ tricked by ridiculous lies. For your information, Andrew and I are doin’ just fine. The letters he sent while I was away were so darn romantic,” she notices a few of the younger girls begin to fantasize about it, “I can only hope that y’all find someone as sweet as him.”
A mesmerized-looking Jeanette rests her chin on her palm, “Wow, you two are like soulmates.”
“We are.”
Though Shelby wishes they wouldn’t, her eyes race back to Toni once more. She had been looking amused by Shelby’s well-rehearsed defense. One corner of her lips is perked into a lopsided smirk, rubbing the pad of her thumb against her monogrammed signet ring. Shelby can tell she’s listening to every word despite her feigned disinterest. But when Jeanette speaks, Toni’s eyebrow quirks and her lips part, mouthing ‘soulmates’ like it’s the most ironic thing she’s ever heard. It’s annoying, and that’s obviously Toni’s aim, but it annoys Shelby even more when her body decides it’s attractive.
Thankfully, Fatin’s timely sarcasm distracts her from the unsolicited feeling between her legs, “Yes, we should all pray to one day be dicked down by a man as perfect as Andrew Astor. Although, I will admit I’m more partial to the Dalton swim team, I heard lacrosse boys don’t know how to handle their sticks.”
“Sounds like boys in general,” Regan adds, nuzzling a little closer to Toni.
Shut up , is all Shelby thinks.
“You’re biased, Monroe,” Fatin chastises her with a playful wave of her fingers, which Toni swats away for her own sake. Fatin ignores her and places her hands over her heart, “Besides,” and pausing only for a dramatic sigh, “I guess we’ll find out tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” Shelby says.
Martha’s quick to answer with an excited grin, “First day of our final year, Shelbs! We’re celebrating.”
It’s unsurprising; from P.E. to parties the only plight of the heirs to Manhattan seems to be what event to choose their growing pile of homework over. In just a year away, Shelby has almost forgotten that, though she’d lied about it to the girls: there really is never a dull moment in New York City.
Fatin senses the chink in Shelby’s proverbial armor and pounces, “Who better to throw a party than yours truly?”
Her protégés eagerly fill in the rest of the blanks.
“It’s going to be incredible,” one says, earning a genuine nod of approval from Fatin.
Another chimes in, “The theme is Saints and Sinners. Like every senior is going.”
“Plus a few lucky girls of my choosing,” Fatin gestures back to the younger girls who barely contain their obvious excitement. Shelby’s a little surprised, expecting a little more…totalitarianism from her old friend, “After a year of pressure, like pubescent, wayward atoms that I charitably compacted, these girls are now diamonds. Someone has to take the reins after I’m off to Yale, so best to give them a head start tonight.”
“Leave it to Jadmani to equate casual oppression to forming jewels,” Toni leans forward on her elbows. She rests her jaw on her fingers and Shelby catches sight of the girl who had been emphatic about Fatin’s party subtly swoon. Nice to see the Toni Shalifoe effect is still running strong at Constance.
“Don’t you have a hangover to cure?” Fatin quips, before returning her attention back to Shelby.
“Fucking impossible with all this noise,” Toni grunts.
“Where was I,” Fatin puckers her lips in thought, “Oh yeah, you see S, it’s invite-only, and since you didn’t even tell me you were coming back, I think we’ll just have to see you in first period tomorrow.”
Shelby sees it coming, the power struggle is always inevitable. Honestly, she just wishes to get through the first day without being sent away again. She’s almost prepared to take the loss if it wasn’t for her desire to come out on top. “Besides,” Fatin goes on, “Would dear old Dave even approve of the theme? And we do have the actual devil in attendance,” she throws her thumb in Toni’s direction, who simply rolls her eyes.
She has a point, Shelby thinks. Shelby’s father has always hated Toni, even before he found out that she was a lesbian. But, because of the power in her last name, Dave tolerates their social brush-ins and makes sure that Andrew keeps a watchful eye on his perfectly ‘straight’ angel. Not watchful enough, her eyes coyly flutter at the memory.
Just as she finds the words to insist she can’t make it to the party anyway, Martha loops her arm through Shelby’s defiantly.
“Nonsense, Shelby has to come. We need the whole gang back together!”, she says. No one looks particularly convinced. The dismay is clear on Martha’s face, who had always been able to remain unwaveringly loyal to everyone in the past. She shows no sign of retreat, eyeballing the table before Shelby can interject for herself, “Tell her, Toni.”
