“They’re Chanel,” Brinley explained. “The rectangle lenses will help accentuate the shape of your face.”
Dr. Faucher raised an eyebrow at her, a smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Brinley. We’ll miss you around here.”
Brinley put her hands in the pockets of her Burberry Prorsum wool-tweed trench coat as she waited on the front stoop of the Sagebrush center, the butterflies of anticipation whirling in her stomach. The late afternoon clouds had rolled in when she heard the familiar humming of the supercharged V8 engine, and a few seconds later, Brooks’s slick black Mustang pulled through the front gates and onto the motor court. Brinley had requested that her brother be the one to pick her up, only too happy to prolong seeing her parents in the flesh for a little longer. She’d barely spoken to either of them since entering Sagebrush, though that suited her just fine. She had always appreciated that they had taken a more laissez-faire approach to parenting once she turned thirteen. Instead of hovering over her like some of the helicopter parents at G.A., they trusted her discretion and gave her free rein to do pretty much whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t cause any public problems. Though now that she had caused a somewhat public problem, she had no idea if they were still upset with her little transgression or if they had already brushed it under the rug and moved on.
Brooks exited the car, his thick mop of dark hair tousling slightly in the wind as he walked toward her. His perfectly starched shirt hung crisply on his torso, the collar standing sharply at attention. He had recently become obsessed with collar stays, even going so far as to get his own monogrammed ones.
“How are you, Maddie?” he asked, pulling her into a hug and using the annoying nickname he had coined for her weeks ago, combining Adderall and their last name, Madison. “Feeling better?” He kept his tone light, but concern underlay his words and he looked her in the eye as they pulled away to get an honest gauge from her.
“I’m good,” she replied. After two weeks of detoxing, exercising and eating healthily, it was the truth.
“Good,” he said, reaching for the handle of her suitcase. As he wheeled it toward the trunk, he added, “I’m proud of you, Brin.” He clicked a button and the trunk began to slowly rise. “By the way, I have a surprise for you in the car.”
Brinley rubbed her hands together in excitement, wondering if maybe she would find the Hermes Cartouche bracelet she had been eying for months in a little orange bag on the passenger seat. But when she opened the door, there was nothing there.
Suddenly, there was a flurry of motion from the backseat. She whirled around to see Ellie popping up, a huge grin on her face.
“Ellie!” Brinley shrieked, descending into the passenger seat to get closer to her. It might even be better than the Cartouche.
Ellie reached through the console and threw her arms around her. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“Me, too,” she replied, the warmth of Ellie’s presence already enveloping her like her favorite cashmere blanket. Maybe Ellie wouldn’t mind camping out at home with her this weekend, too. They could hunker down together with a batch of Paula’s, her family’s chef, famous peanut butter cookies and flip through the winter issues of Elle and Italian Vogue.
But then a thought popped into Brinley’s head that made the warmth freeze over like a pond after the first storm of winter. For the past two weeks, she’d been able to shut out the thought completely, not even mentioning it to Dr. Faucher, but now that Ellie was right in front of her, it was no longer an option. Before Brinley had gone into rehab, she had learned from Brooks the truth about who leaked the photo of Ellie and Gabe to the press.
Brinley’s own father.
The fact that her father, a political consultant, had done it on behalf of his client, Mike Lim, a senator who used the photo and ensuing media circus to make a name for himself, didn’t make it much better.
Brinley had been explicitly warned by Brooks not to divulge their father’s involvement to anyone, which she was happy to oblige. She certainly didn’t have the desire to tell her best friend that Brinley’s own father was the very person who had turned her existence into a virtual living hell. But there was part of her that couldn’t help feeling like she owed Ellie something now, an overwhelming sense of guilt that threatened to spill over at any second.
Brooks stepped into the car. “Shall we, ladies?”
He revved up the engine, speeding out of the motor court and onto the street, the cozy cocoon of Sagebrush quickly receding into the distance.
“So did anything happen since your email last night?” Brinley asked Ellie, eager to get away from the thoughts about her father.
“Actually, yeah. Weston already texted me twice today,” Ellie replied, a shimmering excitement in her eyes that had been absent for weeks. She’d sent Brinley an update about him when she got home from her dinner last night, veering onto a particularly long tangent about how he managed to look so hot in a beanie, and whether or not he would retain said hotness when she saw him without it. “It’s kind of nice to have a new ingredient in the mix. Makes things a little more fun at least.” She smiled at Brinley through the rearview mirror. “You have to meet him this weekend.”
“Definitely,” Brinley said, though her heart wasn’t quite in it. So much for a weekend in with Ellie. “But I do need to make sure to lay low a little bit.”
Brooks glanced over at her. “Did they tell you that?” he asked seriously.
The last thing Brinley wanted was her brother enforcing her downtime. It was something she could moderate herself. “It’s more that I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to be out and about if everyone thinks I had mono…” she quickly fibbed.
“You’re still coming to the ski retreat, though, right?” Ellie asked.
“That’s this weekend?” Brinley had lost track of time during her Sagebrush hibernation. It was one of her favorite trips of the year, though she had a feeling Dr. Faucher might not approve. The thought of it—the traveling, the people she would have to face—made her pulse quicken with stress. “I don’t know if I can, Elle,” she said truthfully. “It might be too much right now.”
