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If you were to drive past the Hartwell Academy, you'd assume that it was just another fancy prep school, and, like everyone, you'd keep driving. Unless, of course, you were a bored prep looking to attend school. In that case, you'd probably make a noise similar to "eeeep!", pull into our long, tree-lined driveway (or have your driver do it), and come inside. If you were in fact said prep, you'd most likely be in for a shock, because, well, as prep schools go, the Hartwell Academy isn't exactly normal. Now, don't get me wrong, we definitely fall into the prep school category. We're just a little advanced.

For example, on the first official day back from Christmas break, a normal conversation would probably include a million "...like..."s, some "...cute boys...", and maybe you'd even hear a few "...and Paris was amazingly fabulous..." somewhere in the conversation. Oh, sure, you'd hear that at our school too, but when the conversations are in French and Polish, they stop being normal. (Also, you may hear a few "...and I had the hardest time with our trig. homework, but I texted that famous finance guy, and I figured it out." )

Considering I actually live in Hedgewood, New York, where our boarding school is located, I usually get there before any other kids. So I wasn't really surprised when my best friend Jenny came running into our super cool suite, calling my name. I peaked out of the cozy reading nook we had set up in our sixth grade year. Jenny didn't see me; she was directing two maintence workers who had her luggage on carts.

Luggage is another thing I don't really have a problem with, although every year, for some strange reason, my mom feels the need to pack nearly everything I known, when way over half of it ends up getting "forgotten" or just plain sent home.

But that's another story.

"Ally!" Jenny cried, spotting me.

"Hey Jen," I said, trying not to show just how much I had missed her. "Is Lizzy here?"

"No... I was just going to ask you that..." she trailed off as we both glanced over at her perfectly made bed. There was no "Lizzy cover" on it, which consisted of her latest comforter, about half a dozen pillows, hoodies, hair ties, and an assortment of electronics, including her cell phone and iPod. Lizzy wasn't here yet, and that made her exactly two hours, forty eight minutes late.

"What do you think happened?" Jenny asked.

"Beats me. Maybe for once she didn't want to come back early." It was kind of our thing, coming back the week before we started school again. I was always the first one at school, and so far, every year I'd been alone in our suite for a day and a half. This was the first time Lizzy hadn't beaten Jenny back to school. It made me a little worried, and I could tell that Jenny was worried too.

"Hey," I said, "She probably just had plans. You know Lizzy; she always forgets to tell us when she's doing stuff." Jenny nodded, and I couldn't help but wonder if I had been trying to convince myself or Jenny.

"Yeah, you're right." She smiled. "As usual." At that we both laughed, because I'm known as the dumbest smart person at our school. My friends blame that on my long blonde hair, but once they've seen my test scores, they ask me if my hair's dyed. (It's not.)

"Thanks, Jen. Let's go see if anyone else is here." I headed for the door, but Jenny didn't follow.

"I need to set my stuff up," she protested.

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I wondered if Jenny was born blonde. Her shoulder length chestnut brown hair showed no signs of being dyed or highlighted, but I still wondered.

"Jenny. That's what those guys are for." I nodded my head at the maintenance guys, who stood waiting for directions.

"Oh. Right." Jenny smiled, and nodded at the guys. "Do what she said."

I laughed. We'd gone through this for three years already; this made four. The only difference was Lizzy's absence. Everything else was the same, and I mean everything. Our three beds were still in the same spots they had been in when we met in sixth grade. The dressers were still where they had been. Although, over the years, the rest of the stuff had changed, moved, or otherwise been rearranged, but that was normal. Honestly, when you put three girls taking decorating classes in a room and tell them that they'll have that room until they graduate, you have to be willing to allow curtain changes, picture frames, and posters.

***

Jenny and I spent about an hour and a half wandering around the mansion, checking out the new fabrics in the Design Room, the new recipes in the mini kitchen, and we even got a sneak peak at this semesters custom mannequins. (Our school is big on design and fine arts.) Finally, we made our way back up to our suite. On the way, we passed the rest of the freshmans suites. Thats one of the neat things about the Hartwell Academy; each grade is grouped together. Another is the closeness of the school. Were like one big family (well, minus the male factor, considering its an all girls school). Even the teachers and the newbies are part of the family. This year theres about one hundred kids in the entire school (ninety six, to be exact). I know every kid from the seventh grade to the seniors. It'll take a couple weeks until the sixth graders know us, and we know them.

Anyway, Jenny and I were the only kids in the entire school. The newbies were set to come the next day, and they'd find out that Jenny, Lizzy, and I were older kids, and they'd learn our names super quick. About half of them would put two and two together and realize that I was the Alyssa Hayes, the creative genius, as my mom puts it, behind the popular fashion line, "xo.", and that most of the designs were created at school, and most of those were a grade. (Let's just say that I'm making an A+ in Design.)

Back in our suite, Jenny's stuff was set up just as it had been last year; her huge purple chair hung from the ceiling next to my pink one (the hook for Lizzy's was still empty), her dresser full of designer jeans, tops, skirts, and pajamas (including my newer xo. items), along with an assortment of other stuff. Jenny's comforter was the one I had sent her; a purple comforter with tons of xo.'s of different sizes and colors (well, only pink, yellow, and pale blue, to match her room and our suite). She had texted me as soon as she got it saying how much she loved it. I had made it over summer break, along with one for Lizzy, and sent it to them. The best part was they didn't know that the other had gotten one, which was confirmed when Jenny glanced at my bed, which was topped with a cover matching hers, except the main color was pink instead of purple, (Lizzy's main color was pale blue), and cried, "Ally! What will Lizzy say when we have matching comforters?"

I smiled and calmly replied, "I'm not sure. We'll just have to wait and see, now won't we."

"I guess... Hey. Wanna go see if Chef Michael will give us a tour of his kitchen?" Jenny asked.

"Sure," I laughed. That was another little tradition of ours. Chef Michael loved to show off his amazing kitchen, and all the Hartwell girls loved taking his tour, which usually involved sampling his latest delicacy (and boy, did they live up to his five star rating).

We ran down two flights of stairs (another tradition; stairs make you exercise) and down the hall to the main kitchen. We burst into the kitchen and Chef Michael laughed.

"Hello girls. I've been expecting you. Where's Elizabeth?"

Jenny and I exchanged glances.

"We're not sure..." Jenny muttered.

"Well, I'm sure she'll show up. Now, did you two come for a tour?" He tried to hide his smile, but it didn't work too well.

"Yeah!" Jenny and I cried, and then burst out laughing.

"Great!" Chef Michael laughed along with us. "Where do you girls want to start? The refrigerator? The bakery?"

"Bakery." I replied immediately.

"Good choice." Chef Michael licked his lips and patted his stomach in a very theatrical way. "I just whipped up a batch of your favorite cookies, and I just may happen to have some chocolate covered pretzels..."

I laughed as Chef Michael led us to the bakery, but it still bugged me that Lizzy wasn't with us.