Georgetown Academy, Season One Read online

  Brinley now made her way inside, looking for either Graham or Ellie as she walked through the impressive entryway complete with three large crystal chandeliers, fifty-foot ceilings and a sweeping staircase that siphoned off at a landing half-way up into two separate winding stairways.

  “I’ll see you later,” Brooks said, spotting a few of his fellow lacrosse players across the room. He walked away just as Hunter’s BMW pulled up outside, the car visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Brinley cracked her knuckles anxiously as Ellie and Hunter walked to the front door. Aside from the Adderall letdown that was just beginning to hit her, apologies were not exactly her forte. Usually she’d prefer to just pretend like whatever transgression she had committed had never happened and hope the other person got over it (and if not, too bad for them), but she knew sensitive Ellie had probably been mulling it over all afternoon. Brushing it under the rug might not work in this circumstance.

  As soon as they entered, Brinley felt a small surge of pride that Ellie was wearing one of the outfits Brinley had put together for her. At least that could be her in.

  Brinley sauntered up to them casually and tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Nice outfit,” she said, with a knowing wink.

  But Ellie barely looked her way as she uttered a curt, “Thank you.” So brushing it under the rug was definitely not an option.

  Brinley turned to Hunter. “Can you give us a sec?” Hunter looked to Ellie and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

  “She’s all yours, Brin. I’ll go get you girls some drinks.” Hunter gave Ellie a quick kiss before walking away.

  “Look, Elle. About today…there was a lot going on.”

  “I have a lot going on too, Brinley,” she replied, somewhat snippily, seeming almost distracted. Suddenly Brinley felt that now-too-familiar bolt of pain behind her eyes, usually the sign of the start of a massive headache. She needed to wrap this up so she could go to the restroom and take the pill burning a hole in her purse. And she knew there was only one way to do it quickly.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” she blurted out. “That’s what I wanted to say, Elle.” Brinley took a breath and tried to control her tone. “I’m sorry I was rude earlier. You didn’t deserve it.”

  Ellie turned to Brinley—her look of surprise giving way to a smile.

  “No problem, Brin,” she replied, “Let’s be over it.” Ellie had forgiven her and now she could make a mad dash for the bathroom. But Ellie stopped her before she could.

  “I’m a little off my game, too. Today was a rough one for my mom.”

  Brinley cracked her knuckles again. To not respond would be rude. “My dad said Dick Mills is already living up to his name.”

  Ellie shrugged, looking down as if she might cry, and Brinley felt a pang of sympathy for her. She was so sensitive. It must be hard to be a person like that if you lived in D.C.

  “Don’t worry,” Brinley assured her. “You know how this stuff always blows over. We’ve watched this kind of crap happen since birth, right?”

  Ellie nodded, biting her lip.

  “And in my case, I do mean that literally. The day I was born, the secretary of state accused my dad of manipulating the Senate elections in Texas and Louisiana. But by the time my parents were throwing my Christening party at the Ritz, everyone had moved on to the next alleged drama.”

  Brinley was happy to find Ellie was actually laughing now. “You had a Christening party at the Ritz?”

  “The one in Foggy Bottom, not the nouveau one in Georgetown.” Brinley put her arm around Ellie. “My point is, pretty soon Senator Mills will get distracted by something else and forget all about this ridiculous vendetta against your mom. It’s just like school. Remember when Kayley Dickerson stuffed the ballot box so she’d win G.A. vice president? No one even remembered as soon as Abby Booker hooked up with that federal agent in the Library of Congress.”

  Ellie smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Brin. Hey, where’s Graham?”

  “I haven’t seen him yet,” Brinley breathed. Her right hand was starting to tremble and it was time to extricate herself from this conversation so she could take her pill. Brinley was about to make an excuse when something flickered in Ellie’s eyes.

  “You know what, Brin? I’m going to go see what’s taking Hunter so long.” Brinley didn’t believe her for a second—she was one of the worst liars she knew (with Brooks being the best)—but she let it go. Brinley had her own business to attend to anyway.

