Jac was feeling the familiar effects of Cloud Nine when she woke up in her lavish room the next morning. She felt as if every problem in the world didn't matter, not when she had spent the whole previous evening texing Blake Evans until she dozed off in her silk Moroccan bed sheets.  However, every good feeling she had evaporated when she opened her eyes to see darting hazel eyes staring back at her.

"Can I help you?" Jac sat upright in her Queen-sized bed, taking in the woman in her room, resting her perfect nails on the matching sofa at the foot of her bed.

The frail woman was dressed fashionably in a Dolce & Gabbana dress, looking like a tan Indian version of Diane Von Furstenberg with glasses. "By getting out of bed and meeting your mother downstairs. We have an auction to plan for."

Jac rubbed sleep out of her eyes, watching in bewilderment as the woman swung open the brass door of her closet, disappearing into it. Designer clothes were soon popping out of the room, being flung on to the velvet carpet as if it were trash.  "What the hell are you doing? Those are my clothes."

"Jacqueline, get down here, will you?" She heard her mother's annoyed voice from the first floor. 

Jac was all too overwhelmed to act on her mother's orders. Instead she stumbled sleepily out of bed and followed the woman to her walk-in closet. The mysterious dame was at the very back of the dim-light closet, going through Jac's vintage T-shirts that she was always buying from Barneys but rarely ever wore.

"Where are your evening gowns?" The woman snapped, turning to her then with exasperation.

"Look to your right and theres a secret compartment behind those jeans," Jac instructed her numbly and watched as the woman found the small diamond-embellished door and yanked it open, stepping inside.

"Jacqueline!"  Her mother shouted, shrilled.

With a sigh, Jac decided to leave the woman who was snooping through her closet alone. She followed her mother's angry voice down the flight of stairs that lead to the second story of the house and then took an elevator to the final floor. 

Eve Lexington was in their second living room, looking like a queen in a thin Versace robe that barely hid the skimpy lingerie she wore underneath. Though the sight wouldn't be much to Jeffrey since he preferred guys now. 

The living room had been transformed into a clothing mania. The usual Ivy and Gold love seats and coffee tables bombarded with Jac's clothes and jewelry. "Mom!" She shrieked at the realization of what exactly was going on.

"Can you sort through those clothes and find all the expensive cocktail dresses you have," Eve said absentmindedly, searching through a rack of fur coats - Jac's fur coats. "Make sure all the dresses you pick out are over fifty grand, they'll sell better at the auction."

"Mom, you can't be serious!" Jac cried, feeling as if she could throw up her happiness at any moment.

"Jac, hurry! I want to be done with this before your father gets back."

"Where did he go?"

"To a follow-up meeting with Matthew Felix," She informed, pulling out Jac's favorite real Cheetah-skin coat and holding against her perfect frame.

"Follow-up? Mr. Felix changed his mind about the pitch?" Jac asked hopefully. 

"No, but your father is still trying to convince him." Eve draped the fur coat over her arm. "This will sell for millions. We got this in that boutique in Africa remember?"

"Then why are you putting it in the auction?" Jac cried again. "Mom, these are my clothes, my jewelry and-" Then she stopped midway in her sentence because sitting lazily on the ivory coffee table was literally every piece of jewelry that he had bought her. "Mom, listen to me!" She shouted louder this time.

Eve scoffed profusely, slinging the most expensive black Hermes handbag Jac owned - 99, 995 dollars to be exact - on her shoulder. "Jac, you're just going to have to learn how to make sacrifices. We barely have any money freed up for our leisure time. We're already letting go of all the yachts."

"But why am I the only one making sacrifices?" Jac exclaimed. "I don't see your clothes going up for sell!"

Eve opened her mouth to interject but the woman who had scavenged every part of Jac's closet came out of the elevator, heaving three luxurious evening gowns into the room and laying them delicately on the last free gold love seat available. "What do you think of these, Eve?"

"I'm sorry but who are you?" Jac snapped, immediately hating the woman for helping her mother with this horrendous task.

