Jaya laughed.
“Oh,” Penelope said, her smiled fading a bit as her eyes widened. “That is an exquisite pendant. I’ve never seen anything like those rubies.”
“Thank you,” Jaya said, caressing it very gently, in case any of the other rubies were loose. “My father—”
She was interrupted by a piercing squeal ringing out from somewhere down the hallway. She and Penelope looked at each other for a moment before rushing out to follow the screeching.
The door to room 315 stood wide open. A beautiful dark-haired girl dressed in a stunning emerald-green ball gown was twirling in the center of the room. Two others, both more pale-skinned than her, sat on her bed, watching her with slack-jawed admiration.
“I can’t believe Daddy did this!” the girl gushed in a smoky, Italian-accented voice. Tossing a phone to one of her friends, she said, “Take my picture so I can send it to Alaric. I want to make him drool a little.” She laughed throatily as she twirled.
Just as Jaya began to realize who she was looking at, Penelope whispered, “That’s Caterina LaValle, the only daughter of Italian American multimillionaire Matteo LaValle. There are rumors he’ll be running for the Senate soon. Anyway, people call her Queen Cat behind her back.… She kind of rules this school.”
Caterina LaValle, as in the Caterina-and-Alaric “institution” Daphne Elizabeth had just told her about.
Caterina looked up once her friend had taken her picture. “Oh, hi there,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile. She ran her fingers through her mahogany hair, and it cascaded back down in undulating waves around her shoulders.
“Hi, Caterina,” Penelope said, her voice breathy with deference. “This is Princess Jaya. From Mysuru, in India. She’s new.”
“Just Jaya,” Jaya corrected easily, smiling. “Jaya Rao. Pleased to meet you.”
“So, what do you think of my dress?” Caterina asked, pirouetting for them. “A custom Valentino. Daddy had it packed in with my things as a surprise. It’s for our Homegoing dance later this year.”
“It’s beautiful,” Jaya said, and meant it.
It was the kind of dress that dripped money, even if you couldn’t put your finger on why. As Jaya took Caterina LaValle in—her model cheekbones, hair like a silken waterfall down her back, flawless makeup that looked airbrushed on—she realized the repugnant Alaric had chosen someone exactly the opposite of her to have his summer dalliance with. Jaya suddenly felt horrible for Caterina, with her shiny teeth and expensive ball gown.
“Well, excuse me,” she said, turning to go, a combination of pity and guilt squirming in her stomach. Jaya might be poised for some major Emerson sabotage, but this girl was an innocent as far as she was concerned. She didn’t enjoy knowing about Alaric and Daphne Elizabeth when Caterina didn’t. “I should finish unpacking.”
“Wait.” Jaya felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Caterina.
“Penny, come here,” one of the girls on the bed called, waving a magazine. “Tell me if this hairstyle is too much.”
Penelope, obviously thrilled to be included, pushed past them and into the dorm room.
Caterina stood close to Jaya, still smiling, though her eyes glinted with something dark and sly. “Beautiful pendant,” she said, nodding appreciatively at Jaya’s throat. “You have good taste.”
“Thank you.” Jaya smiled. “The credit belongs to my father, though.”
“Mm.” Caterina cocked her head. “You know, I once visited Kerala with my father on a business trip. I spent a good amount of time at a resort with Sri Devi Nair, one of the daughters of the royal family in that region.”
“I know Sri Devi,” Jaya said carefully, unsure of why, exactly, they were having this conversation. A few girls walked past, waving and calling out to Caterina. She responded with a dignified bow of her head but kept her eyes on Jaya. “My family and her family are old friends.”
Caterina twirled a lock of hair around a slender finger, the tip of which was doused in pale purple nail polish. “She said that royal families still wield a lot of power in India and even beyond its borders. They’re well respected.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Caterina leaned against the doorframe, the fabric of her gown rustling with the motion. She could’ve been posing for Teen Vogue’s “Dorm Chic” issue. “I know you’re new here, Jaya, but I want you to know something. I always take care of my friends.” She waved an insouciant hand, and her perfume wafted to Jaya. It was something soft and clear, petals drenched in dew. “Ask Sri Devi if you like. I’ve helped her out of a jam or two, and she’s done the same for me. It can be really helpful, having friends who care.”
Jaya met her calculating eyes. She’d known people like Caterina LaValle before. They dealt in the currency of tit for tat; their world ran on you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours. When one was wealthy enough to buy nearly anything, favors and good graces became a much more valuable currency. But best of all for Jaya’s purposes, they usually had their fingers on the pulse of wherever they were, and the uncanny ability to feel secrets fluttering under the thin skin of normalcy. Caterina LaValle, Jaya was sure, could be a very, very helpful ally indeed. Or a formidable enemy. She smiled her most PR-friendly, royal smile. “Any friend of Sri Devi’s is a friend of mine.”
Caterina grinned and leaned forward to air-kiss her. Jaya returned the favor. “Excellent,” she said, pulling back to hold Jaya at arm’s length. “I know we’ll get on famously.”
* * *
“Caterina must’ve really liked you,” Penelope said, that same note of awe in her voice once they were back in Jaya’s room. “She isn’t usually so welcoming.”
“We share a mutual friend,” Jaya said vaguely, putting her shirts away in her dresser. Her heart sang. She was taking all of what had happened so far—Grey Emerson attending St. Rosetta’s and Leo, Rahul, and Daphne Elizabeth asking her to sit with them at breakfast on Thursday—as extremely good omens. It was as though the universe were conspiring to help her bring Grey Emerson to justice. Jaya thought of herself as a logical, practical person, but she couldn’t help seeing omens everywhere she looked. It was part of growing up in an Indian family. She thought again of the ruby falling and dismissed it. She couldn’t afford to get negative now.
“Knock, knock!” Isha stood at the door, grinning. “Oh. Hello,” she said to Penelope. “I’m Isha, Jaya’s sister.”
“Hello!” Penelope said, holding out her hand.
Isha clasped Penelope’s hand with both of hers. “Ah, that Australian accent! It’s one of the things I loved most about Sydney when we studied there.” She paused, the dimple in her chin giving her a mischievous-yet-cherubic look that had gotten her out of many a scrape. “Well, that and the boys. Australian boys are so adorable.”
Jaya tossed her a meaningful glance, eyebrow raised. “Are you ready?”
“Where are you going?” Penelope asked.
“To grab an early dinner at A-caf-demy,” Isha explained, naming the café all St. Rosetta’s students frequented, according to the brochure (the punny name Jaya didn’t care for—it was rather puerile). Then, seeing the way Penelope’s face fell a little, Isha began, “Do you—”