To say that I was nervous when I pulled up my old VW in front of Highridge would have been an understatement. Everywhere I looked, were rows and rows of expensive polished cars. Mine was by far the oldest and least shiny one, as I painfully realized. I never cared much about appearances, but I also never stood out of the crowd as much as I did today. And I cared about that more than I was ready to admit to myself.

As I got out of the car and swung my bag over the shoulder, it felt like everyone's eyes were on me. I pulled on my skirt again and adjusted my blazer. After a glance around, I knew the uniform worked in my favor, though. I wore the same uniform as all the other girls around me. Otherwise, I'd not just be, but also look like the poorest girl around.

But I was not one of them. They all knew each other and had grown up together in their bubble, far away from the faceless masses. Their fathers played golf together. Their mothers went to the same hairdressers and fashion shows. I would be the new girl. The girl whose most expensive possession was this very same old car.

I raised my head high and began walking toward the entrance. Best they know from the beginning that I am not someone they can mess with. I know how the world worked, my father made sure of it. "Show them you are an Alpha," he'd say to me often as I was growing up. At my former high school, there was no need for that. Most had known me since I was a kid and long gone were the days when I had to stand my ground with anyone.

This was new territory, but I figured the rules were everywhere the same.

From the "Guide to Highridge", I knew that the school had been built in the early 1900s, and since its beginnings, it was meant to be a state-of-the-art educational institution for the offspring of the elite. It was the first time I was on its grounds, though. Only now it finally dawned on me that I was one of the Highridge students. Two months ago I would have thought being here was a zero-chance possibility. I would have laughed if I wasn't feeling the chills running up and down my spine. This was it. I was here and I had work to do.

As I entered the main hallway, I looked about. It was full of kids of all ages and everyone seemed to be talking at once. At my old school, I would have been greeted by a lot of friendly faces right now, people I grew up with. Here, I knew nobody.

The school lobby was dominated by a huge staircase leading to the upper levels. I gave the sheet in my hand another glance. It had the Headmaster's office's room number on it. As a recipient of a scholarship, I was expected to see him on my first day.

I found the right room with "Headmaster Hinch" written in large letters on it. I knocked, half hoping that he'd be anywhere but in his office. It was the first day of school after all. But I heard someone's steps approaching and the door swung open.

"And you must be Hope Collins," he said, more stating the obvious than asking a question. Headmaster Hinch was in his 50s and he had a kind smile. Glasses with an elegant frame decorated his nose and he wore an expensive suit that fit him well. But I shouldn't have been surprised. A Headmaster of a school like Highridge would be making way more money than the principal at the public school I attended before. "I recognize you from the pictures. I never forget a face," he said looking me up and down, which made me slightly uncomfortable. He stepped aside, letting me pass through.

"Thank you," I said looking about. It was a well-lit office. Through the huge window, I could see the school grounds. One side of the room was filled with books. His impeccably clean desk was "adorned" with a large computer screen. Every piece of furniture looked expensive. My old school's principal would kill for an office like this.

"We have a few scholarship kids here," he said with a smile still all over his face. "I won't lie, some are coping better than others. As much as it pains me to say, Highridge can be not a very welcoming place for a Scholarship recipient. My advice would be to keep your head down. I know you've been a good student at your old school. Do your best here and you should be fine, Hope. "

I promised I would. After all, keeping my head down was part of my plan - keep low-key, snoop around, and listen.

He pulled a sheet out of the drawer and sat down. I took a seat in a leather chair, across from him, and looked at him expectedly.

"This is your schedule," he explained handing it over to me. I took it and scanned it. "Needless to say, you are at one of the best schools in the country." He looked at me half-expecting me to happily jump up and down. I wasn't offering him any of that. He raised an eyebrow and I quickly gave him my best smile. Just one more person that needed to be convinced that coming to Highridge was a dream come true. Seemingly satisfied, the headmaster continued, "Mr. Scott, your math teacher, is very easy to get along with. Just deliver everything on time and you should be fine. Mr. Jackfield, your literature teacher, likes group work and quality debates. Expect to be paired up with someone..."

Just then, a loud beep followed by a male voice glared through the speakers.

"Welcome back to Highridge, you losers!" Whoever was speaking, was in a very good mood. "Here with you again the one and only, Riiiiiick Kiiiiingsen. Expect to have another year full of parties, lots of sex, drugs, and very little education... By the way, Camilla Duncan cheated on me over the summer with some chap from the West side of town, if you know what I mean. So if any of you ladies wants to get laid tonight..."

Oh boy!

Headmaster Hinch jumped to his feet, the look on his face priceless. I did my best to suppress my laughter.

"If I get my hands on him!" Headmaster Hinch hurried toward the door but then stopped as if remembering his good manners. "Get good grades, Hope, and you'll never have to worry about your scholarship," he assured me, and then he was gone.

