Page 19 of Prince of the Palisades

Khalia’s brow wrinkles. “All right,” she starts slowly, “well, for any of our lucky readers here in the US whomightbe interested—how could they get your attention?”

“Be genuine? Friendly? Funny?” I offer.

Samuel, coming into focus now, gives me two ecstatic thumbs up.

But then my mind zooms back to Nathan’s backyard. The splash of the pool. Cool night air. A pink-haired boy. The phone in his hand.

“Also, don’t be a jerk pretending to like me for clout,” I finish.

“Mon Dieu,” Samuel mutters.

Khalia laughs. “Is that a joke?”

When I don’t blink, she straightens her spine, trying to hold on to a smile that’s quickly fading. “Noted. Let’s move on to TV shows, I guess,” Khalia says, like she can’t wait for this interview to end.

She’s not the only one.

Every morning before the first bell, Grace insists we spend time in Willow Wood’s courtyard as a group.

“For good energy,” she claims.

I’d rather spend that extra time in bed. Or anywhere other than with people I won’t remember in a few months. But after my disastrousTeenBuzzinterview, it’s not optional.

I need to step up my game or I’m stuck here.

The courtyard is the first area students walk through each day. Grace always chooses the wooden benches closest to the front arch. She’s next to me, intensely studying SAT flashcards—I’mcrushedthat I’ll never know the joys of American standardized tests—while I scroll my phone.

“What about Top Ten horror movies?”

Opposite us, Nathan’s tormenting Morgan with a list of ideas for his next podcast.

“You’re scared of your own shadow,” she says disinterestedly.

“So true.” When I look up, Nathan’s thoughtfully rubbing his chin. His eyes light up. “How about Top Ten Pixar movies?”

“Didn’t you just do a Top Ten episode?” Morgan asks.

A sly grin melts across his face. “So, you listened? Tell me, Morgan Alexander, are you one of my eight hundred faithful subscribers?”

“You wish.”

“I wish you and I would—”

Morgan smacks a hand over his mouth. “Finish that sentence and I’ll end you, Lim.” Then, she yelps, dragging her hand away. “Did you just lick my palm?”

Nathan winks.

“Could wepleasechill with all the nonsense,” Grace requests, face pinched. She waves her multicolored index cards around. “Princeton isn’t accepting me with a 1350 SAT score.”

“Not with that attitude,” Nathan claims, chomping into his breakfast burrito.

“Grace, come on,” Morgan says, crossing her legs. Today, she’s added orange, white, and rose suspenders to her uniform. “Princetonknowswho your dad is.”

“Just like Berkeley knows your stepdad,” Grace says, ignoring the way Morgan’s eyes narrow. “I don’t want to get in because of…favoritism.”

Morgan shrugs, staring down at her manicure. I’m so distracted by how easily she shuts off Grace’s tone that I don’t notice Nathan pivoting in my direction.

“Sup, Prince J?” He grins, collar popped, skin sun-kissed. “Got any suggestions for a fresh, new episode ofNate Debates?”

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