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into them, letting out a little gasp as I did so. There, having appeared just like a mirage, were the last five people I would’ve ever expected to see in front of me: Gigi, Camden, Wheatley, Rhodes, and Eliza.
    The Elite.
    I mumbled, “Excuse me,” and tried to make my way around them, but as I moved, they moved too, putting us once again face-to-face.
    “Hi,” Gigi said with the slightest hint of a smile.
    I was so caught off guard by the fact that she was speaking to me that I couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing that would be worthy of a conversation with someone like her, at least.
    “I’m Gigi,” she added, filling the silence. “And you are?”
    I knew this one. “Brooklyn,” I said quickly. “My name’s Brooklyn.”
    “What an interesting name,” she said. Then, as if it was an afterthought, she added, “I visited New York once with my dad and we went to this cute coffee shop in Brooklyn. They had these amazing little cappuccinos. . . . Have you ever been there?”
    “No.”
    Gigi looked at me like she was expecting more to the story, so I obliged. “My parents don’t really like to travel. They have this weird thing about needing to know where the closest hospitals are and stuff.”
    She just nodded. Her expression hadn’t changed, so I couldn’t tell if I’d given her the response she’d wanted or had utterly failed whatever test she was giving me.
    “So, Brooklyn,” she said, staring at me intently, “where have you been hiding?”
    “Uh . . .”
    “Are you new or something?” Eliza cut in perkily.
    Her question surprised me. Considering the fact that I’d been sitting just rows behind her in first period for the past few months and had been at the same school as all of them for the past three years, I thought maybe she was kidding. But one look at her face and I knew she wasn’t. Was it really possible that she didn’t recognize me? That none of them did? Talk about self-absorbed.
    “Not new, really,” I answered slowly. I didn’t want to make them feel stupid for not recognizing me, so I chose my words carefully. “But I did sort of just go through some . . . changes.” I absently reached up to touch my long, blond locks.
    Eliza squinted at me and then took a step back. Looking me up and down, she studied me critically. “Who’s your surgeon?”
    “Huh?” I asked, totally confused.
    “Who did your work? I had my nose done last year and my guy did an okay job, I guess—I told him I wanted Dakota Fanning’s nose, but he gave me Kristen Stewart’s—anyway, I’m thinking of getting it redone, because nobody takes Kristen Stewart seriously nowadays, and possibly even my boobs. Are yours real? Anyway, I just wanted to know who your doctor is because he obviously did a good job. I don’t even recognize you.”
    When Eliza finally stopped to take a breath, everyone stared at me, waiting for a response. Only, what was I supposed to say? I had magical plastic surgery? Nope. Not an option.
    “Um, thanks?” I responded, my head still spinning from the bizarro turn the conversation had taken. “But I didn’t have any of that done. My boobs are the same ones I’ve had since I was thirteen. I guess it’s just a really great bra?”
    Eliza opened her mouth and then closed it again as she processed what I’d told her.
    “Please forgive Eliza,” Gigi said, reaching out and touching my arm. Inside, my head was screaming, Gigi is touching me! Gigi is touching me! but I just smiled at her. “A casting agent just told her that she looked too ethnic to play the girl next door. She’s sort of obsessed right now.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to fix your imperfections,” Eliza said to no one in particular. “Like none of you have had anything done.”
    “So you’ve been right here all the time, then?” Gigi continued, rolling over Eliza’s last comment.
    “That can’t be right,” Rhodes said, giving me a smile that made my heart dip in the