I guess the orientation was over.

Quickly, I went around his desk and looked at his computer. The screen was password protected. I approached the cupboards. But they were locked. I could open them if I really put my mind to it. But not today.

On the wall beside the door, hang a large image in a mahogany frame. "Trustees of Highridge 2023" the inscription underneath it read. There were about ten important-looking people in the picture. Some of them I recognized from the newspapers, some I didn't. I didn't have time to be dwelling on it though. I looked at my watch and then at the schedule. My first class was math and I needed to hurry if I wanted to get there on time.

I was one of the last to enter the classroom, then, of course, I didn't find my way on the first try. I looked around. Almost all the seats were taken. There was one table available right at the front and another at the back of the room. I considered my options and decided to take the one at the front. That way, I'd not have to fight my way to the back. I was stared at from all sides.

I sat down and looked about. We were still using whiteboards and crayons at my old school. Here, there were screens and projectors, and even the desks had built-in monitors. I felt like I landed in the next century school.

"Hey, new girl," I heard someone say. It was some guy I'd never seen before. He wore thick glasses and his hair looked like it had never seen a comb. "You'd be better off at the back. Trust me."

I studied his face for a moment. He looked like a good kid, scared a bit, but I didn't perceive any malicious intent from him. So I thanked him and headed to the back. And It was a good thing that I did. The first teacher was Mr. Scott, an elderly gentleman who knew his subject very well. But he sweated profoundly through the entire class, and it seemed that no amount of AC could help with that. In any case, I was glad to be as far away from him as I possibly could.

I wanted to thank the boy again when the class finished, but as soon as the bell rang, he made his escape. I went to look for my locker instead, keen to drop off the books.

"Holly-molly," I said when I had it finally located and had a good look. Here, even the lockers had password-protected doors. They did not hesitate to send me two-hundred pages of nonsense but did not think of mentioning even with one word how to open the damn locker. I fumbled with it a bit, trying to punch some random numbers.

"You must be new," I heard a voice behind me say. I turned around and found myself face to face with a girl who looked a bit older than me. She was very pretty, her makeup and blond hair looked so perfect as if she'd just spent hours at a stylist's. Which she probably did, I concluded, eying her up and down. She somehow managed to look smashing in the uniform that I couldn't wait to throw into the corner of my room as soon as I got home. But before I could say anything, she continued, "The password for all newbies is 1, 2, 3, 4." She proceeded to key it in for me. The locker opened. On the inside, there was a little screen. She pressed on it. "Now you can enter any four-digit number you like. Don't use your day, month, or year of birth. Or any combination of that. Don't make it too easy. If anyone even suspects you having a bra or panties here, expect some pervert to try to get in. As if they can't just order used underwear from some vending machine in Japan." She rolled her eyes.

"Thank you," I replied still eying her. "And you are...?"

"I'm Claire Riley," she said with a widening smile, flashing at me her perfect white teeth.

Right, she was a Riley. There was no doubt about it. All the Rileys were blond and blue-eyed. If one was from Ocean Shore one heard all kinds of things about the Rileys. And the Shields, of course. Everyone in Ocean Shore did. These were two of the most powerful and wealthiest families around and there was a deep-seated feud between them that had been going on for generations. Many people died on each side until finally a truce was made almost 20 years ago. Now, they mostly battled each other in courts and the media.

My father, being the head of the police department, hated both families alike. Then more often than not, he was the one who got to clean up their mess. Growing up, I remember hearing about the rift between the Rileys and the Blakes, and it was more like background noise to me. Now though, there was a real Riley before me. In flesh and blood.

"Hope Collins," I introduced myself also.

"Ah, you must be the cop's daughter everyone has been talking about," she said studying me with renewed interest. Her comment made me cringe and left me with a strange feeling in my stomach. Was I hoping to keep that a secret? I had noticed people staring at me and whispering behind my back, but I thought it was just because I was new.

"What gave me away?" I asked.

"Everyone in Ocean Shore knows who your father is. His daughter showing up at Highridge doors was bound to make a splash. Good luck. You'll need it here." And with that, she moved on.

I half expected a devil's tail to be swinging behind Claire as she moved to greet her friends. There was of course none of that. On the contrary, she seemed to be nice and popular.

I dumped all the books I didn't need in the locker and thought for a second about what my new password could be. Jackie's birthday has been my go-to password for years. I quickly entered it and closed the door.

Now that I knew that the cat was out of the bag and everyone was aware that I was the "cop's daughter", what chance did I have at making friends? I wasn't here to make friends, I reminded myself and headed for the next class. I already had a friend and she was in a hospital bed fighting for her life. I saw myself more like a Trojan horse, though, infiltrating the enemy camp. I was here on a mission. It wasn't about me.