Green Acres Academy has a ridiculous tradition where instead of having prefects, they have The Elite, it’s a group of seniors that basically constitute the most popular kids in school. Each year, the graduating seniors name The Elites for the following year, or at least that’s how it normally goes. The reigning Elites weren’t picked when they were juniors, they were picked when they were freshmen. From what I’ve been told, that’s never happened before.

Evan Morris, Hunter Rossberg, Clay Jansen and the king himself, Sebastian Lockwood entered the school as rich nobodies and by the end of their freshmen year, they were running the place. According to Courtney, who actually pays attention to the social hierarchy at GAA, their uninterrupted reign of terror hasn’t ever been challenged, because even as freshmenthe seniors all deferred to whatever the four of them said.

Normally The Elites are a mix of boys and girls, but the guys have never added any girls to their power foursome. Instead, they have a rotating harem of eager Elite bunnies who all think they have a shot at the crown if they spread their legs for one of the guys.

What makes no sense to me is that these girls all see fucking an Elite as a badge of honor, and if they manage to bag all four, then I think they get special privileges or something. In this day and age, surely we should all be aiming to get ahead with something more progressive than what’s between our legs.

Courtney’s chattering away as we walk, but I’m not really listening to her. The closer we get to the school the more tense I feel. My bestie spent all summer at pool parties or lounging on the beach at bonfires with our classmates. I spent my summer working every shift my boss Henry would give me. While she was getting tan in a bikini, I was sweating through my polyester waitress uniform.

I’m not jealous of the parties; they aren’t really my scene anyway, but I am jealous of the friendship and connections she made this summer. Before high school, the disparity between mine and Court’s lifestyles didn’t seem as wide as it does now, and I’m not sure I can survive this place without her if she starts to realize I’m not playing in the same league as her.

“Oh my god, look at them. I swear my panties almost melt off just from looking at them,” Court says loudly, her grip on my arm tightening.

“Who?”

“Seriously,” she huffs. “The Elite.”

My eyes follow her line of sight and there they are, the four beautiful boys, Clay, Evan, Hunter and Sebastian. Even in their uniforms they look like they’re posing for a Calvin Klein advertisement. GAA has a strict dress code, green-plaid skirts or pinafores, white blouses, green ties and blazers for the girls. Tan chinos, white shirts, green ties and green blazers for the boys. We basically all look like extras from Gossip Girl, but somehow The Elite boys make the forest-green jackets look good.