HiltonAcademy

Extended summary: Jesse Chambers is intensely bright, solidly stubborn and entirely independent. She's also attending mixed private school Hilton Academy, courtesy of a scholarship, and is automatically trapped within the 3 percentile minority that can't fix every given situation with daddy's platinum card. The rest of her peers can; and she hates them. Her best friend Bridget is just about the only other person that really gets her; when she's out of the bathroom, that is. William Patrick, on the other hand, is utterly chilled out, endearingly friendly and positively titled. Add intellect, good looks and wit to boot and you've got a guy every girl wants. Every girl but Jesse. Can he convince her that coming from a wealthy background doesn't necessarily make him shallow? And can he convince just about everyone else that class really doesn't matter?

Note: The characters, places, situations and events of this story are developed materializations of my imagination and therefore belong entirely to me. Distribution of this story is only permitted with my written consent, and any use of the aforementioned factors must be approved of also. Please do not steal; I shouldn't be punished for your lack of originality and dedication.

Warning: Rating if for expletives (that includes blasphemy), possible references to sexual situations, and all that jazz. In other words, if you can't hack the heat, get out of the kitchen =o)

Chapter 1 –This is Me

POV: Jesse

Every school has one particularly stubborn and cynical student that's seen as bitter, harsh and blah, blah, blah.

Hilton Academy is no exception.

And at Hilton that particularly stubborn and blah, blah, blah individual is me, Jesse Chambers. I'm 17, I'm a senior, and if you have a problem with me, deal with it, because the likelihood is I have a problem with you too.

'Cause you see the thing about Hilton is it's a boarding school. It's a mixed boarding school. It's a mixed boarding school that charges far too much for its students to attend; and I'm on a scholarship. That means that not only am I perceived as stubborn, bitter (which I am not, I'll have you know) and blah, blah, blah, but I'm automatically seen as unapproachable and unworthy of just about everyone's time. And why? Because I got into the Academy on my intellect and wits instead of on my daddy's cheque book. To every paying student at Hilton I'm a threat. I'm different. I'm so different, in fact, that I'm impossible to relate to in any way. They hate me.

And, shock horror, I hate them too.

All of them. Each and every single one of the bastards.

Oh, alright, not all of them; there are three people that are exempt from that statement. And I'll admit, those three people aren't excluded from my hateful declaration because they're on a scholarship too and therefore understand me. Because they're not. In fact all of them probably belong to three of the top 10 richest families that send students to this school. The difference is, these guys don't think that makes them better than me. I'll give you the run down;

First of all there's Bridget (last name Clark if you give a shit.) I met her three years ago when we were first assigned to be roommates. The first time I saw her, all 5ft 8 of slim lines, blonde hair and green eyes, I instantly shoved up about 50 walls, preparing myself for a Barbie doll with contacts. Luckily, I was proved wrong. Bridge is literally the only chick at Hilton I know that comes from a wealthy family and yet doesn't care about money. She's calm, she's intelligent and she's confident—and rightfully so. I can really only think of one problem though; she hogs the bathroom. Big time. The minute that door closes behind her you might want to start planning what other bathroom you're gonna peg it to if nature decides to call. It's as if she thinks there might be a nuclear war and reckons the bathroom has some sort of special lining to the walls that will not only keep her safe from any blast but also from the harmful gases and shit that'll come with it. But, despite that, I love her to bits. Though if you tell her that, I will kill you. We party together, we sneak out past curfew together and we slag off the school bitches together. It's all very much 24/7 bonding, wouldn't you agree?

The next exception is Jon, full name Jonathon Michael Arthur Christian White, much to his dismay. With a name like that I instantly felt sorry for him; you know, once I was done laughing. No, but seriously, the thing is when I first met Jon—once again it was freshman year—we were sitting on opposite sides of the room in Chemistry class and our dozy and unnecessary teacher was calling the first roll call with everyone's full name. It was strange thoughh, when she rattled off the excruciating middle names along with the first and last, every student seemed to grin and smugly raise their hand, as if their names gave them status (which it probably did, come to think of it.) But when Ms Cattalinski called out Jon's I looked over and found that he was wincing, embarrassed, something in his face clearly portraying that he wished his name was anything but that that it was. And even though he had preppy, strawberry-blonde, boy band hair and ice blue eyes, I knew right then and there that he was a cool guy. A kind of guy that really didn't want to be surrounded by so much wealth. So, obviously, next class I sat myself next to him—uninvited, yes—and we got to talking. It took no time to realise he was too teasing, playful and generally funny to not like. How can anyone resist such…well, actually, it would be misleading to call it charm. The point is that he's cool nonetheless.

