Zoey Dean - How to Teach Filthy Rich Girls

Contents

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

chapter twenty-seven

chapter twenty-eight

chapter twenty-nine

chapter thirty

chapter thirty-one

chapter thirty-two

chapter thirty-three

chapter thirty-five

chapter thirty-six

chapter thirty-seven

chapter thirty-eight

chapter thirty-nine

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2007 by Alloy Entertainment

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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First eBook Edition: July 2007

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Summary: If Megan Smith can tutor two heiresses with a combined GPA of roughly 0.2 and get them into Duke University, their grandmother will pay off Megans college loans in full.Provided by publisher.

ISBN: 0-446-19722-X

1. Children of the richFiction. 2. TwinsFiction. 3. Tutors and tutoringFiction. 4. College attendanceFiction. 5. GrandmothersFiction. 6. Palm Beach (Fla.)Fiction. I. Title.

To the A-list gang on West 26th Street,

and to the evil boy genius of my dreams.

The rich are very different from you and me.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Choose the letter that would best fill in the blank spaces in the following sentence: Exchanging family heirlooms and occasional sexual favors for _____________

financial security is ______________.

(a) marginal; justifiable

(b) complete; commonplace in Beverly Hills

(c) a promise of; so 1990, circa Pretty Woman (d) reasonable; unforgivable

(e) concert tickets and; totally legit

Snatching my receipt from the bodega ATM, I already knew the bad news. Id just withdrawn two hundred dollars, and my account balance was hovering a little over zero.

So I stashed the cash and receipt in my battered backpack and asked what any recent Yale graduate whose student loans had left her seventy-five thousand bucks in debt would wonder:

If I were to charge for sex, how much could I get?

Depends, answered my best friend, Charma Abrams, flatly. Her nasal monotone had been influenced heavily by too many girlhood hours spent with MTVs Daria. Do you get to pick and choose your clientele?

Lets say Im going for maximum cash.

Hard to say. Lets go find you a pimp in Tompkins Square Park. Charma examined her reflection in the anti-shoplifting mirror above the limp-looking green vegetables.

Or we could ask your sister.

My sister. Lily. As Charma well knew, Lily was playing a rich-girl-turned-hooker-turned-pimp in Streets, Doris Egans new off-Broadway play. Lilys photo had graced the cover of last weeks Time Out: The New Seasons Must-See Young Thesp.

My sister had been must-see her whole life. Drop-dead gorgeous, talented singer and dancer, Brown University grad, Lily had been born to be stared at. As I took in my own reflection in the warped deli mirrormedium height and weight, size eight on the top and size ten on the bottom on a good day, long brown hair exceptionally prone to frizz, a heart-shaped face with nice enough hazel eyes, a thin nose, and lips like the before

photo on a lip-plumper adI wondered for the zillionth time how Lily and I shared a gene pool.

The chief reason Id chosen to attend Yale was so I could do one thing in my life that was more impressive than what she had.

The immaturity of this is not lost on me, by the way.

Come on, I told Charma. I dont want to miss him.

We headed out of the bodega and crossed East Seventh, dodging a couple of joggers and a bag lady carrying on a one-sided conversation with the president: You call that a foreign policy, you asshole? It was one of those crystalline Indian-summer days when nature puts on a last-ditch floor showthe stubborn final leaves of autumn danced on their branches as the low November sun bathed them in ocher light. I wore my usual no-name jeans, a white Hanes T-shirt, and an ancient navy cardigan that my favorite of our familys three dogs, Galbraith, used to sleep on when he was a puppy.

Where are you meeting this guy? Charma asked.

Southwest corner. I scanned the crowded benches lining the walkway to the center of the park. Everyone was enjoying the mild weather that surely wouldnt last longer than a day or two.

Did he tell you what he looks like?

Tall, thin, dark hair cut short, soul patch, right ear pierced with a rhinestone stud, I rattled off. Hell be wearing a red flannel shirt and Levis, loose-fit.

Boxers or briefs? Charma asked.

I raised an eyebrow.

I just wondered. Since youve got every other detail down.

When I told him I was twenty-two, he said he was twenty-nine, which probably means hes mid-thirties and trying to pass. So Id guess boxer-briefs. I made a beeline for an empty bench to our right. Too late. Three old Polish ladies had spotted it first.

Charma shook her blond curls out of her eyes. About the whole sex-for-money thing?

Waste of your brain. And I dont think your customers want to be remembered in that kind of detail. Stick with the magazine.

Oh, like that s not killing my brain cells on a daily basis.

I had a magna cum laude degree with a double major in English and American history and had been features editor of the Yale Daily News. So you cant say I arrived in Manhattan with the wrong credentials. I thought Id have no problem finding a job writing in-depth stories at an important but left-leaning periodical like The New Yorker, or Rolling Stone, or hell, even Esquirewhich only shows that a girl can be twenty-two years old, ridiculously well educated, and still as dumb as a bag of hair.

As it turned out, every other graduate from every other Ivy League school had come to New York the day after graduation, and we all wanted the exact same jobs. Many of them, however, had something that I lacked. Connections.

My dad is a professor in the economics department at the University of New Hampshire, and my mom is a nurse-practitioner at campus health services. Lily and I had grown up in an old farmhouse filled with books, intelligent conversation, and excessive pet fur. My folks lived an ecological life. Theirs had been voted Best Compost Heap by