Ellie shrugged casually, but Brinley could tell she was disappointed.
“I understand. If you come, though, I signed us up to be roommates.”
Brooks merged onto the Beltway, cursing to himself when he saw the bumper-to-bumper traffic. “This better clear up or we’re going to be late.”
“Late?”
“The Washington Life photo shoot,” he reminded her. “It’s happening at the house as soon as you get home. The hair and make-up team are already waiting.”
The photo shoot! Brinley had completely forgotten. She suppressed a sigh, exhausted at the thought of it. Being chosen for the cover of the annual President’s Day photo spread was an honor D.C. families vied over yearly, and one she had fought hard for the Madisons to secure this year, their sixth in a row. Scheduling the photo shoot on the day she exited rehab had originally been her idea. It was the last possible day the magazine could shoot them with enough turnaround time to make the cover, and Brinley had been determined not to lose it. Especially when people like Taryn Reyes were waiting to replace her. Which reminded her…
“How’s our little friend Taryn doing?” Brinley asked. “Tell me she had a fall from grace in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Nope,” Ellie said, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “Everyone is still obsessed with her, and she and Gabe are making out all over school.”
Brinley noticed Brooks clench the steering wheel a little harder as Ellie said this, but it was probably just because of the traffic. After all, tardiness was his pet peeve.
Two hours later, Brinley’s hair was curl-ironed to voluminous perfection, her make-up had been expertly applied, and she had poured her petite frame into a royal blue Alexander McQueen pleated sheath reminiscent of something Kate Middleton had worn to the Olympics. After two weeks of casual wear, she had to admit it felt nice t
o be in couture again. Her heart beat a little quicker as she checked out her reflection in the mirror, aware that it wasn’t enough to just look good, she had to look perfect. Everyone was going to see this cover and talk about it.
As Brinley was poring through her jewelry drawers, her mother, Katherine, entered the room, her own auburn hair pulled into a chic chignon, a thick binder under her perfectly toned arm.
“Brinley, welcome home,” she said in a voice that still signaled her innate disappointment in her only daughter. “The photographers will be here in five minutes and I need to make sure we’re on the same page moving forward.”
“All right,” Brinley said, forcing a breezy tone, though she kept her eyes focused on the latch to her ruby, sapphire and diamond American flag pin and internally braced herself for what was about to come next.
“You were a train wreck before you left for Sagebrush,” Katherine said bluntly as she smoothed out an invisible crease in Brinley’s down comforter. “Now I think your father and I managed to clean up your little messes just fine. But the fact remains that we’ve had to put out too many fires on your behalf lately between the ADD cover-up in the Washington Post and now this mono excuse I’ve had to spread all over town. You’re a Madison, not a Clinton.” Brinley could feel the blush rising up in her cheeks, overtaking her porcelain skin, but somehow after what her father had done to Ellie, she found the comment didn’t have as much power as it might have before.
“I’m not sure I’m so happy to be a Madison at the moment,” she replied defiantly.
Her mother looked at her as if not recognizing her. “I don’t have time for games right now.” But the words had been bubbling deep inside Brinley for two weeks, under the surface like some kind of centuries-old volcanic liquid. Now, they tumbled out of her mouth.
“I know what Daddy did. He’s the one who leaked the photo of Ellie. He knew she was my best friend and he did it anyway.”
Katherine gave an annoyed sigh. “For God’s sake. Don’t be so immature. You can’t take it personally. Business is business. You know that.”
“But this time, he did something to me.” That was what bothered Brinley most. Not that her father had done something shady. She had known he didn’t always play by the rules since second grade. It was one of the things she appreciated most about him, like when he ensured she was the top cookie-seller in her Brownie troop, getting around the pesky two-box-per-family rule by forging the signatures of over a hundred DOD employees.
But he had never performed one of his famous political maneuvers on Brinley or anyone close to her.
“You’re being ridiculous,” her mother told her. “If you were the one in an incriminating photo, your father would’ve buried it so deep no one would find it in a hundred years. But Daddy can’t do his job well if he has to make exceptions for every girl you befriend along the way.”
Brinley said nothing, recognizing she was being outmaneuvered and unaware of how to get the upper-hand.
“Being a Madison is a privilege. You are the direct descendant of one of our country’s forefathers. If America was a monarchy, you would be a princess today.” Brinley took a second to silently curse her great, great, great, great uncle for pushing so hard for a pure democracy.
“It’s a black or white issue. If you want to reap the benefits of being a Madison, you must bear the responsibility of preserving our family’s well-being and understand that your father’s doing what he needs to do to maintain his position in this city.” She paused for a moment. “Unless you’re saying you only want to play by the rules all of a sudden?” Her mother cocked her head at her, cunningly targeting Brinley’s Achilles heel. And everyone thought her father was the master manipulator.
Brinley shook her head “no.” After all, she was the one who threw Taryn under the bus to secure this Washington Life shoot. The one who felt rule-abiding was only for those okay with losing. This was the family she had been born into, for better or for worse. She would have to find a way to live with what her father did to Ellie.