"Stella Singh," The woman outstretched her dainty hand and Jac couldn't deny that for a probably-about-to-drop-dead woman, she looked amazing. "A good friend of your mother's."

"She's my money adviser," Eve said bluntly. 

Jac rushed over to her beloved evening gowns, pressing her face against the soft fabric. "Well you can't sell my gowns."

"They're not going up for sell," Stella said reassuringly, eyes flickering over to the jewelry on the coffee table. "We want you to choose one of those to wear to the Spring Debutante Auction."

The Spring Debutante Auction was not only the high society's way of "giving back" to the ones who could never have the lifestyle, it was also an excuse to dress up. Impressions were important and small talk was necessary when it came to high society's children. Especially when you never know who could show up - last year President Obama had made an appearance and bought a 2.5 million dollar vacation house in the Bahamas.

"And then what happens to the ones I don't choose?" Jac asked somberly.

"They're put in the auction," Stella shrugged sheepishly.

"Then I want to wear all of them," Jac decided. "I could switch dresses every hour."

"Jacqueline, don't be ridiculous," Eve said, not masking her annoyance. "You can only choose one."

"But thats not fair!" Jac cried, biting her bottom lip to stop from crying. "You're selling literally my whole wardrobe!"

"Not all of it," Stella said reassuringly. "We're not going to sell all those band t-shirts you have in there-"

"Or those tie-dyed skinny jeans." Eve added.

Jac gasped in disbelief. They were selling every nice thing she owned.....and leaving her with band t-shirts she usually wore to bed on period days. It was too much to take on in the morning and without warning, she fainted.

"Jac, can you try not to be so dramatic?"

Jac awoke exactly where she'd fainted on the soft carpeting of their Ivory and Gold living room. Eve stood over her, shaking her head profoundly before moving back to the coffee table. There, she tossed every bit of jewelry into a Sayre & Co. jewelry box in her hand.

"How long was I out?" Jac managed, shakily getting to her feet and trying to fight the fact that no one had bothered to help her up.

"You just sat on the floor for three minutes."  Stella  stated, who was now at the corner of the room, gently placing cocktail dresses into a floral-printed moving box.

Jac felt as if she were watching her world come crashing down and had no way of stopping it - and then she quickly remembered Blake's words at their odd date. Shooting forward, Jac pushed past Stella and Eve, hurrying into the elevator.

"Jac, you're supposed to pick a dress!" Eve cried.

Jac ignored her mother, letting the elevator doors close on the two women. Once in her room, she hurried into her closet - that had been nearly stripped of every fashionable item she had - and put on a vintage Lana Del Rey t-shirt and ripped Sevens skinny jeans. Then after hiding all the designer shoes she could from Stella, she grabbed her Tiffanys key chain off the bedroom end table and sprinted down the stairs as if she were running a track.

"Jacqueline, get back in here," Eve shouted as Jac made it to the end of the banister. "If you don't choose a dress, I'm choosing for you!" 

"Ugh, the-the black one!" She stammered, exasperated.

Eve held up the luxurious black J.Mendel bustier gown, scoffing before tossing it back on to the love seat with disdain. "Fine, I'm choosing. You have horrible taste in men and fashion, Jac."

Rolling her eyes, Jac waved off her mother dismissively and darted out of the house, sending a speedy text to Blake.

Jac could honestly care less about what she'd be wearing to the auction. She had her family's millions to save and although she really didn't want to be talking to her backstabbing butler, he was the only person that might just be able to stop her whole wardrobe from being sold to every wannabe at Alabaster.

                                                                          ⓇⒾⒸⒽⓀⒾⒹⓈ

 Damon wasn't going down without a fight. He had convinced himself - after countless hours of E and marijuana- that there was still hope. Sure, he didn't have the letters but he did have his Ivy League Golden Boy face and skills of persuasion. Plus, no matter how hard he tried, scruffy cells and hard metal beds just weren't appealing to him.

So with a little research, he had pinpointed exactly where Princeton's sports department representative, Mr. Magnus Carter, would be; the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. 

