The Upper East Side Heirs Are Obsessed With Me

September in Manhattan, and the hallways of the Upper East Side’s most exclusive private school were already thick with the smoke of battle. Isabella Blanchett walked into the main building in a tailored Dior suit, a Chanel backpack on her shoulders. Blonde and blue-eyed, she looked like a ball-jointed doll. Her hair had been the perfect shade from the day she was born. As it slowly darkened over the years, she’d started dyeing it to keep it that way. “Is that the Blanchett princess?” “The one with a million followers?” “I heard her family’s trust fund could buy all of Connecticut.” The whispers came at her from every direction. Isabella didn’t so much as lift an eyelid. She was used to it. Since the day she was born, she’d been the one everyone watched. Her phone buzzed. She didn’t need to look to know who it was: @UpperEastSideGirls had posted again. That haunting account had spent the past year snapping candid photos of Upper East Side royalty, with a tongue sharp enough to make your teeth ache and aim precise enough to make you grudgingly respect it. In private, everyone dismissed it. Whoever ran it had obviously watched too much Gossip Girl. So boring! But she pulled out her phone anyway and opened it on her burner account. @UpperEastSideGirls: First day of September at the Upper East Side’s #1 private school. Little Isa has arrived: gorgeous blonde hair, this season’s Chanel, and a “none of you are worthy of talking to me” expression. Guess who she’s going to conquer today? #UpperEastSideGirls The photo was a profile shot of her walking through the school gates. Perfect light, killer angle. The corners of Isabella’s mouth curled up. She liked the post from her burner. Little Isa was what the account called her. Down the hall, a group of girls had clustered together, every eye swinging toward her in unison. Isabella recognized the one in front: blonde, blue-eyed, sweet smile. Victoria Astor, nicknamed Little V. Fourth-generation Astor, current president of the school’s Sisterhood, and a regular on @UpperEastSideGirls. “Isabella!” Victoria swept over, her smile sweet enough to rot teeth. “We’ve been waiting for you! The Sisterhood’s rush party is at seven tonight. You’ll come, right?” “I’ll think about it. Oh, kidding. I’d love to see everyone!” Isabella said. Victoria’s smile froze for a second, then snapped right back. “Of course, of course. We’ll be waiting for you.” She turned and left, her minions falling in right behind. Watching them go, Isabella thought of the post she’d scrolled past last night: @UpperEastSideGirls: Sisterhood insider: Victoria’s camp and Chloe’s camp have officially gone to war. One wants power, the other wants freedom. Guess who’s laughing last? #UpperEastSideGirls #SisterhoodWars Chloe Rockefeller: oil-dynasty heiress, cheer captain, nicknamed Little C. Victoria’s number-one rival, and the only person at this school who could cost Victoria sleep. Isabella had known about the Sisterhood’s split for ages. She knew who was on whose side, who was badmouthing whom, whose boyfriend had cheated with whose best friend. She knew all of it. Not because anyone had told her, but because @UpperEastSideGirls had laid it all out in broad daylight. That account was like an eye that was everywhere at once, watching every last one of them. “Careful.” A voice came from behind her. Before Isabella could turn, a hand caught her arm. She’d nearly walked straight into someone. She looked up. Six-two, golden-brown hair, gray-blue eyes, features cut as deep as a sculpture’s. He stood in front of her with no intention of moving. Isabella knew exactly who he was. Alexander Avery: the California governor’s son, grandson of a former Secretary of State. His father was already the party’s anointed frontrunner for the next presidency. The Averys’ reach stretched across the entire West Coast, from Beverly Hills to the edge of Yellowstone. They controlled an empire of luxury hotels and the most elite real-estate developments in the country. Power, to an Avery, wasn’t a goal. It was breathing. Alexander was the king on the chessboard. No matter how hard the pawns tried, he stood at the top. “Watch where you’re going,” he said, less a warning than a statement of fact. Isabella pulled her arm free. “Thanks.” Alexander arched an eyebrow. His gaze swept her face as if appraising the value of merchandise. Then he said nothing and walked right past her. As he went, the hallway parted for him on its own. Isabella stayed where she was, staring after him. An hour later, her phone buzzed again. @UpperEastSideGirls: Tip received: Little Isa and the Averys’ little emperor, zero distance on the first day of school. Sparks, or a powder keg? #UpperEastSideGirls Alexander Avery rarely appeared on this account, and when he did, it was never anything negative. The reason? You know why. The comments had already exploded. Isabella locked her screen and took a deep breath. And it was only the first day. As you can see, in political circles the Avery name means power, connections, and “don’t even think about beating us.” He’d grown up in the White House, on Capitol Hill, in governors’ mansions across the country, and had seen every rule of the power game. The whole Upper East Side knew: don’t cross the Averys, or your parents’ jobs, your family’s business, and your future here would all start going mysteriously wrong. He wasn’t a bully. He didn’t need to lift a finger. He only had to make a few phone calls. — At three that afternoon, news of the Sisterhood’s rush party had spread across the whole school. Isabella sat by the library window, pretending to read while actually scrolling. @UpperEastSideGirls had updated again: Victoria and Chloe, at two different cafés, were “running into” new students and courting them separately. “Is anyone sitting here?” Isabella looked up. A dark-haired boy stood across from her. Behind thin gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes were black and bright. White shirt sleeves rolled to the forearms, six-one, lean but solid, a magazine in his hand. She’d never seen him before. “No,” she said. He sat, opened the magazine, and didn’t say another word. Isabella studied him. Everyone in the library was sneaking glances at her, everyone except him. He hadn’t looked up from that magazine once since sitting down. “What’s your name?” She squinted and smiled, chin propped on her hand, like an adorable kitten. He looked up, calm. “The Microscopic Expression of Quantum Entanglement.” “I wasn’t asking about the magazine.” He paused for a beat, the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I know.” Then he went back to reading. Her phone buzzed. @UpperEastSideGirls: Tip received: library, 3:15 p.m. Little Isa is talking to an Asian-American guy. His name is Jiashu Chen, academic family, captain of the Science Olympiad team. #UpperEastSideGirls Isabella locked her screen and pouted, cheeks puffed out in annoyance. He hadn’t noticed a thing, and kept on reading. — Seven p.m. The Sisterhood’s rush party. The instant Isabella walked into the venue, every eye turned toward her. But tonight was different. The stares had split into two camps. On the left, Victoria and her minions, all sweet smiles. On the right, Chloe lounged on the sofa and raised her glass. Isabella had known it would be like this. She’d spent the whole summer scrolling @UpperEastSideGirls. She knew the ins and outs of this split better than anyone. “Isabella!” Victoria came over. “Come on, let me introduce you to the girls—” “Not so fast.” Chloe’s voice drifted over, lazy. “Let her choose for herself.” The air froze for a second. Isabella stood in the middle: sweet smiles on the left, a challenge on the right. Everyone waited for her to take a side.