"We're going to school where?" My eyes widen in horror as the question escapes my lips, tone filled with disgust. My mother has just told me some of the worst news I've gotten since she first mentioned moving to New York, and I can hardly believe it. Or maybe it isn't that I can't believe the news, but rather I don't want to.

"Crestwood Academy," Mother reiterates, expression firm and serious as her frosty emerald stare lands on me, as if begging me to try and fight her on the decision as to where my sister and I will attend the rest of the school year.

"Really?" Kendall and I exclaim in unison, though our moods couldn't possibly be any more different. Kendall seems to be oddly enthusiastic, grinning as her eyes sparkle with what can best be described as excitement. I, on the other hand, could not be more upset over this new change in my life.

"Yes, really," Mother says stiffly, seemingly conflicted over whether she should beam at Kendall or continue to glare at me. "Crestwood Academy is New York's most prestigious private school, home to the city's elite."

I'm certain my mother must have gotten that line from some sort of brochure.

"I've heard so much about Crestwood!" Kendall cries, her excitement only managing to further irritate me. "Did you know the president's daughter goes there?" Kendall rambles, though I don't bother to listen. I'm too preoccupied thinking about what a shit show my life has become.

How is it possible that only days ago Kendall was furious with me for being the reason our family had to leave California, going out of her way to make my life a living hell because she was upset over having to live in New York? And now here she is, clearly impressed that she'll get to attend her dream school, which is thanks to me, I should mention. I almost want to point this out to my sister, though I know better.

However, I do find myself arguing, "There is no way I'm going to Crestwood Academy. A bunch or rich kids leeching off of daddy's money go there. Can't we go somewhere cool? Like . . . I dunno, a public school?"

Both Kendall and my mother freeze, turning their heads slightly to stare at me in sheer horror.

"I can't go to a public school!" Kendall shrills as my mother yelps, "I can't have my daughters attending public school! What would people think? Jade—are you insane?"

Kendall and my mother continue their fussing, though I merely tune them out. I'm not indifferent to attending a public school after hearing so much about it over the years. Apparently public school lighting is an awful florescent that could make even the hottest super model appear sickly. The food tastes like paste and nobody can stand to eat it. Gym is every kid in the public school system's worst nightmare.

It sounds amazing.

Private schools are pure torture. All of the students are eerily attractive and obnoxiously snooty. They're uptight, spoiled boys and girls who throw a fit over a broken nail. Girls bring along compact mirrors to class simply to stare at their reflections, and so do the guys. You'd think the place would be great, considering the tuition just to attend. Yet they never live up to the hype, and I've been to plenty of private schools by now.

"Don't you think you've done enough to tarnish our family name, Jade?" Mother hisses, shaking her head as she glances at me in disappointment. "You're going to Crestwood, whether you like it or not."

With that and one last frosty glare pointed in my direction, Mother abruptly rises from her chair and wanders off to the kitchen, signifying the end of the conversation.

Kendall stares me down from her seat across the couch, wrinkling her pert nose. Clear hatred and disgust burns in her navy gaze, like tendrils of heated flames biting at my skin. I don't know that there has ever been a time my sister and I have gotten along, and I can't say that there ever will be. The thought almost makes me sad.

"I can't believe you!" Kendall shrieks, crossing her arms over her chest as if she's trying to protect herself from me. "Public school? Are you, like, suicidal or something?"

I roll my eyes, biting the corner of my bottom lip to keep myself from saying something I shouldn't. I'm not surprised that my mother and sister have to make such a big deal over a small comment I made. I brought this upon myself.

"How does mentioning public school make me suicidal?" I question in confusion, shaking my head. As much as I hate to admit it, I can't deny that my sister is beautiful. I have no doubt she could be modeling right now if she wanted to, with her long blond hair, big blue eyes, and perfect complexion. However, I've since come to terms with the fact that having a pretty exterior means absolutely nothing. What's that one saying? The worst gifts come in pretty wrapping?

