Prep School Confidential (A Prep School Confidential Novel) by Kara Taylor Page A

he misses me and doesn’t want to lose me.”
    Now I’m the one sighing. “Kels, he wants you to be his back-burner girl. He wants to hook up with whoever he wants and know that you’ll still be there when he’s mature enough for a girlfriend again.”
    Her face screws up, and I’m praying she doesn’t have a meltdown right here at the table, because people who cry in public make me super uncomfortable. But instead, she says, “Oh my God. You’re right.” She balls up her napkin of blueberries. “What am I supposed to do?”
    I reach across Kelsey for her phone and scroll through the contacts until I find Justin’s number. I hold it up and make her watch me delete it, her eyes wide with panic. “You go cold turkey. That way he knows he’s busted, and he feels like a dumbass.”
    Kelsey looks dumbstruck for a minute as I hand back her phone. But by the time Remy and April find us, she’s smiling to herself and eating her muffin like a normal person.
    Both girls look surprised to see me at the table, but April’s mouth hangs open when she sees Kelsey. “She’s eating.”
    Kelsey shrugs. “Anne and I talked. I’m feeling a lot better now.”
    Remy and April gape at me, totally unaware that they’re still standing with their trays. Their faces are frozen with awe, like I’ve performed a miracle.
    “Wow.” Remy sits next to me. “Just wow.”
    One week, I estimate. One more week of this, and I bet Kelsey will tell me anything.
    *   *   *
    Professor Upton is five foot one with a frizzy blond bob. Her face is forty while the rest of her is obviously sixty. She gives me an icy smile when I approach her before Latin class. “Yes, Ms. Dowling?”
    “I was wondering if I could ask you a question,” I say. “About Isabella Fernandez.”
    Upton pushes her glasses down the bridge of her nose. “I’m not certain I can answer it. But go on.”
    “Why did she drop this class?” I ask.
    Professor Upton’s jaw sets. She shuffles the papers in her hands and avoids my eyes. “I’m not entirely sure why you’re interested in that, Ms. Dowling.”
    “I’m just curious.” I bite my lip until my eyes well up, hoping it’ll make me look like the traumatized roommate.
    Upton studies my face. “This is a high-level class. Not everyone can keep up with the demanding level of work. Isabella was struggling,” she adds, before turning away from me.
    I stand there, gaping, before it sinks in that the conversation is over. She’s lying.
    I’m still trying to work out why Upton would lie, as I pick a new seat at the back of the room. If I’m going to figure out the real reason Isabella dropped this class, I’m going to need to scope everyone out.
    “Can, uh, I sit here?” The voice is small but familiar. Molly settles into the seat next to me, slowly, as if it’s radioactive.
    I look up at her. She’s playing with the thick, messy braid over her shoulder. How did I not realize she was in this class? Probably because she sits here in the back every day, which means she’s asking my permission to sit in her usual seat.
    “Of course,” I say.
    Molly fidgets as she waits for her laptop to boot up. She can’t keep her hands off her braid or her glasses. I’m obviously making her really nervous, so I decide it’s probably best to wait until after class to talk to her.
    We’re declining nouns today. Upton scratches out a chart of different cases on the chalkboard. She’s my only teacher who refuses to use a projection machine, and her room is wall-to-wall with books that desperately need a Swiffer Duster.
    But I guess such a depressing room is fitting for learning about a dead language. I copy down Upton’s chart in my notebook, keeping one eye trained on the rest of the room. I barely know anyone in this class; Latin definitely attracts the nerdy types.
    Upton turns and faces us. “We’ll start with the genitive of principus. ” A few hands go up. “Mr. Andersen. Please.”
    “ Principus and