Page 9 of Murder on the Upper East Side

By lunch, attention had turned to the boy in the background of the photographs, holding the phone. Prescott blazer and cufflinks, designer frames… Was it, could it be, Theodore Fitzgerald?Elle Harrington’s Teddie?

Rumours swirled, and the courtyard bore no resemblance to its typically ordered state. Freshmen bent heads together with juniors, scrutinising with squinted eyes and furrowed brows the two photos in which the boy appeared. Seniors sat on tabletops, hunched over phones, gleefully filling the comments with witty quips.

On the bench beneath the ancient maple in the centre of the courtyard sat Elle and her Teddie, backs straight as a pair of boards, hand clasped in hand, putting forth a show of steely, unflinching unity. Not an expensively styled hair on Theo’s head was out of place. The gold heart locket at the centre of Elle’s pearl choker was perfectly positioned in the hollow of her throat.

Hannah rose timidly from her spot at the table where she’d spent the past three days eating lunch with Madison DuPont and her doting followers, namely Bruno Alvarez and Ethan Astor, the cutest couple in the junior class.

Ethan was white and slightly built; sparkling green eyes peeked from behind a mop of wavy brown hair. His family was in the bespoke furniture business, lending him the semi-loving, semi-disparaging nickname Ethan Allen around Prescott.

His boyfriend, Bruno, had medium brown skin and shoulder-skimming black hair, and it was clear he spent nearly as much time lifting at Chelsea Piers Fitness as Bash spent with his private trainer. Bruno was an international student from Argentina, his father rumoured to be high up in one drug cartel or another – the gossip seemed to transform weekly – which had bestowed upon him an air of intrigue and danger that Bruno used quite effectively to his advantage among the old money elite. He may not have been one of them, but he’d finagled their respect.

Hannah looked around the courtyard, hoping to find Oliver despite warnings from both Elle and Madison to steer clear of her friend from the summer if she wanted to make the ‘right’ impression at Prescott. The old money/new money divide was frankly baffling. Hannah didn’t see the big difference between the Morgan family’s boutique residential real estate firm and Beaumont Capital, Bash’s family’s empire, whose commercial and residential arms had been controlling the New York real estate business since the dawn of time (or at least since the 1860s). One was old, one was new, both were raking in the kind of money Hannah had never seen up close until this week. But one thing was clear: Prescott students cared deeply about the source of their parents’ money, and it dictated the entire social hierarchy around this place.

Oliver was nowhere to be found. Hannah’s gaze settled instead on Ami, who was sitting across thecourtyard with Alex DuPont, Madison’s younger brother. Alex was a junior, a year ahead of Ami, and while not an official liaison, he’d taken it upon himself to help Ami settle in, following Madison’s lead. Hannah was grateful to Alex, who seemed like a nice enough kid, but wary of Ami getting herself involved with the DuPonts. Whereas Hannah prided herself on cultivating a healthy degree of scepticism when it came to the well-moneyed society darlings with whom they were now rubbing elbows at the seminar table, filtered water filling stations and school archery range, Ami had been taken in by Prescott instantly – eyes constantly glued to Instagram, already planning a shopping trip around the Upper East Side’s vintage circuit in search of the perfect cashmere cardigan. That her little sister was so hungry for acceptance bythe right peoplemade Hannah’s heart hurt a bit.

‘Hey.’ Hannah plopped down beside Ami and Alex on the stone wall.

‘Hannah, hey.’ Alex was tall and slender, a redhead like his sister, but while he was unmistakably handsome, he lacked that certain otherworldly quality that had skyrocketed Madison to another realm altogether from her mostly uber-rich, mostly very good-looking (or at least impeccably styled) classmates. Alex DuPont was, one might say,Frozen’s Kristoff but not quiteTangled’s Flynn, if one had Disney princes on the brain.

Hannah gave him a smile and nod. ‘Alex.’

She turned to Ami, who was so fully absorbed inher phone, she either hadn’t cared to acknowledge or simply hadn’t noticed her sister’s arrival.