"I think thats him," Seth Montador pointed out a short, balding man in a knockoff Armani suit and penny loafers that looked like they came from Payless in the busy velvet red and gold lobby. "He kind of looks like the guy from the site."

Damon studied the man from where they stood obscured behind gold pots of Lilac flowers at the very corner of the lobby. Besides the occasional weird glances they got from some of the hotel inhabitants wondering what the hell they were doing, Damon and Seth were unnoticed.

"Nah, in the picture he looks taller," And then he gave the man another once over. "And richer."

Seth ran a hand through his blonde-almost-brown hair, obviously resisting the urge to do the Justin Bieber hair flip. "Well maybe we should just ask. You said you got a letter from him, right? He probably wouldn't be mad if you just waltzed in."

"No one is going to give us a guy's room number," Damon pointed out. 

"Why are you so desperate to find this guy anyway?" Seth went on. "We've still got a pretty good handful of years before we have to worry about college."

"We've barely got two years." 

Seth nodded then, scanning the lobby again. Then Damon realized, after thirty minutes of pointing out guys who looked more like representatives for McDonald's instead of a respected university, he was going to have to ask for help.

"Hey," Damon stopped the first employee he could find, a clean-cut blonde bell boy carrying a Jansport backpack. "I just need to know if a Mister Magnus Carter is checked in at this hotel?"

The boy stopped, processing what he had just said and then shrugged. "My shift is over but I can check for you if you want."

 Although uneasy - Erika had a way of finding out every little move he planned to make and anyone could be a spy of hers - Damon and Seth followed the bell boy to the front desk in which a long line impatiently waited for someone to attend to them.

Giving a worried glance to the long line of complainers, the boy moved behind the desk and bent down to pull out a checkbook. Damon and Seth stood off to the side and waited as he flipped through the pages. "Ahhh, here he is. Mister Magnus Carter in room 904." He whispered the room number low enough so that no one else could hear.

Damon repeated the number to himself. "Thanks-"

"Hey, aren't you Matthew Felix's son?" The boy asked eagerly. 

Damon was taken aback by how quickly he'd figured it out. Usually, someone had to hear his last name called to realize who he was. Then again, he didn't really take much from his father except for the brown-black hair. 

"My Dad was a huge fan of him back in the 80s when he played for the Charlotte Hounds," He went on.

"Well, if you show up to the Spring Debutante Auction, you could meet him." Seth piped up because his kind manners always got the best of him. Even he should know that a random bell boy had no chance of getting into the biggest auction of the season.

"I don't think I can-" Damon started to protest but Seth interjected him. "I'm sure Damon could get you and your Dad on the guest list." 

'Well send out good deeds and you get good karma back, right?' Erika was proof that what you gave out comes back with either a huge slap to the face or a shower of cosmic love - and Damon needed as much cosmic love as he could get considering the circumstances. "Sure, just tell me your name and I'll make sure to inform the Auction Planner about it." Well, he'd pay off the Auction planner.

The boy smiled widely. "Cool, that sounds great," And then he outstretched his hand. "Blake Evans."

Damon shook it and after making a mental note to try his hardest not to forget the boy's name, he and Seth started the trek through the winding halls of the hotel, keeping their eyes open for Room 904.

"Wouldn't it be neat if-" Seth stopped musing with a vibration coming from his pocket and at that exact moment, Damon got one too.

They stopped right in front of Room 904, staring dumbfound at one of Erika's stupid text messages. "I should just block her." He scowled. 

"Too bad, my phone lags on Huffington Post," Seth sighed, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Dismissing the text with barely a thought - mostly because he already knew what he'd find on the site -  Damon faced the gold brown door in front of him. Room 904; the room that held the one person that might be able to change his fate. Rolling his shoulders back, Damon remembered all the interview preps he'd had starting all the way back to seventh grade.

Rules to talking to a Ivy League scout that could change your life, be rich, beautiful, talented and most of all, full of substance.

With this in mind, Damon knocked on the door.

Then he knocked again because there was no answer.

"Maybe he's not here?" Seth offered.

