Chapter 4Surviving The Plot As The Country Girl

When we arrived at St. Jude’s, Preston dumped us at the curb and immediately drove off to get his car detailed.

I followed a red-eyed Serena into our first-period classroom.

Within ten minutes, I was completely lost.

This elite prep school taught its honors literature class entirely in French.

I poked Serena’s arm. "Where the hell are we? Did we cross a border? Why is she speaking cursive?"

"You don't understand it?" Serena batted her eyelashes, looking the picture of innocence. "I heard you had perfect grades at your public school. How can you not understand basic conversational French?"

"Honey, you gotta understand. My French teacher in Montana was the JV wrestling coach. Our curriculum was entirely silent."

I sighed, grabbing her hand. "Be a pal and translate for me?"

Serena almost smiled, but then she looked down at my hand and recoiled.

"Did you wash your hands after eating that greasy onion sandwich?!"

"Didn't have time, but I wiped them on a napkin..."

Serena yanked her hand away, shrieking, "Harper!"

The teacher, furious at the disruption, kicked us both out into the hallway.

I leaned against the lockers, sighing. "She’s yelling at us in English, but she teaches in French. What is the point of that?"

Serena crossed her arms, refusing to look at me.

I mentally reviewed the novel's plotline. "Hey, doesn't Tristan have a lacrosse game today?"

Serena’s head snapped toward me, her face pale. "You know about Tristan Kensington? I knew it. You did your research." She let out a cold laugh. "Don't tell me you think the golden boy of New York's oldest money is going to look twice at a dirt-poor farm girl like you?"

I nodded solemnly. "You never know."

After all, in the original book, the female lead was a working-class girl, and Tristan fell so madly in love with her that he destroyed our entire family.

"Delusional," Serena spat.

"The game isn't over till it's over," I reasoned. "Don't be too confident."

"You are impossible to talk to."

"Hey, maybe the Kensington heir just likes a girl with calluses."

"Talking to you is like playing the harp to a cow."

"And you're a peach," I replied cheerfully.

She looked like she was going to spontaneously combust.