The group’s interest piques, all eyes falling on Toni who’s already narrowing her eyes at her best friend. Shelby’s gaze turns to a flutter of panic that blazes through Toni’s confident armor. Toni falters as soon as she notices. Beside her, Regan has raised a suspicious brow.
Martha seems to realize from the stiffness of the blonde beside her that she’s overstepped. So, she backtracks, stating, “Best friend rules: You back me in debates.”
“Oh,” Toni’s mouth hangs open for a moment. To soften the awkward pause, she returns to her normal, disinterested expression. But it’s clear she’s been taken off-guard, “Well, I guess Marty’s right? We were running low on Saints anyway.”
Shelby rolls her eyes.
Thankfully, the bell rings.
Fatin swings her legs off the table and stands up, “We’ll continue this at lunch, bitches.” Then she relents, turning to one of her youngest followers, “Put Shelby on the list.”
Martha hops from foot to foot with excitement, even making Shelby smile a little. But it’s not enough to distract her from the way Toni grabs Regan’s hand. She wordlessly leads them out of the courtyard, in the opposite direction of where their classes are being held, and Shelby has a pretty good idea of what Toni intends on doing instead. Shelby has to tear her eyes away to convince herself that she absolutely does not care what Toni Shalifoe does…or who.
Not at all.
{+++}
Leah slips through the groups of students on their way to the same lunch spot as she is, Central Park. She’s meeting with her best friends Nora Reid, Rachel Reid, and Dot Campbell. The four of them have been thick as thieves since Freshman year and make one of the school’s most unusual cliques. Leah sees them kind of like Constance’s Breakfast Club. Only, any potential Molly Ringwald would’ve been lost to the self-absorbed gang who usually colonize the steps outside the Met for lunch.
Speaking of , Leah once heard Shelby Goodkind call them ‘eclectic’ while Fatin Jadmani followed it with ‘-ly proletariat.’
Leah wasn’t offended by it. Fatin isn’t wrong. They’re all here on scholarships for something.
Leah and Nora won their scholarship through their exemplary essay writing, Rachel is here solely for her being an athletic prodigy, and Dot has a partial scholarship for academics while paying the other half of tuition by being Constance’s most discreet and notable drug dealer.
Dot’s praised among the elite (well, acknowledged, which sometimes feels like the same thing), and so is Rachel.
Rachel gained Fatin’s respect when she found out Rachel has a chance to be one of the youngest divers to go to the Olympics, and Dot supplies all the party favors for Fatin’s parties, so she’s instantly considered a VIP in that world.
But even with Leah being connected to both Rachel and Dot, she still hasn’t landed anywhere near Fatin’s radar.
As Leah enters the park, her eyes flash to Fatin and her posse of underclassmen walking out. Fatin’s hands are flying around as she berates one of them for not coming to the park earlier to save them one of the benches to eat lunch on. Leah hears one of the girls tell Fatin that they could make someone move and Fatin immediately halts her strut to look the young girl in the eyes and say, “We are not heathens, my young protegé. Besides, if Shalifoe caught wind of us claiming territory, she may actually end me…and I’m not even white.” Leah’s cheeks raise as she lets out a light chuckle. It’s the humane parts of Fatin that led to Leah having an indescribable infatuation with her.
A few years ago, on the evening of Christmas Eve, Leah was walking home from the bodega around the corner when she saw a limousine parked outside of FAO Schwarz. She found it peculiar, seeing as the stores usually close in the afternoon every year on Christmas Eve, but it all made sense when she saw Fatin Jadmani walking out the front door. At first, Leah thought maybe she was grabbing some exclusive toys for her brothers at home, but then Leah saw them. An older woman, maybe in her forties with four young boys came walking out behind Fatin with bags and bags of toys and gifts. Leah wasn’t sure what she was seeing at first, but it became clear once she watched the kids get in the limo and Fatin stopped the older woman and embraced her in a hug. She overheard Fatin say, “Merry Christmas, Amelia. You’ve always been like a mother to me. I hope your actual children know just how lucky they are.” It was her housekeeper.
