High Maintenance

“And lastly ladies, I just hope that you’ll do your best during the year here. Welcome to Walston.

Jasmine Drake was the only girl to clap at the end of Headmistress Collin’s First Day speech. The others just stood up, grabbed their navy blazers, and filed out of the auditorium, all-abuzz about how Headmistress had just announced Walston was joining up with their brother school, Dalton Preparatory, to hold a few co-ed classes each week.

“Sean says there’s going to be a sex-ed class,” the sophomore girl next to Jasmine was saying to her curly-haired friend. “That should be interesting.”

Ridiculous, Jasmine thought, slinging her Tory Burch messenger bag over her shoulder and shuffling out of the row. These girls went to one of the best private schools in the country, and all they cared about ninety percent of the time was boys. Jasmine refused to be so absent minded when she had a family legacy to work on. Her grandmother, mother, and older sister had all gone to Walston, an asset the Drake women were always happy to highlight.

She was almost to the double doors when she heard a twinkling voice call her name. Jasmine hesitated to turn around. While she wasn’t unknown to the Walston population, she certainly wasn’t the girl whom everyone wanted to talk to all the time. Her sister suggested that it might have something to do with Jasmine being a “party pooper.”

“Jasmine!” the voice beckoned again.

Jasmine pivoted around on her TOMS ballet flat, and saw senior Izabelle Wainwright and her friends gathered in the aisle in next to the front row where the upperclassmen sat. Jasmine hadn’t seen her since May, when they’d run into each other at Saks in New York, and Izabelle looked livelier and cooler, as if becoming a senior came with a complementary spa package from the Four Seasons to immediately solidify your 12th-grade status. Her auburn curls were pushed back by a headband adorned with a small blue flower, and her First-Day-Mandatory uniform (white button down, maroon tie, knee-length khaki skirt) looked better than anyone Jasmine had seen all day. Not that it was a surprise. Izabelle had always been stylish and popular. She was also the President of the High Society, Walston’s form of Student Council, and a position Jasmine hoped to fill in two years.

“Hi, Izabelle. Did you have a nice summer?”

“Oh, the best!” Her green eyes shone like the emerald necklace around her neck. “I did a few mission trips all over, and then I took a vacation in Paris. C’etait parfait,” she added with a haughty laugh. “What about you? Anything fun besides your mother’s election?”

Jasmine’s mom was running for governor of her home state. If elected, she would be the first African-American woman to be it, so Jasmine’s reputation at Walston affected her mother’s reputation as well, however inadvertently. “The election process is a bore. I went to Stable Hills Equestrian Camp just to get away from it all.” There was one thing she wished Izabelle would bring up, and if she kept making small talk about her family, they wouldn’t get anywhere.

“That’s great. So,” Izabelle held out her hand and her chestnut-haired friend Hannah deposited her iPhone into it, “I wanted talk to you about a few things. About the High Council.”

Here it was. The conversation Jasmine had been waiting for. The one where Izabelle would announce that Jasmine was Sophomore Liaison to the High Council.

“First the good news: You are on the High Council for the second year in a row!”
Izabelle giggled and clapped her hands, but Jasmine wasn’t quite so ready to jump just yet.

“What’s the bad news?” She raised one perfectly-arched eyebrow at her mentor, feeling her cheese omelet from this morning slowly gurgling back up her throat.

Izabelle took a deep breath and escorted Jasmine away from her posse. “The bad news is, you didn’t get the Sophomore Liaison position.”

Jasmine gasped. But why not?

“It wasn’t me,” Izabelle said, automatically, like she had read Jasmine’s mind. “It was the girls. And Headmistress Collins. You see, while you certainly have the look of a High Society member, you’re lacking the attitude.”

“Attitude?

“Yes. The confidence, the conversationalist-skill to talk with anyone at anytime, the boyfriend…”

“There’s nothing about a required boyfriend in the handbook,” Jasmine snapped. Why were these girls so fixed on guys? She changed her voice to a softer tone. “Who got the position instead of me?”

Izabelle looked away. “Madison Reynolds. She was told before Assembly.”

That hit even harder. Madison was her opponent in everything from grades to grabbing the last blueberry muffin at breakfast. They had both been vying to be Valedictorian of their class since last year, even though graduation was still a while away. “Oh,” was all Jasmine could manage to say.

“Don’t take it personally,” Izabelle cooed. “Like I said, you’re still on the council. And as the handbook states, that spot could be changed at any time, if one person becomes more qualified than the other. Hell, you could even become it tonight.”

Jasmine brightened. “Really? How?”

“Go see Headmistress. There’s someone I think you should meet.” With a toothy smile, Izabelle motioned her friends to follow her out of the auditorium, looking like the perfectly-dressed cast of Gossip Girl. “First meeting tomorrow morning at the Society House!” Sshe called over her shoulder.

*********************************************

Jasmine hurried across the quad to Headmistress Collin’s office. Whoever Izabelle wanted her to meet had to be super important if she was hinting at giving her the liaison spot tonight. She arrived at the administration building, waved at the secretary, and climbed the steps to Collins’ office, knocking on the door a few times.

“Come in.”

She twisted the brass knob and stepped inside. The office was filled imposing mahogany furniture, and the walls had the picture of every Walston Headmistress since 1934. Collins, a middle aged woman with a Helen Mirren-esque style, was facing the door, talking to a dark-haired girl whose face Jasmine couldn’t see.

“Ah,” Collins started, standing up from her desk. “Here’s your tour guide now, Miss Blakewood.”

The dark haired girl turned around in her chair. Jasmine had seen her face before in those Hollywood gossip magazines: she was always photographed either shopping or clubbing, or accompanying her father to some big-time premier. And now apparently she was at Walston.

“Tour guide? Coolio!” Nola, Jasmine suddenly remembered her name, stood up and offered her hand. Jasmine awkwardly shook it.

“So, you guys get going. Jasmine, here’s Nola’s room assignment. I know you will do a great job at showing her around.” Collins waved them off, and Jasmine groaned under her breath. If playing Disney World worker to some Hollywood girl was the only way Jasmine could become liaison, she would have to do it. No matter how annoying it would probably be.