This question is for all you girls out there. If it came down to life and death, who would you save between Nate, Griffin, Erik, and Connor? You can only pick one, so make sure you choose wisely. I'll be back with the results tomorrow.

yours truly,
Queen B.

***

        Keeping up with the Elites was physically taxing. The window into their lives was anything but translucent, muddled with a myriad of secrets and plastic smiles. No one knew the definition of facade better than Tessa O'Connell. The ability to keep two lives in the same world apart ran deep in her genes, passed down from mother to daughter.

After almost a week of careful observation covering every inch of Nouveau, the boy with short light brown hair still remained a mystery that tested the extremes of my curiosity.  For all I knew, Molly's secret rendezvous in the math hallway could've been with a sophomore struggling to make a big splash in a pond surrounded by thousands of other fish. This whole ordeal would've been almost as scandalous as the time Connor Deacon hooked up with a freshman at a fraternity party during spring break -- a high school freshman from a rural town in Wisconsin.

The underclassmen were always willing to go to extreme lengths for power. At Nouveau, the power rested in the hands of the elite tier of Nouveau's social pyramid. Everyone knew that money more or less equated to power, but an entry ticket into the Elites cost more than just a number written next to a dollar sign on a price tag. When trust funds and elastic allowances were ubiquitous, it was all about who had the most to offer.

This morning, the Elites stood in a closed circle around Elspeth's locker. The boys had stepped out of their suites dressed in navy buttoned blazers, the girls with matching gray acrylic knee-high socks. Even with the presence of Griffin, there was no significant change in their dynamic. Tessa stood at the head of the circle with Molly as her right hand.

Erik wrapped his arms around Molly's waist from behind when he came out of the locker room, pressing his lips against the back of her head. He seemed completely unaware that his girlfriend was running off to meet someone else. Out of all people, Erik and Molly's public display of affection prompted a disapproving scowl on Connor's face.

From across the hall, I made brief eye contact with Connor, realizing that his gray irises held a storm of emotion. His eyes said more about this situation than his lips ever would. The quiet ones always had the most secrets hiding out in their closets.

"You didn't hear anything I just said, did you?" Becca slammed her locket shut before waving her hand back and forth in front of my face. Her voice sat on a temporary silence, the words that crafted her question shattering my train of thought.

"What?" I turned around, hugging my notebooks against my chest. "You were talking about your debate tournament at Ridgeview this weekend, weren't you?"

I only knew this because our Monday morning conversations were always reserved exclusively for updating each other on our weekend. Most of the time, these conversations consisted of Becca talking and me listening. The first debate tournament in the state of New York had taken place at Ridgeview High School on Saturday. Becca left Ridgeview with a medal after placing first in Lincoln-Douglas Debate and turning in ballot sheets with a 4-0 victory.

"What's been up with you lately, Kennedy?" Becca asked me, frowning slightly. "You've been totally out of it. What are you looking at?"

The better question was whom I was looking for. There were too many boys at Nouveau with short brown hair, Becca's own boyfriend being one of them.

"No one in particular," I answered, saving my search for another time. "I just stayed up most of last night talking to my dad. You know how he gets when I ask him about physics."

"When is he coming back?"

"Two weeks," I said. "He's actually going to make it for teacher-parent conferences this year. You don't know how relieved my grandparents were when they found out they didn't have to sit through another one of Dean Witterby's announcements."

"My parents just send their secretary because every teacher always says the same thing. 'Becca is doing well in my class, but she needs to stop having side discussions while I'm teaching. I would also appreciate it if she didn't sleep during my lectures. It's very distracting for the rest of the students.'"

I laughed, wondering how Becca managed to keep up her perfect transcript when she spent most of her classes browsing clothing catalogs or thinking about anything but the notes in front of her.

"Have fun in music theory," Becca told me when we reached the end of the hallway with a bright smile that revealed a row of perfectly white teeth. "I'll see you later at lunch, Ken. Don't forget to tell your boyfriend I said hi."

"First Alden, now you." I rolled my eyes, feeling like there was a target centered on my back. "What is it with you two?"

"Come on, Kennedy. We're just hopping on the ship before it sails without us."

*~~~~*

I made it to music theory before Griffin did.

With his black backpack hanging off one shoulder, Griffin walked into class a few minutes before the bell rang. He approached me with a wide grin plastered on his face, his eyes eager and almost as bright as the sky outside. His golden hair was slicked back against his head.

"God, I really hate these things," Griffin complained, adjusting the loose tie wrapped around his neck. Watching his lips curl into a grimace as he struggled to tie a windsor knot made me smile.

"What do you think these paper slips are for?" I asked, glancing down at the folded pieces of paper we drew from Mr. Sykes' hat on the way in through the door.

