In Too Deep
Authors: Jennifer Banash
Table of Contents
my london, london bridge wanna go down . . .
it’s like thunder . . . and lightning
there’s got to be a morning after . . .
Berkley JAM titles by Jennifer Banash
THE ELITE
IN TOO DEEP
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Banash.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
BERKLEY
®
JAM and the JAM design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley JAM trade paperback edition / January 2009
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Banash, Jennifer.
In too deep / Jennifer Banash.—Berkley JAM trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
“An Elite Novel.”
Summary: While Madison ponders revenge and a possible modeling career, Casey fears she has lost
herself by adapting fully to luxurious New York City life, and Phoebe keeps a secret, Sophie seeks to
bring her birth mother to her sixteenth-birthday party.
eISBN : 978-1-101-01454-7
[1. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 2. Wealth—Fiction. 3. Mothers and daughters—Fiction.
4. Identity—Fiction. 5. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction. 6. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction.]
I. Title.
PZ7.B2176In 2009
[Fic]—dc22
2008039858
acknowledgments
I’d like to thank Kate Seaver, my wonderful editor at Berkley, who took a chance on an unknown kid; my agent, Jennifer Jackson, who always has my back; and Willy Blackmore, who read every draft and kept me sane through the entire process. To all the YA bloggers and teen reviewers everywhere—thanks for getting the word out and making my books matter—I am eternally grateful. And, most of all, I’d like to give a huge shout-out to all the readers of The Elite series—you are the reason I sit in front of a computer for hours at a time, dreaming up what comes next.
Who’s your best friend? Who’s your worst enemy?
“One can never really know . . . Enemy? Who cares?”
—KARL LAGERFELD,
Elle
MAGAZINE, SEPTEMBER 2007
hot lunch
Madison Macallister straightened the silken sleeve of her floral-patterned black and crimson wrap dress, and stabbed her fork into the desiccated remains of her smoked salmon salad, bringing a mouthful of baby greens up to her matte ruby-red lips. If she kept on eating this way, she was definitely going to blow up—and not in a good way. She was already changing into her baggy sweats the second she got home from school every day, and the waistband of her favorite new Citizens of Humanity jeans was decidedly snugger than when she bought them in a depression-fueled shopping incident a few weeks ago—a binge of Posh and Becks-worthy proportions that resulted in Edie storming into her room and cutting up her Amex Black card right in front of her. Madison exhaled deeply, spearing the last hunk of salty smoked fish and popping it into her mouth while checking out the six-carat square-cut emerald ring that shone brilliantly on her ring finger, winking in the fluorescent lighting. It had been worth it.
Besides, now that she was more miserable than ever, it seemed crucial to have a few things in her life that actually gave her pleasure—and shopping was definitely one of them. Drew may have been history, but at least she had her new black leather Furla tote trimmed in the softest gray fox fur
ever
to console her. Madison was beginning to see that boyfriends came and went with alarming speed, and friends were clearly not to be trusted. But clothes? Clothes never let you down. And accessories were forever . . .
It had been three weeks since Drew’s party—three long, agonizing weeks as the leaves in Central Park began turning orange, then red; the nights growing progressively cooler. More often than not, Madison found herself reaching for a sweater to throw over her shoulders in the early mornings, and pulling her caramel-colored Hermès riding gloves over cold hands that felt more like icicles than fingers. And even though the weather was definitely changing, things between her and Drew were not. Much like the first chilly days of winter—which were definitely now on the way—their relationship had completely frosted over. When they passed each other in the hall, Drew dipped his eyes away from her gaze and stared at the floor—especially if he happened to be walking with Casey. It had gone on for so long now that even if for some bizarre reason they did end up talking again she wouldn’t have the faintest idea what to
say
. Somehow—at least for her anyway—it was easier this way. Out of sight, out of mind—just like her credit card bills.
And if she wasn’t thinking about the way he’d clearly dumped her for Casey, she didn’t have to deal with the fact that he might just prefer someone else to her. But, no matter how hard she tried, Madison just couldn’t wrap her head around the idea. How was that even
possible
? And the only thing that even remotely put a crimp in her plans to pretend they’d both been inexplicably eaten by dinosaurs was the fact that she had to see the both of them every fucking day at school. And, worse yet, Drew didn’t even seem to care—it was as if their entire past had been wiped out with the arrival of one frizzy Midwestern freak with absolutely zero sex appeal, and who, despite her town of origin, was anything but “normal.” Did the last two years mean nothing to him? Not only was this turn of events totally inconceivable, it was ruining her reputation! Everyone south of Park Avenue knew that Madison Macallister was the girl who got what she wanted—when she wanted it—and boys were no exception. Until now.
It was the start of junior year, and that being said, not only was it time for sweater shopping at TSE’s annual fall sale, but it was also unfortunately the beginning of endless amounts of prep courses, practice exams, and untold amounts of worrying about the upcoming SATs. Not to mention the rapidly approaching nightmare of college applications once the exam was finally over, coupled with the enormous, looming question of what exactly she was going to do for the rest of her fucking life. Madison didn’t waste her time pondering these kinds of questions—mostly because she didn’t have the first clue how to answer them. Choosing just one thing to do for the rest of your life seemed so . . . limiting. And limits were for tiny people with tiny minds—not for card-carrying members of the overprivileged set, who were supposed to have options as wide as the Atlantic.
But when it came right down to it, Madison wasn’t exactly sure
what
it was that she was really good at in the first place—with the possible exceptions of gossiping and accessorizing. So, at parties, when the topic turned, as it inevitably did, to the future, Madison had made it a habit recently of smiling prettily, and then changing the subject so fast that her audience was left with a bad case of social whiplash. It was unthinkable. Madison Macallister, otherwise known as Ms. Perfect of the Upper East Side, without a plan? Not only could it destroy her reputation as the ultimate Upper East Side robot princess, but it was also a potential embarrassment just waiting to happen. And Madison Macallister had made it a policy long ago to never, ever do embarrassing. If you were going to get all whiny and blubbery, you might as well just raise a white flag in the air, start wearing sweatpants to school, and just fucking surrender what was left of your dignity. The very idea of it made her shiver, her tiny, ski-slope nose wrinkling in distaste.
