Jet Set

by Carrie Karasyov

  Chapter Eight

  The next day, after lobbing steady shots at Sofia in the social game of tennis, I hit the actual courts for practice. Though I knew I was kicking arse in my game (Coach Sachs even thawed for a moment and yelled “Yessss!” after one of my aces, pumping his arm dorkily), I was weirdly self-conscious when Oliver was assigned to the court next to mine. Obviously all girls swooned in his royal presence, but what disarmed me so much was his casual smile and relaxed, athletic demeanor—especially compared to his pal Maxwell’s cocky swagger.

  “Hey, Venus!” Maxwell teased as I headed to the Evian cooler.

  “Oh, hi,” I said, brushing my hair out of my face.

  Oliver had already grabbed two Evians. Maxwell reached out his sweaty arm toward the H2O, but Oliver dodged him as a huge grin flashed across his face. “Ladies first.”

  To my shock, he handed me the bottle, customized with the VP crest. “Thanks,” I said, my blush mercifully disguised by my pink sweaty cheeks.

  “See, we Euros know how to treat a lady,” Maxwell said at the same time he checked out my legs.

  “Most of us,” Oliver corrected, giving me a look as if to say he got the fact that his friend was a semi–a-hole.

  “Well I guess that’s why they call it the Old World,” I said, feeling awkward. “But the charm is not lost on me. Thanks again.”

  Then I saw Angelina watching from two courts down. Uh-oh. Sorry to crash the royal parade.

  “Hi, boys,” Victoria chirped, strutting over to grab her water sans acknowledgment of my existence.

  “Tor,” said Maxwell, looking her over. “How are we doing today?”

  “Oh, you know, lovely. Tiggy and Iman and I are going to meet up later, you guys should come—”

  Angelina approached the group as I zipped up my bag and gathered my stuff.

  “Oh, Angelina, you must join us!” added Victoria.

  My cheeks flushed as I was so clearly being excluded.

  “Oh, perhaps I will, thanks,” said Angelina noncommittally. She was being her incredibly polished, polite self, but still reserved and aloof, making me think she wasn’t planning on becoming the fourth Diamond.

  Back in the dorm I was eager to tell Sofia of my interaction, because she was still my only (kind of) friend, even though I knew she was hiding who she was from me for whatever reason. Maybe because this school was such a pressure cooker of social hierarchies, she felt compelled to mask her “common” background. Luckily—hand to God—I didn’t really give a damn enough to let it truly get to me, beyond the occasional sting. My tennis would keep me centered on my goal. And while a fun crush on Oliver put a spark in my step, it definitely didn’t blur my focus. No matter who he was.

  Sofia was nowhere to be found so I ordered room service and got in bed with my history of the Olympics textbook. While Van Pelt was purported to be the top academy in Europe, I must say, my workload was hardly the stress crunch I had experienced in Germany. Some of the classes were actually easy. I had assumed that the academics were rigorous, but when I mentioned this to Sofia she said that they had to have tons of “gut classes”—aka easy classes—so that all the royals could ace them and the parents would keep giving lots of dough to the school. Supposedly the parents only cared about excellence on the sports teams or about marital matches—academics came in second. Sofia described it more as “a finishing school where none of the students finished anything.” However, in order to keep up their reputation, they recruited several students like me every year to balance out the GPAs and the college acceptances. Hey, if I could be pinned as a token brainiac, all the better. I was there to secure my future, and unlike my classmates, I had no connections to get me into a top college.

  As I closed my book and started to close my eyes, I heard a knock on my door. It was Sofia.

  “Hi, come in!” I said, genuinely happy to see her. “I was looking for you. Where have you been?”

  “I have to talk to you,” she said, her normally smiley face dead serious. “Lucy, I have a weird feeling that you know my secret. I have to explain.”

  Chapter Nine

  I brought Sofia into my room, and we both sat down in the large fluffy armchairs by the roaring fire. I felt nervous, even though it was really Sofia who should have been nervous.

  “First off, I want to commend you. You’re a brilliant actress,” said Sofia, giving me a sly smile.

  “Um, what do you mean…?”

  She waved her hand in the air to cut me short. “You’re a brilliant actress, but I am even better. You were quite a bit different at lunch yesterday. Barely said a word. So I guessed you heard me on the telephone.”

  I nodded, saying nothing.

  Sofia sighed deeply and flipped her stick-straight hair behind her shoulder. “The truth is, Lucy, I am not very different from you.”

  She stared at me evenly and continued.

  “I don’t come from a rich family, and you heard my accent—I tawk more like Eliza Doo-little than Lady Diana.” As she spoke she morphed her voice in an imitation of a poor and then a posh accent.

  “So…why do you fake it?” I asked.

  “I—” She began to confess but then stared at me carefully, her eyes boring through me like laser beams. “I need to know if I can trust you, Lucy.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “No, I mean, really trust you.”

  “Okay. I swear, Sofia.”

  “And swear on the person closest to you that you won’t tell anyone. Anyone.”

  I hate doing that. But okay. “Sure.”

  “I come from a middle-class family.”

  “That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I began.

  “Wait. My mother is a teacher”—she said the last word with contempt—“and my father is a reporter.”

