All That Glitters by J. Minter

social studies that I’d always wanted to name my daughter Faiden.
    Not that I was tallying my niceness points oranything, but maybe SBB was right. Maybe there was something to just being a good person. Maybe I
could
use my personality to my advantage and secure this Virgil Host thing. Hmm …
    When I got to the cafeteria, I took a quick glimpse at the menu offerings and remembered right away that the mac and cheese and the fries had been preapproved by Camille.
    I grabbed a bottle of green tea and an order of the mac and cheese and decided to take a last-minute gamble on the split pea soup. At the register, a girl behind me with giant plastic earrings shaped like rosebuds was eyeing my tray.
    â€œSometimes I think if I have to eat another fry,” she said, “I’ll turn into a potato.” She laughed and shook her head. “It’s stupid, but I’m scared to branch out—is that soup any good?”
    â€œI haven’t tried it yet,” I told her, counting out change from my Lancel wallet. “I’ll let you know, though. The mac and cheese is always a safe bet, too.”
    The girl nodded emphatically, like I’d said something really insightful. “Thanks,” she said, lifting a serving of the cheesy pasta off the lineup of mostly scary-looking foods.
    â€œNo problem.” I smiled and made my way to the third table where my friends were waiting, wondering:What Would Willa Have Done? Probably tripped Plastic Earrings and laughed.
    â€œHey, Flan,” a voice called out as I walked to my table. I looked over and was kind of excited to find that the speaker was one of Shira Riley’s senior friends.
    â€œHi, Anna,” I said, noticing that she was sporting the same Comptoir des Cotonniers satchel that Jade Moodswing had had with her last night. “Cool bag,” I said, feeling a little impressed with myself that I recognized the French designer. “I love their new line.”
    â€œMe, too,” Anna said, nudging Shira, who was sitting behind her. “Looks like Patch’s little sister has some taste.”
    As I walked past them, I started thinking about how long it had been since someone referred to me as “Patch’s little sister.” There was a time when it used to bug me, like I wasn’t my own person. In fact, I think Patch’s shadow was a big part of the reason why I wanted to try out Stuyvesant. But now that I had that experience under my belt, I’d learned a couple of key things. For starters, I knew I was my own person—and I also knew that whatever fashion sense I did have definitely did
not
come from my wrinkled T-shirt-wearing brother.
    Finally, I spotted Camille, Harper, Morgan, andAmory and gave them all a big smile. Even though the cafeteria was a flurry of activity—Bill Blass heels clicking, cell phones ringing, and one very insane-looking janitor gathering all the soda cans out of the trash bins and muttering to himself about who knows what—the third table felt like a total mecca of serenity. It was so great to know that I had thirty-five blissful minutes to just relax with my friends and chow down.
    â€œHow’s it going, girls?” I said, plopping down in an empty seat next to Camille. Harper was dusting her eyes with gold shimmer, Morgan was tapping a beat with her fork on the table, and Amory was memorizing her monologue for the upcoming play tryouts.
    â€œWell, I’m basically in awe watching you, Flan,” Camille said, shaking her head. “Here you were, all nervous about coming back to private school, and within three days, it’s like you already know everyone.”
    â€œI guess I’m just starting to feel more comfortable.” I shrugged.
    Morgan put her fork down and laughed. “And is this newfound comfort making you bold enough to try the cafeteria soup? You just might be the bravest girl in this room.”
    To show off my alleged bravery, I dunked