Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Identity Theft by
Identity Theft by
Theft
A N N A DAV I E S
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Chapter 1
I
her in person the way the stud glimmered in the light, the
way her scarf was perfectly draped around her neck, the way
her shoulders were held back in stark contrast to Keelys signature slouch I felt a wave of betrayal.
It should have been me. In eighth grade, she and I would
spend hours clipping articles from travel magazines and dreaming of trips wed take when we were older. Wed even made a list
of everything wed do: getting as many piercings as possible,
being driven through Paris on a Vespa, meeting a hot boy on a
train (her), and being mistaken for a native Parisian and being
kissed by any boy at all (me).
Jealousy knifed through my stomach. I couldnt help but
wonder what else shed crossed off the list.
So I think this year Im only going to date guys from the
U, Emily said in a vapid voice that made it clear her main
extracurricular of the summer was watching way too many episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. She was wobbling on
five-inch heels as if she were a baby deer nursing a shin splint.
I think that dating high school guys when youre a senior is
kinda pathetic, you know?
Eh, it depends on the guy. You know what I think is even
more pathetic? Keely asked in an actress-y voice that forced me
to look up despite myself. We locked eyes and I immediately
glanced away, but not quickly enough. Keely was about to go on
the attack, and I was going to be the victim. Girls who dont date
at all in high school. Like, they think a guy will wreck their GPA.
Emily snorted. Or they make up a boyfriend and put him
all over Facebook. I think thats even worse.
Seriously, Im done with Facebook anyway. Ingrid sniffed.
Its so . . . insular. Everyone whos anyone uses Instagram.
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stipend. I had to win it. It was the only way my mom wouldnt
have to worry, where I wouldnt have to choose the major that
promised the most money upon graduation. The Ainsworth
didnt ask that their nominees be oboe-playing phenoms or
Olympians. All the Ainsworth asked for was excellence. The
plaques all proclaimed that was what I had. I just hoped that
the nominating committee would agree.
So, then, we ended up having this epic party at this house
share in Nantucket? It was, like, all these college guys?
As I turned the corner, my reverie was ruined by the uptalky
conversation between Hilary Beck and Rachel Martin. Both
juniors, Rachel and Hilary always hung out at the Ugly Mug
coffee shop after school. Because Id worked there, and because
their voices were so loud, I was intimately familiar with Rachels
boy drama and Hilarys acne problems. I shuddered. Even
though Id miss the paycheck, quitting the Ugly Mug to focus
on winning the Ainsworth was worth it.
As long as I won.
Ugh, really? Im so jealy! I wish Id done that instead of
going to stupid Greece with my stupid parents. We went on a
stupid cruise. Hello, did they never see Titanic? Plus, the rooms
were, like, the size of my closet, Rachel huffed, drinking the
dregs of what I instantly recognized as the Espresso Yourself Icy
Frozen Blend. I knew it well, having made approximately one
billion over the past three years, about half of which were
ordered and drunk by Rachel.
I whirled around and caught Rachels eye, but she gazed
through me, as though shed never seen me before. As if that
was even possible in the Ugly Mugmandated orange-andpurple apron and hat.
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lot of kids only came to the guidance office because they hoped
for a snack. Today, a strawberry-rhubarb pie and an apple tart
were sitting on the counter alongside a stack of paper plates.
At the sight of me, Miss Marsteds doughy, wrinkled face
broke into a smile.
Miss Westin, how lovely to see you, she said warmly, as
though I were an unexpected houseguest. Now, I know youre
probably falling down busy on your first day back, but you
must have a piece of pie and you must tell me all about your
summer. Its your favorite kind. She bustled to the front of the
desk to cut a thick slice of the strawberry-rhubarb.
I shook my head, ignoring the vague rumbling of my stomach. I was well aware that Laurel and a few of her friends were
watching me curiously, and I didnt want the next generation of
Bainbridge students to think I was the weird girl who was BFF
with the guidance office secretary.
Are you sure? Miss Marsted asked, the knife still poised
above the lattice crust.
Yes, thank you. I just need an appointment with Mr.
Klish. As soon as possible. Its in regard to my Ainsworth
application.
Oh, of course. Miss Marsted bustled behind the desk. I
can schedule an appointment tomorrow morning before first
period. Will that be all right?
I nodded, feeling strangely grown-up. I could so clearly
imagine myself in ten years as an attorney at a law firm, trying
to set up a time to meet with a partner. Id wear a charcoal suit,
just like the one I always wore to debate tournaments. My dark
brown hair would be pulled back into a low chignon, and my
lips would be a sexy, subtle coral color that I was never able to
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