"Hopefully they're the winning numbers for the lottery."

The volume in the room started to gradually crescendo as students filled the seats sin the classroom. Questions bounced from person to person, the underclassmen trying to figure out exactly what Mr. Sykes had planned for us.

"What instrument did you two get?" the freshman sitting to my left tilted her head and asked after she opened her slip. The word viola was neatly written on the piece of paper in freehand. "I mean of course I get stuck with one of the few instruments that reads a clef I haven't studied yet."

"No switching instruments," Mr. Sykes said to the class as the bell rang, his green eyes narrowing at me. "This is supposed to be collaborative."

While Mr. Sykes was passing out papers at the end of rows, Griffin leaned over and asked, "What did you get?"

I watched my fingers tremble as I unfolded the small sheet of paper, my left hand noticeably more unstable than my right. My heart dropped when I saw the five letters, not out of excitement or anticipation but dread. I blinked a couple of times, wondering if pure will was enough to change the order of the letters -- and it wasn't.

"I guess we're supposed to be partners," Griffin smiled, showing me his slip that read piano. "The world keeps bringing us together, Kennedy. I think it's a sign."

Mr. Sykes took his place at the center of the classroom behind his podium. "As you should know by now, all classes at Nouveau are required to have an independent research project to enforce real-world application. You and a partner will familiarize yourself with the instrument on your slip and its history, research notable composers and musicians, and lastly, learn how to play it. Notice how I did not say master, but know that I do expect more than a rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

"What if you already know how to play the instrument?" a boy with caramel skin shouted out instead of raising his hand and waiting to be called on.

"Then consider yourself lucky," Mr. Sykes replied, adjusting his cufflink. "If that is your case, I expect you to help your partner learn the instrument. Don't forget that this is a group project."

"Do you already know how to play?" Griffin whispered while Mr. Sykes had his back turned toward us. He was addressing another question on the other side of the room.

"No," I muttered tersely, hoping I was a better liar than I remembered.

It wasn't long before Mr. Sykes commanded the classroom again. "For your final presentation at the end of the semester, you will be required to present a composition. A large component of music theory is actually applying the knowledge. A composition is the perfect way to do that."

"Do we both have to present the composition?" another student asked.

"That would appear to be the case." Mr. Sykes appeared slightly irritated sitting on his stool. "Unless, of course, you want to have a big fat 0 on your final progress report."

The student followed up with another question. "Does that mean we have to compose a piece with multiple parts?"

"I will leave it up to your interpretation. All other questions will be addressed at the end of class if you still have them," he ended the conversation completely, realizing we had wasted over twenty discussing a project that had a deadline months away. "We'll continue with the lesson today after you spend the next five minutes introducing yourself to your partner. I know most of you in this class haven't bothered to introduce yourselves to those outside your social circle."

Everything Mr. Sykes had said went in one ear and out the other instantaneously. Even though I was staring right at the board, my mind was working overtime. I thought I had given up on trying to get out of music theory, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And if getting out of this project required flunking the class, I was stranded at a crossroad.

"Are you going to the football game this Friday?" Griffin asked after the class dispersed into their pairs, pulling me completely out of my thoughts.

"Probably not," I replied honestly, swiveling in my seat to face him, "but I heard it's against Kingston. Does that make it harder for you?"

"It's just another football game," Griffin said casually with a gentle but contagious smile. "Coach Roy's a little nervous because of their record against us, but I think we have a chance this year. Kingston's quarterback is out for the rest of the season because he got caught dealing coke before a game."

I arched my brow, leaning against the back of my chair. "And how do you know this?"

"Ben," he responded simply, combing his fingers through his hair. When the air between us thickened and I shot him a confused look, he elaborated. "I forgot that you don't know who Ben is. He was one of my teammates back at Kingston."

"Do you miss it?" I wondered. "Kingston, I mean."

"Every now and then," he shrugged, "I miss my friends and the city, but when it comes to Kingston itself, not so much."

"I've only been into the city a couple of times here and there," I admitted shamefully. "You would think that having been born and raised in New York, I would know the Big Apple like the back of my hand, but we're practically strangers."

"Really?" He glanced at me from the side, his blue eyes boring into my brown ones. I watched him carefully, noticing how curiosity changed the shade of his irises. "I guess we need to take a trip up there one of these weekends, so I can show you around properly."

I rolled in both of my lips. "That sounds like a lot like a promise, Griffin."

Griffin swung his legs over to the side of his chair and leaned in, leaving a mere inch between his lips and my right ear. Our proximity was undeniable. I felt his breath fan against my skin and heard the rhythm of his heartbeats as he whispered, "And what if it is?"