Step Two: Pretend To Be Someone I'm Not

"As you can see Haven Academy is a very fine school. I think you'll . . ."

Unless she was planning on ending that sentence with attempt to kill yourself, she was probably wrong. I'd been at this fancy prep school a total of nineteen and a half minutes and I was already contemplating throwing myself out of the nearby window and down to the pretty little courtyard below.

In like the eighteen hundreds there'd been this writer guy who'd said that hell was a city. Well he was wrong. Hell is a fancy private school full of adolescent socialites and employees who were either old enough to be my great grandparents or so young they could be my siblings.

I was recieving a tour of the grounds by the ancient Headmistress Brown. She was a haggard old bag who was so old that vultures probably followed her around all day waiting for her to die.

She had led me around the school, pointing out different classrooms and telling me about all the famous people who had gone here. It was the middle of first period so all the halls were empty. I was pretty sure that she was almost done with her tour. Or at least I prayed she was.

She'd stopped outside a random classroom and turned to face me. I didn't like being so close to her, seeing as she smelled like a cross between a moldy basement and a rotting fish. I shuddered at the glimpses of her yellow rat teeth as she droned on and on miserably. She squinted at me through her glasses as if she couldn't see me. She'd probably been blinded by the big bang.

"This is your first period class Ms. Winters," she told me, gesturing to the door next to her, "History."
She opened the door and stepped into the room, I followed.

Inside the classroom looked relatively like most classrooms I'd been in. There were desks and books, but they all looked brand new. And a teacher, but he looked like he could be my older brother. There was a window, but it showed a beautiful courtyard. There were students, but they were all dressed in their uniforms with fancy embellishments and five hundred dollar highlights.

"Students," said the old hag, "Say hello to our new student. Mary Winters. She just transferred here from Bentley Prep."
Which was a lie of course. The guys back at headquarters had decided to make me a fake transcript with other famously fancy schools on it so I'd fit in better.

The class said hello to me in unison, with varying levels of apathy.
"I know you'll show Ms. Winters what a lovely school we have here," the old lady said before disappearing.

The teacher, a dark haired guy in his early thirties who looked like he'd probably been a model in his recent past cleared his throat in the new silence.
"Hello Mary," he said, "My name is Mr. Larkson and I'm delighted to have you in my class."

And I'm delighted to be in your class, I thought. Seriously, I was pretty sure I'd seen this guy in a Kelvin Klein ad once before.
I just nodded in agreement, not wanting to get in trouble so early in the game.

"You can go sit in the empty seat in the back next to Vivianne," he said, "She's new as well."
Score.

I simply nodded again and my eyes flickered to the back, where Vivianne sat at a table all by herself. Everyone else had probably been too intimidated to sit next to her yet. She'd only started this morning I knew, having had her tour yesterday.

I went to the back and sat down next to Vivianne. She looked exactly like she did on TV. I took in every inch of her, searching for anything that could be considered suspicious to put in my report.

Her long, dark brown hair was sleek and straight, with zero frizz. She had on platform heels that probably made her six inches taller and cost eight hundred dollars. She had her hair tucked behind her ear, allowing me to see that she had on big golden hoops with diamond studs running up her ear. She was wearing her uniform; the short white and grey plaid skirt and white button up with the grey tie.

Aside from the fact that I had a feeling her purse was made from crocodile, I couldn't find anything sinister about her.

She gave me a speculative glance up and down, judging me. I could tell. But I couldn't tell what her assessment was. I considered introducing myself but it seemed stupid. She'd probably think I was a dork. I had to make friends like normal kids . . . Now, how do normal teenagers make friends?

Mr. Kalvin Klein Model began teaching, going on about the Civil War. As much as I love learning, I made zero effort to even pretend to listen. I spent about five minutes contemplating what to say to Vivianne.

"Is it just me or is the headmistress older then this school?" I whispered to her finally. Knowing how shallow teen girls loved to make fun of people.
Vivianne chuckled quietly under her breath. Another score.

"I mean seriously," I continued, "I bet if I told her to act her age she'd drop dead."
Vivianne laughed again. "I bet she would," she whispered back.

God this was easy.

"They probably didn't even have history class back when she was a kid," I kept going.
I considered throwing in something about an abacus but figured she wouldn't know what it was.

She laughed softly once again. This was such a piece of cake.
I might have to insult her so I can try and win her back, I thought, Just to keep things interesting.

"And Mr. Model teaching the class," I whispered, "I bet he's banging her. There's no way he's a real teacher, he must be sleeping with her for this job."
Okay so that was mean. But I couldn't help it. I was on a roll.

"Eww," Vivianne shuddered and then giggled.
"He'd be better off just being a guy prostitute," I continued, "He'd make just as much."

It went on like that for the remaining ten minutes of class. I came up with witty ways to make fun of the staff and the kids in the class. I wasn't really this mean by nature, but I had to make sure Vivianne liked me. And there were only two ways to do that; become her best friend by making her laugh, or by acting like some desperate fan girl and end up being her bitch. And that second option was never happening. Felix could pay me a million dollars and I wouldn't do it.

When the bell rang, we both rose. I had to remain aloof, and let her come to me, so I didn't say anything and just walked away. She didn't call after me and I hadn't expected her to. I knew how to wait.

I went to my next class, trig, and sat down at an empty desk near the back. Some people stared, obviously not recognizing me. But they all stopped staring at me when Vivanne walked in the room. For God's sake she was a five foot nine supermodel with the longest god damn legs I had ever seen. People were entitiled to stare, especially since she was an heiress of billions that would put Paris Hilton to shame.