It touched Leah. It showed her there’s so much more that lies beneath the surface of Fatin Jadmani, and perhaps maybe the elite as a whole. But, Leah never approached her about it. She thought maybe it’d embarrass her, or worse…she’d deny it. So, Leah has had this insufferable crush on the meanest girl in Constance, and hasn’t done a damn thing about it.
But now, she may have her shot.
While Fatin’s group brushes past all the walker-by’s, Leah notices something fall from Fatin’s pocket among the traffic of the crowd. She runs into the center of it all and snags the item off the ground. It’s a pink Motorola Sidekick that’s been bedazzled with purple jewels. On the back of it is a turquoise ‘F’ which can only stand for one person in that group: Fatin.
Leah’s voice hitches when she starts to call out but Fatin is a bit too far for her to hear Leah now. Just as she decides to run after her, she hears an excitable voice detract her attention.
“Rilke! Get your ass over here!” Dot yells affectionately.
Leah sees her friends sitting around a picnic table right next to the walkway, all of them waving at her. Fatin is long gone when Leah turns her head back to look for her, so Leah heads over to the group, giving a small wave back.
“Hey, guys,” she says as she pockets Fatin’s phone. Rachel is picking at a salad while Dot counts a pile of money from her morning swim team deliveries. Nora is reading, plopping a few blueberries in her mouth after every two pages.
“Yo, Leah, you going to Fatin’s party tonight?” Rachel asks. Leah sits at the table, her feet placed on the bench next to Rachel’s duffle bag. Rachel gives her an irritable glare as she moves her bag closer to her.
“Well, one, I’d have to be invited, and two, I have absolutely no desire to go,” Leah retorts. Yes, going to Fatin’s party would mean she gets to see Fatin, but seeing Fatin doesn’t actually mean she gets to talk to Fatin. She’s better off returning her phone to her in school where there’s an off chance she could run into her when she’s by herself.
“You can be my plus one, Rilke,” Dot says. “I have to get there kind of early to make the rounds, but then we can feast on some free rich people food and drinks and head out reasonably early? It’s the first day of the last year! We should all be there! Plus, you’ll get to see how the other half lives,” Dot wiggles her eyebrows.
Leah groans and Rachel and Dot share an amused glance with each other. Leah really doesn’t want to go to this party. It’s themed, she needs to get a dress, and people are likely going to ask how she got an invitation in the first place. More concerningly, it’ll probably be Fatin herself, asking. Leah takes a deep breath in and just as she’s about to spout off all the reasons it wouldn’t be a good idea, Nora lifts her head and turns to Leah.
“I’ll go if you do,” Nora states. Everyone turns their heads, speechless.
“And how are you managing that, Nor?” Rachel asks with an arched brow. Her voice is laced with a ‘who the fuck invited you without me knowing’ tone but quickly dies after Nora answers.
“I’ll just go with you,” she insists. “Dot’s right. We should all go at least once to one of these pretentious ‘who has the biggest vault of money’ parties. It seems like a right of passage for our senior year.”
“Definitely Toni Shalifoe”, Dot quips matter-of-factly.
Leah scoffs, “You know she yelled at me for basically existing near her today?”
“That tracks”, Rachel says.
“Well, you’ll see her tonight! Maybe you two will become friends?” Nora adds positively, though she doesn’t seem to really believe it, “I still think it’ll be fun”.
Rachel nods her head, impressed that Nora thinks it’s a good idea. Leah’s face is still in shock, but turns frightened when Dot puts a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Leah. You can see your heiress girlfriend look insanely sexy in the angel outfit I know she’s going to wear…no matter how much of a devilish bitch she can be.”
“Hey, watch it,” Leah frowns. “It’s all a facade. Besides, doesn’t she love you? You let her call you ‘Dorothy’ every time she sees you.”
“Yeah, well, would you tell the one woman who could single-handedly remove you from the school to not call you by your full name? Let me tell you…you wouldn’t,” Dot breathes out a chuckle.
The rest of the girls all give a chuckle back. Leah decompresses, and even though she feels like this is such a bad idea, she’s kind of excited that Nora wants to go too. They can both be weird and awkward together. “Alright, fine, I’ll go,” Leah answers. All the girls cheer in excitement before Dot and Rachel announce that they have to get to class.
“I’ll see you tonight, Rilke! Meet me there at seven!” Dot yells as she jogs from the table.
“Bring your A-Game,” Rachel points humorously at Leah.
