Jax povThe morning air in the Harrington administrative wing smelled like floor wax and old, expensive secrets. I stood in front of the heavy oak doors of the Board Room, my fingers digging into the straps of my portfolio bag. Usually, I felt like a whimsical outsider in these halls, but today, I felt like a gladiator heading into a lion’s den—mostly because I knew the lion had a blonde blowout and a trust fund named Sloane Van Doren.I didn’t have to wait for the summons. The doors swung open, and the silence that greeted me was thick enough to choke on.Six board members sat behind a long mahogany table. At the center was Principal Higgins, looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon, and to his left sat Mrs. Gable, the head of Admissions for NYU Tisch, who was visiting to "verify" the integrity of my scholarship.And there, leaning against the far wall with a look of feigned concern, was Sloane. She smoothed her skirt, her eyes tracking me with a glint of pure, unadulterated malice.
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