And any doubt she had about agreeing with her mother was instantly erased when she saw the beaming smile Katherine was now bestowing upon her.
“Wonderful. I’m so glad you understand. You know, I’ve thought about you a lot while you were gone...” Between her mother’s busy schedule of attending D.C. social events and doting on Brooks, Brinley had assumed she had barely noticed. “And I want to do everything we can to get you back on track. The sooner the better.”
“Back on track?” Brinley asked.
“Everyone needs to see the Brinley Madison we all know and love has returned and is back on the social scene.” As she talked, Brinley felt a small itch to return to it herself. To somehow find her way back to the girl who used to naturally enjoy it all, without the help of Adderall.
Katherine pulled the binder out, laying it on the cream tufted ottoman at the foot of Brinley’s bed.
“I compiled this for you while you were recovering from ‘mono’,” she explained, the excitement in her voice growing as she opened it, revealing dozens of pages sealed in plastic protectors. Each one had a different photo of a guy, ranging in age from fifteen to eighteen and a short bio typed underneath. “I thought you might enjoy the D.C. social scene more if you had someone by your side. These are the best options this city has to offer. All appropriate choices for someone of your caliber.”
Brinley moved closer to her mother to get a better look at the binder, whose organization and depth would put Mitt Romney’s so-called “Binders of Women” to shame. Her mother flipped forward a few pages to a photo of a light-haired guy with a sharply chiseled jaw.
“Here’s Joshua Torgan, senior at St. Alban’s, accepted early to Princeton in the fall. His father runs the Conservative Renewal Super PAC,” she said, using the commonly well-known acronym for Political Action Committee. “And you remember his family donated the cardio wing to the Georgetown University Hospital?”
She flipped the page to another photo, this one of a handsome guy in a Lanvin cardigan and spiky dark hair.
“Or here’s Kyle Price. His mother practically runs the National Gallery and they’re gold circle donors at the Smithsonian. And Condi Rice always plays piano at their annual Christmas sing-along.”
As Brinley flipped through a few more pages, she realized her mother was most likely correct, as always. It would alleviate the pressure if she could face the stresses of the D.C. social scene with someone else who understood it. Just like it used to be with her and Graham.
“I told George to bring an empty suitcase up for you. I think the ski trip this weekend will be the perfect place to get your toes wet with all of this.” The orb of stress instantly returned to Brinley’s stomach.
“But I told Ellie I probably wasn’t going to go…” She had barely had time to breathe since she walked in the door. Though she liked the idea of working her way back into the social scene, it seemed better as a slightly distant goal. The thought of leaving for another trip within the next two days was completely overwhelming.
A small crease of disappointment worked its way across Katherine’s left eyebrow.
“But I’ve already been to Saks and bought you the new line of Prada après ski wear.”
“Really?” Brinley said, imagining how stylish she would look in the fur-lined jacket she had bookmarked on Who What Wear weeks ago. This ski weekend would no doubt be a whirlwind of social activity. The exact pressure she had been warned by Dr. Faucher to avoid. Then again, she didn’t necessarily have to party as hard as she used to. She could still spend her days curled up by the fire, relaxing with a book, devoid of stress. Perhaps, it might even be a better way to ease back into everything than the usual D.C. party circuit. And the last thing she wanted to do was disappoint her mother all over again. “Well, in that case…I wouldn’t want it to go to waste. I guess I could manage.”
“Very good,” her mother replied. A victorious smile settled on her lips and Brinley couldn’t help
but feel her own mother had played her like a violin.
Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house.
Katherine stood up purposefully, her voice calmly modulated. “That’s the photographers. Ready to be the perfect family?”
Like it or not, she was going to have to be.
CHAPTER THREE
Wednesday, 2:24 p.m.
Evan sat in the back of her history class, a lonely feeling setting in as she looked over at her one time best friend, Ellie Walker, on one side of the room and her lifelong crush, Hunter McKnight, on the other. She hadn’t spoken to either of them in two weeks—ever since Follow the Stars.
Or rather, neither of them seemed to be speaking to her.
Not that Evan could blame Ellie. She had completely betrayed her by kissing Hunter the night before Follow the Stars. It didn’t matter that Evan had been in love with him since seventh grade, or that the kiss had occurred while Ellie and Hunter were broken up. Those were the weak rationalizations she told herself to lessen the rip tide of guilt she’d been surfing the last two weeks. She had tried several times to talk to Ellie about it, but she had made it painfully evident what Evan had done was unforgivable.
And as for Hunter, she didn’t know exactly why he wasn’t speaking to her, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that she’d been the one who told Ellie the truth about why he had gotten back together with her. Ellie had dumped him shortly thereafter. Whatever fantasies she had harbored about Hunter secretly wanting to be with her had clearly been delusional. He had been so distant and cold the past two weeks, she was ready to build an igloo. Making matters worse, she had to watch every G.A. girl shamelessly throw themselves at him daily now that he was finally single for the first time in two years.
“And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” her eternally frazzled history teacher, Mr. Walsh, said as he picked up a stack of papers off of his desk. “Your grades on the team history project.”
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