Free The Carlyles by Cecily von Ziegesar

sale, and suddenly, all sides of the room erupted in flurries of discussion. Everyone hated the mirrors, which not only made you feel fat while you were eating lunch but made it impossible to hide from anyone.
    “Quiet down, ladies!” Mrs. McLean gestured for order. “This is not the time to discuss the design of the school. The student liaison to the board of overseers would have a say in any structural decisions, as well as a say on discipline and school-sponsored events. It’s a one-year commitment that I’m pleased to open up to the junior class. If you’re interested, please see me after the assembly for an information packet. The elections will be held at the annual mother-daughter Tavern on the Green brunch on Sunday.” Mrs. McLean clapped her hands together, and the room was filled again with excited whispering.
    “What a fucking waste of time,” drawled Sydney lazily as she twirled a silver skull ring around and around her thumb.
    But Avery was only dimly aware that Sydney was still at her side. She couldn’t believe her luck. Becoming the student liaison would be the perfect way to get noticed at Constance. She’d been on student council at NHS and had organized a fundraising benefit for the coast guard that had even been written up in Boston Common . This couldn’t be any harder, could it? She’d get involved, show her school spirit, meet people, and add a cool new extracurricular activity to her transcript, all in one fell swoop.
    “The events-planning part sounds sort of cool—Jack will totally get elected, so we should start thinking of some parties,” Jiffy whispered loudly to the blond girl she was seated next to.
    “See what I mean about the Bitch Brigade?” Sydney gestured to Jack, who was busy typing on her Treo while whispering to her large-chested blond friend. “This whole school belongs to Jack Laurent,” Sydney snorted. Ignoring her, Avery stood up and power-walked her way down to Mrs. McLean at the podium. She wanted to be the first in line for the information packet so the headmistress would know how serious she was about the position.
    At the front of the auditorium, Jack rose slowly from her seat, flexing her calf muscles and noticing appreciatively how toned they were. She was glad she’d woken up early and gone to the studio for Madame Walters’s Rise and Shine barre class. Leisurely she made her way to the stage. Mrs. M was standing behind an embossed oak dais holding a stack of grape jam–colored folders that perfectly matched her suit. This student liaison thing sounded sort of boring, but it would be a good extracurricular to have on her college applications, and she’d be able to use the Constance budget to plan some cool parties. Besides, her friends had practically forced her to sign up.
    As Jack strolled among the groups of girls streaming out of the auditorium, she noticed Elisabeth Cort, a junior who’d run for and lost practically every leadership position since she’d wet her pants during seventh-grade student council elections, sprint up to the front. Jack was about to tell her not to bother, but then thought better of it. She approached Mrs. M and smiled, picking up an application packet from the pile. Then she noticed that obnoxious Avery Carlyle marching up right behind her, a determined glint in her bright blue eyes. Jack bit her lip knowingly. Elisabeth Cort didn’t stand a chance, and neither did the shoplifting island girl with the French Tourette’s sister. How lame of her to even try.
    Hey, never underestimate the New England work ethic.

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