  “Sofia, those are both admirable professions. I don’t think you have any reason to be embarrassed. I mean, I know we’re surrounded by kids whose parents are basically God, but it shouldn’t really matter. We’re here to get an education.”

  “Lucy, I feel like there’s something very trustworthy about you and that you get it and get the scene here. You’re the first person I’ve met who may understand. See, I’m not here to get an education,” said Sofia, a wicked smile forming on her lips.

  “You’re not?”

  “I’m here to help my dad. You see, he’s not just a reporter. He’s a top editor at Gab! magazine—you know, that monthly glossy that covers celebs and socialites.”

  “Uh-huh…” I pictured the stacks of magazines she’d lent me the evening I’d arrived.

  “My dad and his editors cooked up this whole scheme for me to come here as an undercover reporter. They invented this fake background, bought some title off the internet. And the publisher is paying my tuition. All I have to do is supply them with as much gossip as possible every month.”

  I was stunned. That was so…devious.

  “Look, before you get judgmental, hear me out,” she continued. I hugged the pillows in my arms closer, as if they were a shield that could protect me from the information she was about to reveal. “The parents of a lot of these kids treat my dad like dirt. All he’s trying to do is make a living, and for some reason they refuse to talk to people at his magazine. If he got the scoop from them that, say, Victoria von Hapsburg is anorexic—”

  “She is?” I interrupted with horror.

  “No. But say she was. Hypothetically. If she told my dad that exclusively, the money he would earn from that scoop would pay for my entire university education. I’m talking huge money.”

  I pondered that while she continued.

  “A while back, my mum had serious pains in her stomach. We didn’t have the money to go to the best doctor—my dad wasn’t at Gab! at the time. Anyway, my father happened to see one of the Spice Girls throw up her dinner in a garbage can outside a restaurant and touch her stomach. He knew then and there that she was pregnant. His publisher printed the story, my dad got paid, and my mum wen
t to a top doctor.”

  I didn’t know what to make of all this.

  “I know you’re thinking you’d never do this, but you have to understand,” said Sofia, resting her hand firmly on my arm. “I only tell stories about the bitchy tarts. And I only report on things that everyone here already knows or that have major international importance.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the fact that Ludmila Khritova, that Russian heiress whose father is about to be indicted on fraud charges in London, has been dating the son of a major British Parliament member. That’s really important information. Potentially illegal stuff. They are probably being soft on her dad because of her boyfriend’s dad, and her dad is, like, a criminal. So you see, Lucy, it’s really not so bad. I’m either saving the world or spilling harmless secrets like what kind of hair conditioner Claudia Norwich uses. It’s frivolous, really.”

  “Well…” I still didn’t know what to think. I would never feel comfortable spying on my classmates. I mean, they might be jerks, but they were only famous because of their parents.

  “But I decided to tell you, Lucy, because you are a lot like me. We’re outsiders looking in. That’s why I knew at once we’d be best friends. I could tell you were so smart. Everyone said you were just here for tennis, but once we chatted I knew that was hardly the case.”

  “Who said that?” Did they think I was just a dumb jock?

  “Everyone,” said Sofia, raising her eyebrows.

  “That’s so frustrating! I just can’t win.”

  “But you can with me! I told my dad all about you, and he thinks you sound really clever. Plus, with your tennis team placement, you’ll have a bird’s-eye view all the time of some key people the magazine is interested in. Dad even told his publisher, who wants to sign you up.”

  I saw Sofia glance at me out of the corner of her eye to see how I would react.

  “But I told him you weren’t interested. You probably get a large stipend and don’t need two thousand pounds a month.”

  “Two thousand pounds a month?” I had just received the equivalent of a three-thousand-pound-a-month stipend from school, but with the astronomical prices in the gift shop I didn’t know how long that would last. I had already almost spent the entire month’s amount on tennis equipment that Coach Sachs had insisted I get. I could see why people had to be so rich to come to this school. It was beyond expensive.

  “That’s just starting out. But forget it. Anyway, what I wanted to say is please, please don’t tell anyone about my secret, okay?”

  I didn’t want to be coconspirator, but what good would it do if I told people?

  “Okay,” I said lamely.

  “Thanks, love, I knew I could trust you,” Sofia said, leaping up and embracing me.

  “Yeah.”

  I walked her to the door, and just as I was closing it behind her, she put her hand out to stop it.

  “You know, Lucy, I think you’d be good at this kind of thing. Think about it.”

  Before I could answer, she turned and walked down the hall to her room.

  Chapter Ten

  Over the next few days, I steered clear of discussing Sofia’s secret life with her. I thought it better to pretend that we never had our conversation, and thankfully she didn’t bring it up. In the meantime, I was still trying to acclimate to school and the increasing demands of the tennis team. Coach Sachs was merciless.

  On Wednesday we had a three-hour practice after which I literally thought I would pass out. After we finished, Coach gathered us all around to make some announcements.

  “Mediocre work,” he said with a frown. “You must try harder. We have a major match coming up next week. I have the roster now. Peterson will play first singles. Von Hapsburg, you’re downgraded to second. You have to try harder, run harder, work out more,” he said.

