Page 22 of Murder on the Upper East Side

Elle gave him a withering look. ‘I have my ways.’

‘Your ways?’ Madison asked. She was sitting on the rug beside Hannah, long legs stretched out before her, back resting against a moss green modular sofa. She’d changed out of her Prescott uniform and into one of her dad’s old Oxford shirts, rolled to her elbows, and a pair of Aritzia lounge pants in Essential Cashmere.

Elle exhaled sharply. ‘I have a guy.’

In truth, Elle Harringtonwasthat guy. Which is to say, Elle was fully capable of hacking into the NYCschool district’s records database herself. While Madison and Bash skated by on their legacy ties and Theo was an accomplished athlete (rowing, third seat), Elle took everything about Prescott seriously, including school itself. Her math and computer science skills were top notch, something Mrs Harrington had made damn sure of through years of additional summer and weekend instruction for her daughter. Elle would go to Harvard, would go on to a career in business or finance. Sure, there was enough family money to ensure neither Elle nor her offspring would everneedto work, but a high-level job offered much more than money – it meant power.

All of which Elle kept closely to the vest. Ambition was considered a bit distasteful by those in her circle, and it was certainly not something she had any intention of sharing with her friends. She turned to Ethan.

‘Be a dear and get me the Phipps’ home address. They’re in the Lower East somewhere.’ She made a face. ‘That should narrow our search.’

‘But how—?’

‘Ethan Allen,’ Elle said, deploying the detested nickname. ‘Must I do everything?’

Madison’s expression was stony. ‘Can’t you see Elle needs us? Use a little ingenuity.’

Ethan’s face paled. The poor boy looked entirely at a loss.

‘I can get it.’ All eyes turned to Hannah. She pulled out her phone and brought up Oliver’s contact.

Heard from Gemma today? I know you guys are close…

Hannah felt just a little bit weird about deceiving Oliver, but shedidfeel bad for Gemma, whose life at Prescott this fall had been the dictionary definition of misery, with Madison and her followers stoking the flames whenever the heat died down. There had been the relentless slut-shaming onThe Upper Edgeof course, something the entire school seemed to feel no compunction about participating in, save for Gemma’s few friends, Oliver included, and, notably, Theo Fitzgerald. His show of self-restraint only further solidified the shared belief among his Prescott classmates that he’d most certainly been sleeping with Gemma, but Hannah wondered if it was possible that Theo was simply kinder than his peers.

He had, after all, checked in with Hannah several times during her first weeks at Prescott, introducing her to the student who ran the school paper when she told him about her interest in journalism, and encouraging her to switch into Ms Briar’s section of AP Bio. (‘She’s kind of a hard ass, but she has the best connections when it comes to college recommendations.’) He’d even offered to get together to brainstorm senior seminar topics.

The latter she’d declined, not wanting to rock the boat with Elle and Madison. But a part of her had wanted to say yes. Theo was thoughtful, undeniably cute, and for some reason she couldn’t entirely explain,Hannah didn’t believe the rumours about him were true.

Still, he was Elle’s ex, and therefore strictly off-limits.

But nothing was off-limits, it seemed, when it came to the crucifixion of Gemma Phipps. The hate wasn’t limited to social media. In senior seminar, the whispers werejustloud enough for ‘desperate’ and ‘whore’ to carry around the table to Gemma’s ears. Mr Harris had treated Madison and Bash to looks of deep disappointment and disgust, but they’d only taken the conversation into the hall after class. On the day of the Harringtons’ autumn soirée, Bruno had made a show of giving her a fake invitation, insisting it was an olive branch. That evening, he’d posted a video of Gemma showing up to the wrong address and startling two of Elle’s elderly neighbours, which had spread like wildfire.

The real coup had been just this Monday, which Madison had declared ‘Gemma Phipps Day’ at school. All of Prescott had worn indecently rolled uniform skirts accessorised with splashy Balenciaga sneakers and layered logo pendants. Hannah had barely understood the joke, but Elle patiently explained that no one from family wealth would be caught dead flashing designer logos or too much leg. It was ostentatious – and tacky. Just like Gemma.

That was the last day she’d been seen at Prescott.

Oliver’s reply appeared on Hannah’s screen.

Yeah, she’s miz. Texted with her a while ago.

Did she really drop out?

Verified.

Fuck. Where’s she going to go?

Gramercy Arts. Why?

Cool. Ami and I probably would have gone there if we hadn’t gotten scholarships to Prescott. Hope she’s OK.

She switched out of her texts, a mix of triumph and self-reproach seeping in. True, they had looked at Gramercy Arts as a backup plan. But she was taking advantage of Oliver’s friendship, and she knew it. She turned to Elle.

‘Did you get it?’ Elle’s eyes flashed.

‘Didn’t get her address, but…’ She paused for effect, shoving down the voice in her head that said she should be checking on Gemma, not dishing to the very people who had driven her away. But… Hannah’s desire to prove her worth was overwhelming. Telling them what she’d found out from Oliver would mean cementing her place in their circle. And the truth was, at the root of it, she needed that. She missed Grace, and Jillian, and Cade, and the rest of her friends from home. Madison and Elle were no replacement, but they’d made a space for her here. She wanted to keep herspot, and besides, she’d seen what could happen if you fell out of their favour.

She drew in a deep breath, committing. ‘Gemma’s finishing out the year at Gramercy Arts High School.’