"He has to be here," Damon groaned. His future depended on it.  So he knocked again - and then again, and again, and again until the door swung open, narrowly missing his chiseled face.

Behind the door was a tall, athletic built man who looked more like a blonde, younger version of Adolf Hitler. Damon gulped because if he had the face of evil, he was most certainly screwed. 

"Is there something I can help you with?" The man's voice was deep and hollow - and scared the shit out of both boys. "There must be something since you're knocking on my door like the hotel has been over run."

Damon, however, found his voice. Standing in front of the Mr. Magnus Carter was almost as terrifying as standing in front of Mr. Felix and he was pretty experienced with that. "Sir, I'm Damon Felix and this is Seth Montador. We wanted to talk to you-"

"I'm not doing any more interviews," The man snarled, straightening the collar of his  William Fioravanti suit with a huff. "I sent you a letter regarding my interest and you did not call with a time for an appointment."

"But-"

"You've made it very clear you don't need Princeton and I'll tell you this," Then his eyes narrowed. "Princeton doesn't need you."

"Please just-"

"And don't even think about giving me a stack of money," He growled. "Because Princeton cannot be bought either."

"Can you just hear me out?" Damon shouted even louder than the representative. He was not letting his only window be closed on his fingers. He was not going to Juvie and he was not, not even in Hell, going to let Erika win. "I'm an amazing player, you've seen it yourself and my grades are pretty damn good for being in the athletic department. I'm not just talented, I'm experienced. I've dealt with countless crap in the past,"

"I've went through almost every major setback and I've come out fine. Thats what you need at Princeton. Someone ambitious, talented, but most of all, strong. " Then he exhaled.

Mr. Carter pursed his thin lips and Damon prayed to every God in the book to let him reconsider. Then he counted every bad thing he'd done in the past and he figured he at least deserved this. He had been a pretty good guy for the past two weeks.

"If it helps, my Dad is a legacy." Damon added nervously.

"No, it doesn't help," He finally said. "But I'm going to take a chance anyway. I will be at the Spring Debutante Auction this weekend, if you are present, your father and I can discuss securing a space for you at Princeton."

That 'top of the world' feeling came back with an even sweeter bliss. "Thank you, Mr. Carter, thank-"

"But if you are not there at six 'o clock sharp, I will assume you are not as serious as I think you are and will not be giving anymore chances for early enrollment."

"Good enough for me, sir." Damon responded, trying to mask his eagerness. Another rule in talking to Ivy League representatives; You need them but don't show it too much. Although he basically already blew that rule.

With a quick, formal nod, Mr. Magnus Carter shut the door.

"Well that went well," Seth said once they had retreated through the halls and back down to the lobby. "I was so sure he was going to say 'no'. Every guy he's talked to made him out to be the Terminator."

"He's talked to other people on the team?"

"Just Chris." Seth shrugged and Damon scowled. Of course, Chris got an early spot at Princeton. He was hell bent on doing everything Damon did. However, Damon was too relieved to get angry. Things were looking up - something that was way overdue.

"Hey, is that Jac?" 

"Why would Jac be here?" Damon tsked absentmindedly, barely paying attention to a word Seth said as they pushed through the revolving doors of the lobby and out into the busy streets of Beverly Hills - but then he was stopped midway to his car by the sight in the very middle of the crowd of city dwellers.

On the contrary, Jac was here - and she was flirting it up with the same bell boy Damon had reluctantly invited to the auction earlier. They stood barely inches apart, Jac smiling that smile that Damon only saw when she looked at him. Blake was laughing at something she said and Jac's eyes drifted towards them for a moment - but she seemed to be staring straight past them.

"She's dating a Bell Boy?" That was what she had a "good feeling" about? A guy with a crappy job who most likely couldn't even afford the plain t-shirt she was wearing. A guy who was most certainly not in high school. A guy who wasn't Damon.

"Bro.....are you okay?" Seth asked worriedly and Damon realized his fists had been clenched like they usually were when he couldn't control his anger. He had thought that feeling was gone for good after the night of the game but of course, Jac was the one person that could bring it back.