  An hour and an Adderall pill later, Brinley was still on the hunt for Graham. It used to be so much easier to spot him in a crowd when he was constantly surrounded by Secret Service detail. But of course, that was a perk of the past. She conducted a final sweep of the backyard before heading back inside the house, passing a group of drunk freshman girls who couldn’t handle their alcohol. One was already throwing up into one of the potted plants that flanked the large portico as another held her long ponytail back. Brinley rolled her eyes. Stupid interns. Since Graham’s tryst with Kourtney Kramer, Brinley had even less tolerance for them than before.

  Brinley surged forward, entering what clearly used to be a ballroom, but was now a game room, full of pool tables, arcade games and large plasma TVs. Tacky, Brinley thought. It would have been so much classier as a ballroom. A group of people were crowded around one of the flat screens, watching the president’s inauguration speech. Each time he said “jobs,” everyone chugged from their red or blue plastic cups. Same thing every time. Everyone at G.A. thought it was hilarious to grab whatever color plastic cup represented their political affiliations (red or blue). Brinley thought it was tacky they were drinking out of plastic cups to begin with.

  Suddenly her eyes settled on Taryn Reyes, laughing with the group, surrounded by a gaggle of senior guys from the baseball team who were hanging on her every word. She was wearing an Elizabeth and James tent dress over pants and about a billion thin gold necklaces. Speaking of tacky. Brinley hated celebrity-designed clothing. Just because you can memorize and repeat lines someone else wrote doesn’t mean you deserve to be the next Karl Lagerfeld. On a general basis, Brinley really couldn’t stand rookies, but Taryn was already rubbing her worse than any of the others. Not that Brinley would EVER admit it, but Taryn, with her California style, exotic look and total self-assurance, was almost a little...intimidating. Publicly, Brinley dismissed Taryn’s family as horribly nouveau, but privately, Brinley was a little, well, jealous. Her conservative family looked almost dowdy next to the Reyeses. Taryn’s dad might very well be President of the United States in a few years. And from what she could see, with Taryn flashing her pitch-perfect flirty smile and these guys hanging on her every word, it seemed like everyone at G.A. was falling under Taryn’s spell as quickly as everyone in Congress was falling under her father’s. The sight was starting to make Brinley nauseous and she quickly moved on, exiting to the foyer and making her way up the double staircase.

  It was quieter upstairs, Brinley’s steps echoing as she made her way down a vaulted hallway, opening each door as she went. Though she hadn’t found Graham, she did find the room where Mrs. Saratov kept her extensive assortment of Faberge eggs…though the two G.A. freshmen in there were more interested in mauling each other’s faces than admiring the collection.

  She finally reached the last door. As she turned the knob, she thought she heard Graham’s voice.

  “Graham?” she called out as she stepped into the dark room.

  “Oh, crap” she heard him mutter just seconds before she found the switch and turned on the light, exposing a half-naked Graham and almost fully naked Lexie Valentino enmeshed on the massive guest bed.

  Tears sprung to her eyes instantly, the hurt and betrayal she felt already pulsating through her body. How could she have been so stupid?

  She quickly turned, wiping her tears away before he could see them.

  “Brin, wait!” Graham exclaimed, jumping out of bed and running after her, awkwardly trying to put on his jeans as
he did.

  Brinley whirled around, angrily.

  “How could you, Graham?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s not my fault. I think I’m a sex addict.”

  Rage funneled through Brinley. He was treating her like pathetic Silda Spitzer, right down to the same lame sex-addict excuse. Well, she was not going to Silda her way through this one.

  “We. Are. Over.”

  “No,” he begged. “Come on, Brin. I’ll go to rehab. I love you.”

  Brinley scoffed bitterly.

  “I do!” he insisted. Meanwhile, on the bed, Lexie was quietly putting her slutty excuse for a top back on. Brinley gave her what she hoped was a deeply shaming look of condescension. She couldn’t let that little intern see she’d gotten to Brinley. And more than that, she couldn’t let this story get out. It would be an embarrassment to the Madison family name.

