Katharine McGee - The Dazzling Heights

Elise’s eyes lit on the trio of girls and flashed in instant understanding. “Of course. I wouldn’t want you to lose your place on the honor roll,” she said wryly.

“Right. I do need to graduate with honors.” Calliope kept a straight face as she turned away.

She muttered “nearby private high schools” under her breath as she moved toward the accessories section, where the girls seemed to be headed. It only took two search results before she found the right one; she could tell since the students on the homepage were wearing the same lame uniform. Bingo.

She stationed herself in the girls’ path and began to studiously loiter: picking up various items, studying them as if actually considering them, then setting them down again. She was keeping an eye on the progress of the group, but still, she couldn’t help relishing the feel of a cool leather belt or a slippery silk scarf in her hands.

When the girls were only a row away, Calliope stumbled forward, knocking a whole table of purses to the ground. They fell across the polished wood floor like pieces of spilled candy.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry,” Calliope muttered, in the posh British accent she and her mom had been using all week—not the cheap cockney one she’d grown up with, but a refined one she’d mastered after careful practice. She had purposefully tipped the table so that the clutches fell in the girls’ direct path; forcing the trio to either step carefully through them or kneel down to help. Unsurprisingly, they did the latter. Rich girls never left something expensive on the ground, unless they’d been the one to toss it there.

“It’s okay. No harm done,” said one of the girls, a tall blonde who was far and away the most beautiful of the three. She had such an air of sophistication that on her, the ridiculous school uniform was transformed into something almost chic. She stood up at the same time as Calliope, setting the last little beaded clutch on the table.

“You all go to Berkeley?” Calliope asked, in that crucial instant before they started to walk away.

“Yeah. Wait, do you go there too?” asked one of the other girls. She frowned a little, as if wondering whether she’d seen Calliope before.

“Oh no,” Calliope said breezily. “I recognized the uniforms from the admissions tour. We’re in town from London—staying at the Nuage—but we might move here for my mom’s job. If we do, I’ll be transferring schools.” The lines rolled easily off her tongue; she’d spoken them many times before.

“That’s exciting. What does your mom do?” The blonde spoke again; not pushy, but with a quiet, genuine interest. Her clear-eyed gaze was somehow disconcerting.

“She works in sales, for private clients,” Calliope couldn’t resist saying, with a deliberate vagueness. “So what do you think of Berkeley? You like it there?”

“I mean, it’s school. It’s not like it’s fun,” the third girl finally chimed in. She had tawny skin, and her dark hair was pulled into a chic fishtail braid. She quickly looked over Calliope’s outfit, taking in her cream-colored knit dress and brown boots, and her eyes grew warmer in evident approval. “You would like it there, I think,” she concluded.

Calliope hid a familiar flash of disdain at these empty-headed girls. They were so easily persuaded of anything, as long it fit within their narrow worldview. She couldn’t wait to con something from them—shave off a little of the wealth they hadn’t worked for and were clearly not entitled to at all.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Calliope Brown,” she declared, holding out a hand laden with stacked enamel bangles and a fresh dove-gray manicolor. After a moment, the girl took it.

“My name is Risha, and this is Jess, and Avery,” she told Calliope.

“We actually need to get going,” the blond girl—Avery—said, with an apologetic smile. “We have appointments at the facial bar downstairs.”

“No way!” Calliope lied, with a practiced laugh. “I have an appointment there in half an hour. Maybe I’ll see you on your way out.”

“You should just come now, with us. I bet they can take you early,” Risha urged. She glanced quickly at Avery for confirmation, and Calliope didn’t miss the slight nod of approval that Avery gave at the suggestion. So, Avery was the one who called all the shots. Calliope was hardly surprised.

She’d never been quite as good at faking friendship as she was a romantic attachment. Lust was so delightfully uncomplicated and straightforward, while female friendships were inevitably layered with conditions, and history, and unspoken rules of behavior. Still, Calliope was nothing if not a fast learner. She could already see that Risha would be the easiest of the three to win over, but Avery was the crucial one, so she focused her efforts on her.

“I’d love to come, if you don’t mind,” she admitted, smiling at each of them in turn, her eyes lingering the longest on Avery.

As they walked through the doors of Ava Beauty Lounge, Calliope took a deep breath, inhaling the glorious scents of lavender and peppermint and spa. Everything inside was done in shades of peach and cream, from the soft carpet underfoot to the delicate sconces hanging on the walls, casting pools of golden light on the girls’ faces.

“Miss Fuller,” said the store manager, snapping to instant attention. Calliope studied the other girl with markedly more interest. So, she was the type of person who got recognized at places like this. Was it for her beauty, or her money, or both? “I didn’t realize you were a party of four today. I’ll add another facialette station to your cluster.”

He began to usher them all forward just as another girl walked out of the inner lounge and froze at the sight of Avery.

“Hi, Leda.” Avery’s voice was distinctly chilly.

The new arrival—a thin black girl with wide eyes and darting, nervous gestures—pulled herself up to her full height. It wasn’t very tall. “Avery. Jess, Risha.” Her eyes lit on Calliope, but she apparently decided it wasn’t worth introducing herself. “Enjoy your facial,” she said on her way out, managing to turn the innocuous phrase into something almost vindictive.

“Thanks, we will!” Calliope said cheerfully, delighting at the three horrified expressions that whirled toward her. But she didn’t give a damn about these girls’ intra-clique drama. She was here for a free facial, thank you very much.

Soon the four of them were seated at the gleaming white facial bar, clutching glasses of chilled grapefruit water. A bot wheeled over and handed them each a pink-and-white-stitched apron. “To keep the facial products from splattering onto your clothes,” the facial attendant explained, in answer to Calliope’s curious look.

“Oh, right. We wouldn’t want the girls to ruin their fabulous uniforms,” Calliope deadpanned, and was gratified to hear Avery laugh.

A row of lasers on the opposite wall turned on, aiming beams of focused photons toward the girls’ faces. Calliope instinctively shut her eyes, though she knew the lasers were too precise to hurt her. She felt nothing but a slight tickle across her nerves as the laser skimmed over the surface of her skin, collecting data on her oil levels and pH balance and chemical composition.

“So,” she asked Avery, who was sitting to her left, “what’s the deal with that Leda girl?”

Avery seemed startled by the question. “She’s a friend of ours,” she said quickly.

“She didn’t seem that friendly.” The lasers began to flash more quickly, signaling that they were almost finished with their dermatological analysis.

“Well, she was a close friend of mine until recently,” Avery amended.

“What happened? Was it about a boy?” It usually was, with girls like this.