Welcome to Bridgeport Academy, an elite boarding school in New York where glamorous rich kids don't let rules get in the way of a good time.
[ Based on the It Girl series by Cecily Von Ziegesar ]
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"Right here is fine," Karrueche 'Kae' Tran told the cabdriver as soon as she spied the sign reading Bridgeport Academy hanging from a tree next to a tiny, one-story brick building.
Bridgeport wasn't far from the train station, but it seemed like she hadn't been able to get here fast enough. She would've been early if her dad had driven her up here in his beat up Station Wagon—he'd practically begged her to let him—but Kae hadn't wanted her embarrassing father to drop her off at her sophisticated new boarding school. Knowing him, he would have tried to show off old pictures of her when she was a lame seventh grader and wore nothing but velour Juicy Couture sweatsuits. Um, no thanks.
"You sure?" The cabdriver turned around, revealing a faded light blue Yankees cap. "Because the front office is—"
"I'm a student here," Kae interrupted, feeling a thrill ripple through her chest as she spoke. She couldn't hide the enthusiasm in her voice—she was so excited to start her brand new boarding school that she felt all jiggly inside, like she had to pee. "I know where the front office is."
The cabdriver threw up his hands in defeat. "You're the boss."
Kae handed him a twenty, stepped out of the cab, and looked around. She was here. Bridgeport Academy, the country's first historically Black boarding school. The grass seemed greener, the trees taller, and the sky cleaner and bluer than anywhere she'd ever been before. There were lush evergreens on all sides, and on her right was a wide, cobblestone path snaking up a hill. A green field spread out to her left, and in the distance a few boys in fatigue shorts were throwing around a football. The whole place just smelled of boarding school.
A cream colored Mercedes swept past her and she heard a stately clock tower bong out one o'clock. "Yes," she whispered, hugging herself. She had definitely arrived.
The truth was, she'd wanted to get out of the cab because she couldn't wait a second longer to plant her feet on Bridgeport ground, not because she knew exactly where she was going. She hadn't actually visited Bridgeport before—she'd run out of time, applied way past the deadline, and taken some creative liberties with her application—but she'd looked at thousands of pictures online and memorized all the building names and campus maps. She was certain it would be perfect.
But staring at the little brick building beside her, she realized that ivy had grown over the windows and the door was rusted shut. This definitely wasn't the front office, where she needed to check in.
Another car, this one a gray Bentley, passed her and she decided to follow the parade of luxury cars. She dragged her bags up the freshly mowed hill, her heels sinking into the slightly wet, springy lawn. A running track circled off to her right, flanked by tall white bleachers. A few girls were running briskly around the track, their ponytails bouncing. At the top of the hill, above the dark green trees, she could see a white church spire and the slate roofs of some more red brick buildings. The boys with the football had stopped playing and were now standing together, staring in her direction. Were they staring at her?