"Because going to a public school is suicide, Jade! I mean, could you imagine what people would say about you? I mean, haven't you read any of the articles about you recently? Your arrest totally devastated your image, and attending a public school wouldn't make things any better for you. You know, if you think about it, you should—"

"Save it," I snap, cutting Kendall off mid-sentence. After everything I've had to go through these past few months, I don't need Kendall—of all people—telling me what she thinks I need to do in attempt to clean up my image. In fact, I could not possibly care less what people think or say about me. I try to go by the saying "live and let live", which for the most part means I don't try to stop others from doing what they want to, nor do I care what problems people have with me.

"I don't care about my image," I continue as I rise from the couch. "I don't care what people are saying about me, or what headlines have been written about me. And I don't care what anyone thinks about me—including you. So, thanks. But no thanks. I'm not worried about my image or my reputation, or your opinions on how you think I should live my life."

Kendall's expression is shocked, as if I've just told her I went to Great Clips for a haircut instead of some overly-expensive salon, and I rode the subway to get to and from. She sniffs, trying to pretend she isn't as taken aback as she is, though I can see right through my sister. She's always been superficial. In all honestly, my entire family is. Growing up, I learned that you only get half of the picture when you're on the outside looking in. The world that is so obsessed with my family and our glamorous life doesn't know shit about what things are really like.

"You know what, K?" I continue in a sing-song tune, "Maybe if you weren't so caught up in worrying what everyone else thought about you, you'd actually be half-decent."

With that, I turn on my heel and go to storm up the stairs. With every loud thud of my steps, I find satisfaction in knowing that the sound is no doubt irking my mother and sister down in the kitchen.

I lock myself in my room even though I know there isn't much of a point, considering no one tries to come in here anyway. With a disgruntled sigh of outrage, I grab one of the décor pillows on my bed and release a pent-up scream. Sometimes it's much too hard to deal with my family, and I honestly don't know how I've managed to stay somewhat sane. The only thing keeping me from entirely losing my mind is the fact that this is my senior year, and I'll be off to college soon enough, where I'll be on my own.

Sitting up in my bed, I run my hands through my tangled hair. Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite me, I study my reflection for a moment. My dark hair is a cascade of dark and messy waves. My facial features are sharp and angular, similar to my mother's, though certain aspects appear more like my father. Meeting my own gaze, I find myself staring into irises the same shade of green as my mother's.

I rise, as for some reason it helps for me to be on the move when I'm annoyed. I linger by my window, glancing out of the glass at the sun shining through the gray clouds, streaming warmth and light into my room. For the first time since I arrived in New York, it feels like it's actually summer. Tilting my head slightly, I find myself staring out of my window and into someone else's.

Narrowing my eyes, I realize that my window faces the side of the Bradford property. I can't tell which room my bedroom faces, though I assume it doesn't really matter, as these houses are filled with plenty of different and unused rooms. If it does happen to be someone's room, however, I pray to God that it turns out to be Alissa's.

God must still be pretty upset with me for stealing those diamonds, as the second after I send my prayer up to heaven, a dark silhouette appears before the window. Though the person's back is to me, I don't need to see a face to know whoever I'm looking at is definitely not Alissa. I take in the short hair, broad frame, and long limbs. It's not a girl at all, but Satan on earth: Luke Bradford.

I can't say I'm surprised, as I've always had bad luck. But this has got to be one of the most upsetting things I've had to find out today. I'm so lost in thought, I don't notice when Luke seemingly turns around, catching me in the act of staring at him through the window like some sort of stalker. It isn't until he raises his hand in a taunting wave that I realize I've been spotted.

My face bursts into flames, gazing at Luke as he continues to mock me by waving and grinning like he's having the time of his life right now.

In retaliation, I flip him off before jumping away from my window as if the glass has suddenly shattered, whipping my curtains closed so roughly I fear I've ripped them from their rod. My heart races once I've closed them, mindlessly staring at my window.

Now, not only do I have to deal with my family on a daily basis as well as attend fucking Crestwood Academy, but I have to have a room that faces Luke Bradford's?

I find myself wondering if I'll ever manage to catch a break.

»»————- ————-««

a/n: i am sick and feel like shit. which probably shows in my writing. but. hey. i updated. lmao.