My Friend, the Fake Rich Kid

"Oh my God, that's a private jet! Whose is it? That's insane!"

"You didn't see Clara, our department's queen bee, sitting inside? Figures."

"No wonder she posted yesterday that her back-to-school gift was sweet. Talk about filthy rich."

I stood on the edge of the crowd, watching my private jet smothered in pink ribbons and balloons like some oversized birthday cake, my brows tightening.

That jet, Serena Vale, had been my eighteenth-birthday gift.

And yesterday, my childhood friend Daniel borrowed it.

Thinking I must be seeing things, I pushed through the crowd to take a closer look.

I pulled aside the gaudy decorations on the tail, only to find the initials my mother had carved there herself had been scratched almost beyond recognition.

Clara, in a brand-new white dress and wearing a smug smile, strutted toward me with a flock of girls trailing behind.

She lifted her chin, squinting at me. "Serena? You're here too? I wasn't planning on showing off like this, but my boyfriend insisted the first day of school had to come with a surprise."

I stepped forward, my voice flat. "Clara, I'm giving you ten minutes to put my jet back the way it was."

Her smile froze, a flicker of panic crossing her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," I said, pointing at the ruined jet, "that this jet is mine. And for the record, I don't like people shoving their bare feet into my pilot's seat. It makes me sick."

"Liar! This jet was a gift from my boyfriend. He's the Carter family's only heir. The Carters—probably too far above you for you to even know the name! You show up here in cabs and now you're so desperate for money you'd stoop to claiming this is yours?"

With a cold laugh, she flicked her wrist. The girls at her side instantly shoved me against the fuselage.

The crack of her slap echoed in the air. My cheek burned like fire.

The crowd went silent. I locked my eyes on Clara, refusing to flinch.

My silence rattled Clara, but she lifted her chin again. "What are you looking at? Dressed like a pauper and still trying to play the heiress? If this jet is really yours, I'll bow and scrape."

I broke free of their grip and yanked the ribbon off the tail.

"Clara, do you even realize those letters, SV, are my initials?"

"Shut up, you shameless bitch! Still running your mouth?"

She grabbed my hair and tried to slam me into the tail.

"Open your damn eyes and show me where you see those letters!" she spat, stomping her foot in fury while yanking at my hair.

I shoved her away hard and pulled out my phone, dialing Daniel. The call was cut off instantly.

Jaw tight, I tried again. This time, the line went through.