Just as I'd planned, Vivianne did her runway model walk right over to my desk and sat down next to me.
God people were so predictable.

Throughout the entire class, I didn't say a word to her. I texted under my desk so it would seem like I was popular and looked everywhere but at her. The whole hot-cold thing always got people interested. God, if I put this much effort into getting a boyfriend I'd be dating a Yankee.

When class ended I got up and 'accidently' dropped my gold pen. Yeah, the fancy pen was yet another idea from the boys back at headquarters.
I made sure Vivianne saw me drop it and then walked away.

"Hey wait," she called and I turned around.
"Yeah?" I asked nonchalantly.

She crouched down to pick my pen off the ground. It doubted she could bend over and touch the floor even if she wanted to. She had to have like three feet of legs or something ridiculous like that. Besides, bending probably wasn't the best idea considering how sluttishly short these skirts were. The girls here had probably petitioned for them.

"You dropped this," she said, handing it to me.
"Thanks," I said, taking it from her and putting it into the Louis Vuitton tote bag that Drana had gotten me to fit in better.

Pretending to be rich was so much fun.

I turned around and started for the door without another word. I could hear her heels on the floor as she caught up to me.
"I'm Vivianne, by the way," she added. She obviously wasn't used to people ignoring her.

"I'm Mary," I told her and continued on my walk to chemistry. I knew for a fact that that was her next class as well.
"I just moved to New York," she said, seeming confused by my offhandish nature, "My dad bought this baseball team and wanted to come here."

"I love baseball," I said, which wasn't a lie actually. It seemed like a good response though. Instead of being all OMG you're dad owns the Yankees that's soo epic! I had to act like I was just as rich as she was.

"I'm really not that into it," she said with a shrug, "Although the guys are hot."
"Can't argue," I admitted.

"So what do you have next?" she wondered.
"Chem," I told her.

I took notice of how people stared at us as we walked through the halls. I smirked to myself. Now that I had a claim on Vivianne no one else would intrude. Vivianne was intimidating enough as it was, but if she was friendless someone would step up to the plate. But now they would assume that the two of us went 'way back.'

"Me too," she enthused.
"What a coencidence," I mumbled when it was everything but.

"I hate science," she continued, "I don't even get why people like us need to go to school. I mean what's the point? Between my trust fund and my modeling and my inheritance, I'm set for life. What do I need school for?"

"Beats me," I mumbled, "I'm pretty sure there's some kind of law about it though . . ."
"Well whatever," she said easily, "So what do your parents do?"

"Daddy's a senator," I said easily.
"Oh . . . I thought maybe you were that Winters," she said. "I didn't know he had kids."

There actually was a Senator Winters who was in with the FBI. He'd offered to pose as my father for this assignment which was what had convinced me that this mission really was important. But after meeting Vivianne I wasn't so sure anymore. She seemed too . . . Well not 'normal' normal . . . but normal for someone as rich as her.

"Yeah you could say I'm sheltered," I lied, 'He doesn't like me being in the spotlight."
Saying I was sheltered was a huge lie. I already couldn't wait for this mission to be over so I could stop acting like some spoiled heiress. It was so annoying.

"I can't say the same for my dad," she said as we walked into chem and sat down at a table together.
"Oh yeah, you're like a model right," I asked casually.

"Yeah," she said with a nonchalant shrug, "Me and my brother get out a lot."
"Oh yeah I've heard of him . . . Asher right?" I got it wrong on purpose.

"Ashton," she corrected.
"Oh right."

"Yeah he's going to school here too," she told me, "But he's a senior."
"Cool," I mumbled.

"Yeah . . . Want to come to lunch with us?" she offered.
If this got any easier a caveman could do it.

"Where are you going?" I asked.
"We have reservations at Masa," she told me. It was the most expensive restaurant in New York

"Well I had plans to go meet a friend at Alain Ducasse . . ." I trailed off, "But I guess I can cancel. I haven't been to Masa in ages."
Or ever actually.

"I've never been. The only times I'm ever in New York it's all modeling buisness," she informed me, "And none of them ever want to eat."
I laughed for real. "What about you?" I asked, "Do you eat?"

"Oh I love to eat," she said, "Especially Japanese food . . . That's why I wanted to take my brother to Masa. I'm trying to get him into Japanese."
"Japanese is alright," I told her, "But I prefer Italian."

Actually I preferred a burger and fries but I doubted Queen Vivianne had ever stepped foot inside of a McDonald's.

"Have you ever been to the Casa Lever on Park Avenue?" she asked, "My father took us there last night."
"Oh I go there all the time," I said, "The desert was to die for."

Another lie. But I'd done weeks of research on all of the New York celebrity hot spots in preparation for this mission. So I knew all about the famous resteraunts. I even had some of the menus memorized. That's how serious I was about my job.

"Oh yes! I had the Casa Lever Chocolate," she told me, "It was amazing. I love the gelato."
The class began then and the conversation came to an end.

I didn't listen to the beautiful female teacher (who I was pretty sure I'd seen on Grey's Anatomy before) drone on about chemical reactions. I was too busy preparing myself mentally for lunch, which was next period. I doubted that most kids stressed about lunch as much as I was.

But I had to go to lunch with a supermodel and a movie star and make them like me. I had to prepare. I went over in my head all I remembered about Masa. It was a Japanese restaurant with only twenty six seats, the initial fee was about three hundred dollars and there was no menu.

As the kids back in my public school would say, I be fucked.