Seth edged in front of him as if he were ready to hold him back if he lunged for the boy - which Damon wasn't sure if he could stop himself from doing.

He watched as Jac and Blake descended down the street, Blake's arm snaking around her shoulder as he said something that probably wasn't half as funny as Jac seemed to be making it out to be.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Damon did his best to un-clench his fists. 'Not everything can go looking up,' So he forced himself to tear his eyes away from them. 

                                                                          ⓇⒾⒸⒽⓀⒾⒹⓈ

Erika was staring morbidly at her Chromebook screen when she heard the front door open, Matthew Felix walking sternly into the house. Quickly, Erika assessed herself; her hair was in a tight french braid - ot a strand out of place - she was dressed like a casual All American Sweetheart in a Celine t-shirt and Adidas black yoga pants, all she needed was the perfect sappy voice to go with the look.

Before her father could disappear into the elevator, Erika leaned over the luxurious love seat of the Felix living room. "You're back early, Daddy, how was work?"

Matthew had a stony look on his face as he evaluated his daughter. Then with an exasperated sigh, he pressed one of the silver buttons for the elevator, his back to her. That small action made Erika feel a horrible pang in her heart.

"Daddy, whats wrong?" 

He didn't answer. Instead he simply waited for the elevator doors to open before stepping inside, leaning forward to press another button.

"I picked a dress for the auction," Erika tried again, her heart beating rapidly. "Its very sophisticated, Daddy, you'll be pleased."

Matthew stopped the elevator doors from closing then, giving her a cold glare. "You will not be going to the auction, Erika."

"W-why?"

"Not after the fool you've made me out to be," He hissed. "I come to work today and I was immediately ridiculed."

Erika felt bile in her throat and she suddenly had the urge to throw up her guts. "I-I'm sorry, Daddy, I-"

Just then, the front door opened again and in came Damon. He was fumbling with his Lamborghini key chain as he stepped into the living room. He took in the scene with a smug shrug before heading for the stairs.

"Damon," Matthew called.

Even Erika could see the horror-stricken expression on Damon's face. Neither one of them were in the man's good graces anymore. However, he came down the stairs to meet him anyway. "Uh, I have some news for you-"

"How about we go out to the court and play some good 'ol basketball," Matthew surprisingly chuckled and Erika wished badly that it was because of her. However, as usual, it wasn't. "See if you can beat your old man."

Damon's face brightened, smiling that dimpled smile of his and it was like a sword into Erika's gut. "Yeah? You sure you don't want to get your ass handed to you, Dad?"

The two Felix men chuckled, playfully bantering each other before Matthew made a promise to be out on the court before the next hour, disappearing into the elevator - without even a glance to Erika. Not even a glare. 

It was as if she had gone back to not existing in his world. 'Whatever, you don't need him anyway. You have plenty of admirers at school, girls who are ready to wash your damn feet if you wanted them to,' At Alabaster, she was the center of attention.  However, it just wasn't enough. In fact - although she'd never admit it - she'd give up all that attention just to have her father smile at her everyday.

Holding back the frustration she wanted so badly to let out, Erika flipped her long auburn hair over her shoulder and turned to her brother who was too engrossed in his phone to look at her. "So whats the good news, huh?"

Damon didn't answer, face hardening but eyes still on his iPhone screen.

"Awww, I can't have details?" She gushed mockingly.

Damon glowered, heading for the stairs. "Fuck off, Erika."  She couldn't come up with a snide reply fast enough as he had already disappeared up the banister.

Laying back on the couch, grabbing the remote next to her and turning on the flat screen TV hanging above the lavish fireplace in front of her, Erika felt odd. She felt like crying. a feeling she was having way too much lately. 'Ugh, am I PMSing now?' However, a quick episode of 'Keeping Up With The Kardashians' wasn't going to fix that feeling.

She booted up her Chromebook laptop again, surfing through the internet until she was on the Huffington Post homepage - and gasped. 