‘Hello?’ Hannah tried again. ‘Earth to Ames?’

Ami’s head popped up. ‘One of the sophomores did a zoom and crop job on the mystery boy, but it’s impossibly blurry. You can’t even tell if the frames he’s wearing are Oliver Peoples or Persols.’

Hannah scowled. ‘Since when do you know anything about designer eyewear?’

Ami gave her long black hair a toss. ‘Since it became important to care.’

Hannah sighed and turned to Alex. ‘What’s your take?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s Prescott. The scandal du jour never sticks long because there’s always new grist for the gossip mill.’ He glanced across the courtyard to Elle and Theo, who were still sitting on the bench beneath the maple, a queen and king sorely lacking subjects. ‘But I don’t know. This might be different. If it really is Theo in the photos…’

Hannah swallowed. If it reallywasTheo, he deserved to be dethroned. But what if Prescott was jumping to conclusions? Sure, the boy in the photos did bear a blurry resemblance to Theo, and she’d heard whispers from Ethan and Bruno that Prescott’s power couple had spent an unusual amount of time apart over the summer, but the blazer and cufflinks did nothing more than identify Gemma’s photographer as a Prescott student, and Theo was far from the only student with designer glasses – in fact, some of theboys wore prescription-free pairs for the aesthetics alone.

‘It’s definitely him,’ Ami said with an air of unearned conviction. She pointed, with zero discretion, across the courtyard. ‘Look at his shoulders. They’re slumping. And he’sfidgeting.’

It was true. While Elle sat ramrod straight beneath the tree, legs crossed primly at the ankles and head held high. Theo was wilting under pressure. Maybe hewasguilty of cheating. In the short time she’d known him, Theo had struck Hannah as the kindest of the four of them – Madison, Elle, Theo and Bash. The least absorbed in the drama of the elite. But what did Hannah know? Nice guys still cheated. Appearances were deceiving.

‘Staring much?’ Madison was suddenly in front of them, blocking Hannah’s view. Today she had the largest worn leather satchel bag Hannah had ever seen slung effortlessly over her shoulder. It had probably been a two-thousand-dollar purchase, but Madison wore it with the nonchalance one might lend a Trader Joe’s reusable tote.

Hannah’s eyes snapped to Madison’s. ‘I’m worried about them. Should we… go talk to Elle? Show her some support?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Madison’s smile dipped into a condescending smirk. ‘Until Elle consciously uncouples herself from that cheating bottom-dweller, we will do no such thing.Youwill do no such thing.’

Hannah flinched. Madison didn’t really plan to iceout her best friend until she dumped Theo, did she? That seemed so extreme. And what gave Madison the right to tellherwhat to do?

Hannah stood, and Madison stepped swiftly in front of her. Hannah was tall, five eight, but in the four-inch heels Madison wore each day, she towered over her. ‘Hannah,’ she said slowly, as if Hannah was a child who needed to work on following instructions. ‘Elle does not need a friend right now. Not while she is sitting up there with Theo like a Stepford Wife. Until she gets a backbone, and he learns to grovel, things are going to be a little bit different around here.As your Prescott liaison, this is a gentle reminder that if you know what’s good for yourself, you’ll follow my lead.’

Hannah swallowed a smirk. Ami’s new student liaison was a quiet girl named Sybil who had taken Ami to the guidance office to get her schedule on the first morning, then dutifully escorted her to every single class until Ami had kindly suggested she could find her own way around. Madison’s approach to the job was more social dictator than tour guide.

‘And if I don’t?’ Hannah asked.

Beside them, Ami gasped. Madison’s eyes narrowed, and Hannah waited for the inevitable threat – she’d be on her own, cast out from the in crowd before the end of her first week at Prescott. Maybe that was for the best.

Instead, Madison’s lips curled into an amused little smirk. ‘You’ve got more iron in your blood than the average transfer, Hannah Miller. That’s interesting.’