  “Don’t go anywhere, Lexie. Either of you. I will not be the Hillary Clinton of Georgetown Academy! Do you understand me?” Graham gulped and stopped in his tracks. He knew better than anyone that the Clintons were Brinley’s sworn enemies.

  “Here’s how this is going to work,” Brinley continued, her voice steely, “You are both going to keep your mouths shut about this. The official story is going to be that I dumped Graham this afternoon before we even got to this party. And if either of you dare to say otherwise, there will be hell to pay.” Brinley turned to Graham first. “Graham, you were stupid enough to text me a naked photo of yourself that I know Anderson Cooper would be salivating to get his hands on and not just because he’s gay.” Graham turned white and Brinley moved her gaze to Lexie. “And Lexie, I know for a fact you snorted coke this summer at Beach Week, and considering your dad spearheaded a program on drug education in schools, I doubt he would be pleased if that little incident found its way into Nancy Grace’s inbox. And yes, I have her personal email address!”

  Brinley paused. Her heart was beating out of her chest and she couldn’t meet Graham’s eye for fear of crying again.

  “Are we clear here?” she asked them. They both nodded.

  “Good,” Brinley said with a smile, though there was no joy behind it. “I’ll leave you two to whatever it was you were up to before I interrupted.” And with that, she turned and slammed the door, her auburn hair swishing behind her.

  Ten minutes later, Brinley was perched on the enormous island in the kitchen big enough to be called a cafeteria, sipping on champagne from a real crystal glass she had unearthed from a china hutch, and spoon-feeding her story to Portia Davies. Portia, the curly raven-haired girl who was known as the “Press Secretary” of G.A. due to her ability to disseminate gossip in record time, leaned in closely to Brinley.

  “So, what made you dump him? Was it because of his bathroom bang at the Smithsonian with Kourtney Kramer?” she asked, her large hazel eyes glowing.

  “No,” Brinley scoffed, “that wasn’t even true by the way. Kourtney put that rumor out herself like some tacky wannabe actress who leaks her own sex tape and then pretends to be shocked when it gets out.” She paused to make sure Portia was getting all this. “The truth is, a political loss like the one Graham’s dad had is more contagious than anthrax. It would be one thing if it had been a close race, but anything over three percentage points is just too mortifying for me to be associated with.”

  “But Graham’s dad lost back in November. Why didn’t you do it then?” Portia asked. Damn Portia and her “gotcha” questions. Brinley leaned back casually, giving herself a second to think. Suddenly, Brinley had an epiphany—and just at the right time.

  “Portia, you’ve heard about my famous dating requirements, right?” Brinley had made it known throughout Georgetown Academy her freshman year that she refused to hook up with anyone so low on the D.C. totem pole that they didn’t warrant their own Secret Service detail. In Brinley’s opinion, it was called having standards. It severely limited the dating pool, but Brinley reasoned that at least she knew she was getting quality goods. Of course, that requirement was a big part of why she had initially gotten together with Graham (who she now realized was clearly not quality goods), but as her parents’ tax attorney loved to say, every rule had exceptions.

  Brinley gave Portia what she hoped was a sweet smile, “Now that Graham’s dad isn’t vice president, guess who lost his Secret Service detail today?”

  Portia’s eyes widened and Brinley could finally tell it was clicking for her.

  Hopefully, by the end of the night, there wouldn’t be a soul at the party who ever knew the truth.

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  CHAPTER SIX

  Tuesday, 9:23pm.

  When Ellie stepped out of the car, she had on her best Jackie O. face. Arrivals like this always made her worried that she was going to fall on her face, confirming to everyone watching that she didn’t deserve to be with someone like Hunter McKnight.

  She and Hunter walked past the front hedges where a group of seniors were passing around several joints. There was never a shortage of pot at a G.A. party. Ever since they legalized dispensaries in California, all the kids of California representatives always brought back huge stashes after visiting their hometowns. Ellie, almost getting a contact high as she walked by, found herself searching through the faces for Gabe. Just the thought of having to face him again put her in a cold sweat, though the thought of not seeing him had the same effect. Stop it, she warned herself. Nothing good will come of talking to him.

