Author's Note: If you've seen Cruel Intentions, this is how it's going down: Katie - Sebastian Valmont. Sarah - Kathryn Merteuil. Jessie - Annette Hargrove. Grace - Cecile Caldwell. Eli - Ronald Clifford. Then there are other characters whom you'll meet along the way.

Author's Note 2: This is an AU fic. Rick and Lily never met so Grace, Jessie and Eli are not step-siblings. Oh... and everybody is richer therefore bored and arrogant [well, mainly Sarah and Katie on that last part].

Author's Note 3: This is my first fanfic ever so I apologize in advance if it sucks so much.

Feedback: Greatly appreciated.


PART I: Kathryn Singer

"I regret to inform you that..." Those were the six measly words that brought upon the fall of Kathryn Singer. I had been rejected. For the first time ever in the history of time itself I, Kathryn Singer, have been rejected. Of course, I couldn't let a tragedy of such momentous proportions simply roll off the back. To address said provocation with indifference, like one would at the funeral of a second cousin whom she had met only briefly at one of innumerable aristocratic galas held over Easter holiday, would be down right asinine.

As an uncharacteristic act of a procrastinator, I applied early decision to the seemingly prestigious institution known as Princeton University. Although I loathe school with every fiber of my being, I do not wish to end up as Daddy's little rich girl – an air-headed parasite feeding off the money of others due to her incapability of self-sufficiency and the formation of independent thought; a parasite which plagues the aristocratic society of today.

In a fault of over-confidence, I assured myself that I would gain acceptance to the university, despite my less-than-stellar, non-existent extra-curricular/volunteer record. I hate doing charity [probably as much if not more than I hate school] and sports teams are for fags who are still unsure about their sexual preferences. But I was sure. I was sure that my flawless 4.0 average, practically-perfect SAT scores and the name of Singer alone would be enough to deliver me into acceptance without the help of an edificial purchase. But as I opened the letter enclosed in the infamous small envelope, I knew I would find myself upsettingly mistaken.

As I read the letter over, I tossed the words around in my head. "I regret...I" 'Who is this I who addresses me with such vexing condescension?' I looked to the letterhead to read: Mrs. Barbara D. Reinhardt, Head of Admissions. 'Reinhardt... The name sounds familiar.' I reprimanded myself for not noticing it earlier – Lillian Reinhardt, daughter of Paul and Barbara Reinhardt, a.k.a. the clichéd, vapid cheerleader whore of Upton Sinclair who for some unknown reason, apparent now, succeeded where I had failed. I was rejected under unjust terms and demanded vengeance. 'The nepotistic bitch is going to burn.'

It didn't take long to exact my revenge, seeing how fast Miss Reinhardt can be. All I had to do was humor her with a compliment on her "killer legs" and a flattering request to photograph them; and she was wide-eyed and straddle-legged to the sound of my proposal.

Lillian Reinhardt was the first thing you saw when you logged onto the school's website – there in her ivy-league-bounded glory with nothing but a Princeton banner covering the goods. Of course, the student body reacted as any other jaded American youth would to something that he has seen countless times before. But the students' reactions were not what I was after.

It seems that there are state laws prohibiting the distribution of "harmful material" to those under the age of eighteen. So as expected, the PTA had a conniption fit which I have to admit was most enjoyable. Angry mothers ranted on about the debauchery of their children's innocence when, in reality, the children no longer had any innocence to debauch. It was a beautiful scene to behold – the homemaker mom arguing at school about the protection of her child's innocence while junior stays at home watching scrambled porn as the babysitter fucks her boyfriend in the adjacent room – irony at its best.

Principal Louis felt the threat of legal allegations hanging above his head like the blade of a guillotine ready to fall whenever his white-collared executioners deem so. Not wanting to suffer from a fate similar to that of his namesake, dear Louis got rid of the only person he knew to be guilty.

Lillian Reinhardt, daughter of Paul and Barbara Reinhardt, a.k.a. the clichéd, vapid ex-cheerleader whore from Upton Sinclair whose acceptance to Princeton University was nullified due to records of obscene conduct and expulsion. After the scandal, the Reinhardts were exiled from high society – their spotless reputation now plagued by embarrassment and disgrace. The last I've heard, they have relocated to Nevada where Lillian is finally putting her skills to beneficial use. As for mommy, Mrs. Reinhardt stepped down [or, rather, was pushed] from her position as Head of Admissions at Princeton University – a year before retirement; and now works a common, underpaid secretarial job at the not-as-prestigious-institution known as – Hooters.