“I’ll bring a game, I have no idea what kind.”
“That works. You coming, Nor?” Rachel asks.
Nora shakes her head, “Nah, I’ll see you in fifth period.” Rachel gives her a thumbs up.
Leah checks her watch and notices she has fifteen minutes until lunch is over. She isn’t feeling particularly hungry, especially after realizing she needs to rush to a boutique after school to find a theme-fitting dress. She kind of thinks she should dress as a Saint, but a part of her wonders if she’d surprise the rest of the group if she dressed as a Sinner…
“What are you going to dress up as?” Nora is always freakishly timely with her questions. It’s like she can hear people’s thoughts or something. Hello? Leah tries. “Leah?” Nora asks, slightly spooking her.
Leah blinks out of her moment of fear. “Uh, well, I was thinking maybe something angelic would be a bit too obvious. Maybe I’ll change lanes this time.”
Nora dog-ears her page and stands up from the table. “I think you should. From what I’ve heard, Fatin always goes for the boys and girls who dress in sinful clothing. You could have a real shot if you play your cards right.” A small smile spreads on Nora’s face and Leah returns it with a light chuckle. “Well, thanks, Nor. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Nora gives a weak wave and heads out of the park.
Leah stands up, walking toward the walkway when suddenly she walks right in front of someone, the two of them knocking each other over.
“Jesus, watch where you’re-” It’s Toni fucking Shalifoe. Again. “Oh, it’s you. Jesus, do you have eyes?” Toni bites. Leah looks around and doesn’t see Martha anywhere, so that means Leah’s going to have to stick up for herself this time around, and that’s honestly fucking petrifying.
“I-I’m sorry, Toni. I didn’t see you,” Leah replies. She watches Toni brush off her shirt like Leah singlehandedly mucked it up from her shoulder.
“Vermin like you are why I hate coming to this fucking park. Leave it up to Jadmani to stand me up for lunch,” Toni complains. Leah should be offended by Toni’s insult, but it seems like Toni might be more upset about being stood up than by actually running into Leah.
“I saw her run off with her posse. I guess they didn’t nab a spot to sit at fast enough.”
Toni gives Leah a once-over, “What are you? Her spokesperson?”
Leah’s shoulders slightly fall. “No.” Bitch.
“Well, good chat…you.” Of course she doesn’t remember Leah’s name.
Just as Toni starts to walk away, she runs into someone without looking too.
“Jesus Christ!” Toni yells, then she looks back and sees it’s Shelby. “Oh…”
Leah takes a step back. Normally she wouldn’t feel compelled to watch another intense interaction with Toni Shalifoe, but the second Toni looked at Shelby…it’s like her energy changed.
Leah watches them both slowly stand up straight to meet each other’s eyeline. Shelby looks nervous, almost overwhelmed, and Toni looks…soft. But just as that expression imprints in Leah’s mind, it’s like a switch has been flicked, and the Toni Shalifoe she was interacting with before suddenly comes out again.
With a dramatic bow and arm that waves like a butler presenting a plate of food, Toni sarcastically quips, “My apologies, your highness. I’d hate to be in the way of the heiress of Wall Street.”
Toni pulls on her shirt to straighten her wardrobe and gives Leah a distasteful narrow gaze. She doesn’t say anything though, just walks to the entrance of the park without another word. Leah turns her head to Shelby whose eyes look hurt. She doesn’t know why Shelby looks so upset, it’s just Toni being Toni, but she’s starting to wonder if something’s happened between the two of them. From what Leah can recall, the two were never this intense with each other.
“Are you okay?” Leah croaks. Shelby snaps out of her gaze of watching Toni leave and immediately forms the biggest smile she can muster. Her eyes show quite the opposite feeling though.
“Oh, I’m real good,” Shelby says with a quick nod. “Thanks for asking.”
Leah nods with a forced smile. She thinks to push a little harder but retracts as Shelby starts to walk away.
“I’ll see you at the party later?” Leah asks. The two of them barely interact, but Shelby’s always been kind to her.
Shelby stops and gives another attempt at a fake smile.
“Yeah, see you tonight!”
Spotted: Lonely Girl just won a ticket to the first party of the year. Will she leave early like a Saint, or will she stay out late and come home a Sinner? Only time will tell.
Xoxo, Gossip Girl