  Suddenly, just as she and Hunter stepped inside, a voice interrupted her inner-monologue.

  “Nice outfit,” Brinley said, giving her a wink. Annoyance flashed through Ellie. Brinley had a horrible habit of trying to smooth over fights or arguments by pretending like everything was fine. Soon enough, the other person would be playing along too and in Brinley’s mind, all was forgiven without her ever having to apologize. Sometimes it didn’t bother her, especially when she could see Brinley was remorseful, but with how on edge she felt about the possibility of seeing Gabe again, everything was magnified.

  She uttered a simple, “Thank you,” refusing to meet Brinley’s eye.

  Brinley turned to Hunter. “Can you give us a sec?” Ellie had relayed the story about Brinley’s outburst to him earlier and now he cocked his head at Ellie, getting her permission before leaving the two of them alone. Ellie nodded and he squeezed her hand, filling Ellie with the exact dose of warmth and security she needed.

  “She’s all yours, Brin. I’ll go get you girls some drinks.” Hunter gave Ellie a quick kiss before walking away.

  “Look, Elle. About today…”

  Ellie lost focus for a second as she saw a guy with shaggy hair out of the corner of her eye. She quickly craned her neck to see it wasn’t Gabe, just Thatcher Wellington, a senior on the baseball team who was not nearly as funny as his father, a political commentator on The Daily Show.

  “…There was a lot going on,” Brinley finished, lamely.

  “I have a lot going on too, Brinley,” she replied. Brinley seemed about to retort when Ellie saw her left eye twitching. Ellie had noticed that same tic in Brinley several other times lately. What was going on with her? And then, suddenly, she was apologizing.

  “I’m sorry, okay? That’s what I wanted to say, Elle.” She took a breath and Ellie noticed that Brinley took a few beats to exhale as if she were in a yoga class. But when she finished exhaling, she looked Ellie in the eye and, in a kinder tone than before, continued, “I’m sorry I was rude earlier. You didn’t deserve it.”

  Ellie was surprised
. Brinley would run you over with her car and not apologize. But she was also grateful.

  “No problem, Brin. Let’s be over it,” she replied with a smile, feeling a small weight lifting off her shoulders. With everything else she was dealing with, it was one less problem on her plate. “I’m a little off my game, too,” she admitted. “Today was a rough one for my mom.”

  Brinley nodded. Of course she would’ve already heard. Brinley’s father was a powerful behind-the-scenes political consultant who made it his job to know everything about everyone.

  “My dad said Dick Mills is already living up to his name.”

  Tears prickled Ellie’s eyes and she looked down, embarrassed. Get it together, she told herself. Brinley didn’t even know the half of it, and Ellie had an intense desire to tell her everything. But she knew she couldn’t.

  “Don’t worry,” Brinley assured her, “You know how this stuff always blows over. We’ve watched this kind of crap happen since birth, right?”

  Ellie nodded. She wanted to believe her.

  “And in my case, I do mean that literally. The day I was born, the secretary of state accused my dad of manipulating the Senate elections in Texas and Louisiana. But by the time my parents were throwing my Christening party at the Ritz, everyone had moved on to the next alleged drama.”

  Ellie found herself laughing. “You had a Christening party at the Ritz?”

  “The one in Foggy Bottom, not the nouveau one in Georgetown.” Brinley put her arm around Ellie. “My point is, pretty soon Senator Mills will get distracted by something else and forget all about this ridiculous vendetta against your mom. It’s just like school. Remember when Kayley Dickerson stuffed the ballot box so she’d win G.A. vice president? No one even remembered as soon as Abby Booker hooked up with that federal agent in the Library of Congress.”

  Ellie smiled. Despite everything everyone said about Brinley Madison, she could be a pretty good friend when she wanted to be.