Chapter One
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Genevieve
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Well, this definitelymakes sense now.
I continue to click through the images on my laptop.If I were easily impressed, I would be in awe that people actually live like this—that they have that much money.Apparently, they do.
But money can’t buy everything, and I’m about to make that clear to Mr.and Mrs.Grant—in person.
I scribble down the address in my little notebook—yes, I’m old-school, and I like it that way—though I probably don’t even need it; I’d just have to look for the tallest building on the Upper East Side, where all the stinking rich people live.
“Hey, you.What’s up?”
I glance at the pretty girl bouncing into the teacher’s lounge, carrying a stack of books in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.Esme Vega is never without her coffee; she drinks it by the liter.
Considering her abuela is a renowned fashion designer who creates the most amazing clothes I’ve ever seen, Esme’s sense of fashion often fails her on a daily basis.
She’s happiest wearing her signature floral pants that are two sizes too big and a striped t-shirt three sizes too big—every single day.She has three sets of each item, so laundry day never gets her down.
She’s also one of my two best friends, despite her fashion faux pas, and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.We met in high school and have remained close ever since.My other best friend is Josh Burton.We grew up as neighbors and were friends since we could walk.More than anything I love that my two best friends are also best friends themselves.
Her mother is a scientist, and her father is a doctor.Esme once dreamed of being a mountaineer, but her abuela said, “Over her dead body.”
Esme always jokes that the already seventy-year-old will outlive everyone, so she’ll never be climbing any mountains in this lifetime.Instead, she opted to become a school teacher, like me.
“That’s way, way, way out of your price range, babe.Are you manifesting or something?”Esme says, peering over my shoulder at the screen of my laptop.
“Hardly.”I live on a teacher’s salary in a tiny two-bedroom house, where one of the bedrooms is actually just a closet.
I don’t come from money.Both my parents, who were much older when they had me, were teachers.My grandparents didn’t leave me a secret fortune when they died.
Unless I marry a prince—and I’m not—I could never afford the luxury building that seems to touch the clouds.It’s the size of a castle but modernized into a sleek, glass-wrapped monolith.
“You know the new boy in my class?Jake Grant?”
“Yeah, what’s wrong?Adjustment issue?”
“Not at all.He’s very smart and confident, but do you know what his parents sent for movie day snacks today?”
“No idea, just tell me.”
“Oysters on ice, some caviar on thin wafer discs, and something I had to look up online because popcorn should not smell that funky.Apparently, it’s truffle popcorn.Truffle popcorn, Esme,” I repeat.
“Eww,” Esme grimaces.
“Exactly.”
Once a month, I put folded scraps of paper into a bowl, and the five kids who pick the numbered ones have to bring their favorite homemade movie snack to share with the class.It’s a way to encourage parental involvement at home.
It’s not compulsory, and if the parents are unable to provide any snacks, I step in without anyone knowing.While my job is to encourage family activity, I never want to single out any of my students.
Today’s movie treats were proudly brought to us by Sam, Daisy, Conrad, Melissa, and Jake.Except, while all the other parents dropped off their containers with treats this morning, Jake handed me a note saying his would be delivered ‘fresh.’
I assumed it would be ice cream—homemade, I hoped—or it would defeat the purpose of the activity entirely.
