The Carlyles by Cecily von Ziegesar Page A

into a smile. “Just, you know, first-day-of-school jitters.”
    Or two-timing stress?
    “Nice meeting you, Owen,” Kelsey said purposefully, not making eye contact.
    “You too,” he muttered, shuffling down the hall and resisting the urge to kick something.
    Rhys and Kelsey walked down the concrete steps of St. Jude’s and turned toward East End Avenue. Without asking, he stopped by the vendor on the corner and bought them each a cup of coffee, black for him and two Splendas with 1 percent milk for her, from a metal cart on the corner. Rhys always felt a little manly when he could take care of her, even in little ways.
    What more could you want in a guy?
    Wordlessly they walked to a wooden bench in Carl Schurz Park and sat down, facing the East River. The park was empty except for one elderly lady shuffling along the promenade with her red sweater–clad Yorkie and a few Rollerbladers noisily skating back and forth. Normally, the river looked totally gross, and you really could imagine bodies floating downstream. But with Kelsey by his side, it was almost romantic. Rhys sighed in contentment as he draped his arm around her slim shoulders. He wondered if he could reserve a suite at the Mandarin for after school on such short notice.
    “I was thinking about yesterday,” he began. “I was thinking—”
    “I was thinking too,” Kelsey interrupted. The steam rose up from her coffee cup, and he could see red tints in her caramel hair. He couldn’t wait until later, when they would pour each other glasses of champagne and toast the first night of the rest of their lives. “I was thinking that I need to tell you something,” Kelsey continued.
    “What is it?” Rhys asked. She sounded so serious. The Yorkie had sat down on the ground, but its oblivious owner was still shuffling along. He poked Kelsey, hoping she would laugh. She didn’t notice.
    “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Kelsey told him flatly, staring straight ahead at the river.
    He furrowed his tanned forehead and brown eyebrows.
    “I’ll always love you,” she continued. She put her coffee cup on the ground, balancing it awkwardly on a patch of grass.
    “What happened?” Rhys demanded. His eyes were stinging, and he could feel blood rushing to his ears.
    “There’s someone else,” Kelsey said in a rush of words.
    “What?” Rhys dropped his coffee cup. The brown liquid formed a pool that began seeping toward her vintage black and white Prada flats. Someone else? Someone besides him?
    “Oops!” Kelsey said as she pulled her feet up to her knees and laughed nervously. Rhys caught a glimpse of tan thighs under her skirt, but they weren’t his to look at anymore. They were . . . someone else’s. He couldn’t think of any words to say. A tear trickled down his face, followed by another, and he angrily brushed them away.
    “If you cry, I’m going to cry,” Kelsey whimpered. “This is really hard for me, too. I didn’t want to hurt you, but then you were in Europe and I was on the Cape all summer, so . . .” She trailed off, looking at the water, and then turned to face Rhys, tears in her silvery-blue eyes. Rhys realized he had never seen her cry before. “I’ll always love you, but it would be dishonest if we stayed together.” With that, Kelsey got up and walked out of the park.
    Rhys stayed put on the worn wooden slats of the bench. He looked at the ground, noticing for the first time how sparkly the pavement was if you kept staring at it. He wasn’t sure whether he was going to cry or faint. He closed his eyes and saw stars.
    Good thing he’s got a new friend with broad shoulders to cry on.

If Bad Girls Have More Fun, Then Why is B Miserable?
    Baby opened the heavy oak door to Mrs. McLean’s office, glaring at the word HEADMISTRESS embossed on the gold plaque that hung from it. It sounded so over the top, like Constance Billard was some sort of nineteenth-century finishing school. She slid onto one of the rigid