"Ugh, fucking Addie!" She spat, whipping out her phone from the thin pockets of her yoga pants and dialing the pink-haired girl's number. The only reason the girl was even in her contacts was because of her role in the 'Fuck-Paisely-Up' operation.

"Uh, hi-hi Erika." The girl stammered when she answered, obviously surprised by Erika's call.

"Where the hell is Paisely's collage?" Erika snapped into the phone. "It was only on there for four hours!" Though that had been plenty of time for nearly every student in the preparatory district to tweet, screenshot, and post Facebook statuses about the spectacle.

"I'm sorry I-" The girl went silent.

"Addie?" 

Matthew Felix came down the stairs, dressed in his own company's basketball shorts and a silk white T. His usual glasses had been replaced by clear contacts that made his glares look glassy and even more petrifying. 

Erika averted her attention from her phone. "Daddy, is there anything that I can do to make up for what I've done? I feel really ashamed and-"

"You can start by staying out of trouble and out of my way." He barked. "I'll give you your allowance back, I'll turn on your credit cards again if that means you don't have to be in my presence. You're nothing but a problem and a nuisance."

Then as if that wasn't enough to break her, he scowled. "You're just like your mother. Nothing but dead weight." Then he stalked off through the house, slamming the french sliding door leading out to the lavish backyard.

Erika jumped at the sound.

"Erika?" She heard Addie's voice and with a shaky sigh, she pressed the phone up to her ear again.

"What?"

"Um, my mom is-is t-t-talking to Head-head-master Vanderbit right now," She stuttered as if she'd just seen the ghost of Alexander Mcqueen.  

"I don't really care." 

"He's talking about the Huffington Post page, what do I-what do I do?" 

Erika was already far too shaken up - and haunted - by her father's recent words to even feel the complete horror of the situation. "Just lie, Addie. He has no evidence, right?"

"Wait, I'm listening." 

Erika stood up just as Damon came down the stairs in Nike sportswear, ignoring her as he followed their father out to the basketball court. Erika also followed in his steps except moving into the Felix kitchen and towards the sink where one of their large french windows were overlooking the whole two acre yard. 

She watched the large basketball court closely as Damon dribbled the ball before moving to shoot a hoop, Matthew narrowly blocking him. She watched as they laughed, as they taunted each other competitively. She watched every smile Matthew gave his son, every beaming expression he had.

"Erika?" 

"What?"

"They traced my IP address....I-I-I, uh, I-I-I can't-can't lie!" She erupted into tears that even Erika could hear over the phone but she hardly had any sympathy for the girl.

'Thank god we used Addie's computer,' She thought to herself, slightly proud of her wit.  She had dodged a bullet and it made her just a bit less morbid. 

"Erika-"

"Listen to me very carefully," Erika snapped. "You can't tell anyone about my involvement. Not only will you be ruining your parents reputation, but you will be ruining your friendship with me."

There was silence for only a moment and then Addie stopped sobbing,"We're-we're friends?"

"And friends don't sell out other friends, right?" 

She heard Addie sniffle. "Right."

"Good," Then Erika hung up without a single comforting word to her "friend." 

With one last glance at her father and brother, Erika turned away from the window, remembering that this was Griselda's day off. 'Good,' because at that moment, Erika truly did feel like dead weight and only knew one way to make her father's engraved words hurt less.

Erika swiftly opened the door to the walk-in kitchen pantry, taking out the first snack she could find- Blueberry Muffins from Panera Bread - and leaning on the middle island counter of the kitchen. She leveled her gaze with the muffin - and then took a big bite, instantly feeling like shit.

However, she didn't stop until she had taken a bite for each painful word her father had said - then she retreated to the bathroom and did what she hadn't done since freshmen year of high school when she realized her metabolism was slowing. She couldn't keep the weight.

Erika figured the last thing Daddy needed was a fat daughter.

------------------

A/N: 

Just a small - very small - few more chapters! Are you ready? Because I am!

Does Erika's part change the way you view her or do you feel like she deserved every word her father said about her? 

Leave thoughts please and thank you, thank you, thank you x10000 to those who follow the story!