  I couldn’t believe he was berating her in front of everyone. I sneaked a peek at her face, which was frozen in horror. I almost felt bad for her.

  “De Brulen, you will be three,” he said, pointing to Angelina. “And the boys’ placements will remain the same.”

  With that, he turned and marched off the court. I’m number one! I thought gleefully. I was thrilled and also psyched to beat Victoria. I did feel a smidgen bad for her, though. But then I remembered her nasty remarks and didn’t feel that bad.

  The group got up and started to disperse.

  “Congratulations.”

  I knew the voice but didn’t turn around because I assumed he wasn’t talking to me.

  “Yoo-hoo? You in there?” I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “Huh?” I said, twisting around and coming face-to-face with Oliver.

  “Well done,” he said with a smile.

  “Thanks,” I said, noticing Victoria glare at me out of the corner of my eye.

  “It was bloody hell out there today! I’ve never run so many laps around the court.” He smiled, flushed from the sprints.

  “Yeah, it was brutal.”

  “I’m exhausted!” said a dewy (not sweaty!) Angelina, who came up with a fresh towel around her neck. She flopped onto Oliver’s shoulder. “I feel simply faint! I could drink a river.”

  “Is that a hint?” said Oliver with a smile. “Okay, chivalry is not dead. I’ll get you girls some agua.”

  “I’ve never felt so out of shape in my whole life,” I lamented to Angelina as Victoria came bounding up, her long hair in a twist.

  “Oh, please,” Victoria said to me sarcastically, eyes squinting. “What bullshit. You’re, like, Muscle Girl! It’s much harder for people with wispier builds like Angelina and me!”

  Okay…bitch. I know you’re upset that you were knocked to number two, but don’t take it out on me. And I’m sorry, but I am not the Incredible Hulk or anything. I’m athletic and fit, but not some big bulky Amazon. She made me feel like she and Angelina were willowy waifs while I was some Thor type. “Well, I’m still wiped out,” I stammered.

  “Right,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She gave me a look, then headed off down the hill, probably back to her safety net of evil friends. The Diamonds seemed like too generous a name for them. Cinderella’s Stepsisters would be more appropriate. I watched her ponytail swing back and forth until it was mercifully out of sight.

  “Here you go,” said Oliver, jogging up with bottles, which he handed to Angelina and me. “Don’t ever say I never gave you anything.”

  I saw Angelina looking at me, and I felt like such a massive idiot. I thanked Oliver and said I had to go back and hit the books.

  “You off, then, Lucy? I’ll head back with you.” He smiled and his eyes had a brightness that, when beamed in my direction, made the ice of Victoria’s comment melt away. “What about you, Angelina?” he asked, turning to her.

  “I’m going to do some laps on the treadmill. I want to firm up,” she said.

  “Wow, laps after practice? That’s commitment,” I said, surprised.

  “Yeah” was all she said before saying good-bye and walking away.

  “You walking down to the dorms?” asked Oliver, cocking his head to the side and motioning toward campus.

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go, then,” he said.

  Oliver was always friendly, but our walk down the hill was the first time he really talked to me. He was usually huddled on the side with Maxwell, a friendship I couldn’t figure out because Oliver seemed so nice and Maxwell was so annoying. Sometimes Oliver would talk to Angelina and Victoria, but it always seemed like I was the odd man out. In the beginning I had tried to sort of interact with them, but as the demands of the team got more intense, I was happy to just collapse on the grass whenever we had a break. It was almost easier to keep my distance.

  As we walked we made some small talk about the weather and about the coach, and I was amazed that it was so easy to talk to him. Oliver was gorgeous, but the fact that I knew I could never get him, that he would always go for someone like Angelina, actually made me fee
l relieved. Free, in a way. If I didn’t view him as a potential love interest, I could be normal with him. Even with a tiny pitter-patter in my chest.

  “So, Lucy, how do you like it here so far?” he asked.

  “I like it,” I answered. “You know, it’s very different from my old school.”

  “What, you didn’t have butlers there? You didn’t have Henry Kissinger coming to lecture on peace treaties at your old school?” he joked.

  I laughed, refreshed. “No, I’m sorry to say we did not. Mrs. Gramble had to do the peace lectures herself.”

  “Mrs. Gramble?” Oliver asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement. “That’s a name out of a movie.”

  “I know. She was out of a movie. It’s called Return of the Living Dead.”

  “There are some teachers like that here.”

  “Even here?” I asked, surprised by how playful I was being. “Nawww, can’t be!”

  “I swear it,” said Oliver, putting his hand to chest. “In fact, Napoléon himself teaches here.”

  “Really?” I said, smiling. “What about Stalin?”

  “Yup. And Socrates, Aristotle, and Plato. Van Pelt is the best, so they have to have the best!”

  Oliver and I started laughing. It was fun to be silly with him. I was glad he had a sense of humor because most people at the school seemed to take themselves so seriously. We approached my dorm, and I could see the Diamonds lounging on the chaises on the patio playing backgammon. Iman saw us first, then nudged Antigone, who in turn alerted Victoria, still in her tennis clothes, and they all stopped and stared.