Free Timeless by Alexandra Monir Page B

well … thanks.” Michele looked at him with faint curiosity, wondering if he was flirting with her. The thought would have thrilled her in the past, but now it barely registered.
    “Well, I have to go to the science hall now, so …” Michele’s voice trailed off and she glanced down at the school map in her hands.
    “Oh, I’m going in the opposite direction. I’ll see you around?” Ben said hopefully.
    Michele nodded. “See you around.”

    A few hours later, Michele was suffering an acute case of New Girl Self-Consciousness Syndrome, compounded by the effort it took to keep up in her classes. Ms. Richards had clearly forgotten to give her the memo about how academically advanced New York private schools were, and Michele had a feeling she’d have to fight to hold on to her A average here.
    She breathed a sigh of relief when the bell rang for lunch—but then had the painful realization that she had no one to lunch with. She lingered at her desk in the English classroom, wondering where she should go and what she should do, as everyone else took off for the school’s dining room. Suddenly, a hand gripped her elbow. “Windsor, you’re eating with us,” someone said in a high-pitched voice.
    Michele turned around to face a girl who looked like a designer version of a 1950s housewife. She wore a pale pink cashmere sweater with a tweed skirt and black Mary Janes. The outfit was topped off with a pink plaid headband and a string of pearls that looked suspiciously real.
    “Hi. Sorry, I don’t think I got your name,” Michele said as the Prepster dragged her toward the door.
    “Olivia Livingston. Of the Livingston family, of course,” the girl answered with a proud smile.
    Michele had never heard of the Livingstons, but she had the instinct not to admit it. “Well, thanks for the lunch invite,” she said instead.
    “Oh, it’s not just an invite; it’s a duty,” Olivia said, givingMichele a dead-serious look. “We old families have to stick together. It’s up to us to lead the new generation of society.”
    “Um—what?”
    But before Olivia could answer, they had arrived at her table in the posh Berkshire dining room, where three other girls, all of whom looked like they shared Olivia’s sense of style, were seated.
    “Here she is!” Olivia said triumphantly to the members of her tribe. “I told you we’d be able to add a Windsor to our club. Okay, Michele, this is Madeline Belmont, Renee Whitney, and Amy Van Alen. You’ll of course recognize their last names.”
    None of the names rang a bell for Michele. She sat gingerly in her designated chair. “Hi. So … what is your club exactly?”
    Madeline gave Olivia a quick glance, as if to get permission to speak, then explained, “We’re the only students here from families of the New York Four Hundred. Our mission is to take over where Mrs. Astor left off and rule the next generation of society with elegance, and defend against the antics of the nouveau riche—who just make us look bad.” With that, Madeline turned and sniffed in disgust at the sight of a miniskirt-clad girl giving her boyfriend a whole lot of PDA at the next table.
    “Uh, I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michele admitted. “The New York Four Hundred?”
    Olivia stared at her, clearly astounded by her lack of knowledge on the subject. One of the other girls, Renee, hurriedly explained, “Caroline Astor ruled New York society from the late eighteen hundreds through the turn of the twentieth century, and she’s, like, the most famous socialite in American history.Anyway, she created a list of the four hundred most important people in New York to invite to her balls, because only four hundred people could fit in her ballroom. Genius, right?”
    “Totally,” Michele said dryly. No one seemed to notice her sarcasm. Across the dining room, she spotted Caissie sitting with a cute African American guy who Michele figured was the Aaron she had spoken of.