Finally there's Mr. Robert Browning, the only one amongst our small group of friends that has locks any darker than my chestnut brown. With a jet black pad of hair sat atop over 6 foot of quite wonderfully toned muscle, Rob is the classic tall, dark and handsome. I just don't see him in that light. He's another cool customer (don't tell anyone I actually just used that collocation, once again it's an 'if you do, you will die' situation) and there's really no other way to describe him other than smart, pleasant, and you guessed it, witty also.

As you can see, there's a thing about our group in that we all have that quick-fire sense of humour. The main reason being that if we didn't find a way to make one another laugh then there would be no way we'd get through the day without killing ourselves. So, hey, welcome to Hilton Academy. This is where I would display my trademark smirk.

As I've said, Hilton is a private, mixed, boarding school. There are exactly 1000 students with 250 pupils in each year, your standard high school freshman, sophomore, junior and senior. There are two dorms; you guessed it, one for the guys and one for the gals, separated by the actual school building so nothing goes on—needless to say, it still does. Horny teens will always find a way.

Apparently the place is over 200 years old or something; personally I think they just built it that way only 50 years ago to create the illusion of prestige and all that crap. Of course that means they would have had to have made up all that rubbish about founders etcetera, etcetera and that book in the lobby with every single past student's name and year of attendance would have to be fake as well, which I now realise is a lot of shit to do just for prestige…oh, ok, so my theory is unlikely, shut up. Loser.

But as I was saying the place looks, like, old. There are god-knows how many classrooms to accommodate god-knows how many classes on, mostly, very dull subjects. I'm just psyched that this is my last year left to suffer through it all. There's a fuck-off huge playing field stuck right behind the main buildings for all the sports—you can't tell but I'm being sarcastic; Hilton has a grand total of about two competitive teams and one of them is debate. But what can I say? The girls don't want to ruin their manicures and the guys hate having to do laundry. They can hardly believe they have to do such a domestic thing anyway; apparently most families sent a letter to the school asking if it would be alright for them to send along a maid for their offspring to utilise. Answer; no. Outcome; some particularly smelly guys who're reluctant to wash. Unsurprisingly they all hang out together in the far corner of the sports field because no body else will go near them with a barge pole.

The grounds are lined with the hugest oaks trees I've ever laid eyes on, and in the spring the beds of flowers all leap up, and I must admit, when you're looking at everything blooming like that, Hilton doesn't seem like such a bad place to be. Then Bridget drips out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel but still leaving a trail of puddles and I realise I have to get ready for classes; at that point my I-hate-this-damn-place attitude returns full force. I guess what I'm trying to say is even though the actual school smells of money, it's kind of ok. I mean, there's a common room on each dorm floor where you have access to MTV and vending machines galore, and there's a phone bay near the cafeteria where you can call home as often as you want with your standard student phone card, and there's elevators so you don't have to take stairs, and the cafeteria food is actually pretty damn nice too. All in all Hilton would be reasonably bearable place if it weren't for one thing; the student body.

Now I know I've mentioned that everyone hates me. I've already told you that they think I'm bitter, yada, yada, yada. And I'm sure you think I'm exaggerating or trying to seek sympathy or something. But let me set this straight; entirely. The student body does hate me. Why? Because I despise them. It's a system that works for us. They don't like that I'm here and, furthermore, that for me it's free; it defeats the point of the rich being able to school with the rich alike. And I don't like the fact that they genuinely believe money is the solution to any problem. In fact I think they'll find that more often than not, money is the root of the fuckin' problem.

Being here on a scholarship means I have to work hard to keep my grades up; being here on Daddy's money means they can pay the quieter scholarship kids to do their homework for them. Being here on a scholarship means I have to work at a local video store to get enough money to go clubbing at the weekends and buy myself a new pair of jeans; being here on Daddy's money means they can go out and buy shit all they like and they'll never have to worry about being caught dead working even for half an hour. A scholarship means I wear ugly but practical shoes to class; Daddy's money means they wear shoes that simply scream 'I'm oozing green'. A scholarship means nails chewed so low that they resemble candles burnt to the wick; Daddy's money means glittering, shimmering, fresh talons just recently manicured at the nearest salon.

In other words we have nothing in common. In other words we don't see eye to eye. In other words they think I'm below them.

And fuck them am I gonna waste my time with people who don't deserve it.

Me being at Hilton means living with tension. It means looking at those shoes that they're all wearing and turning up my nose just as they do when they're looking at mine. Me being at Hilton means work hard, get good grades and get a pat on the back when I go home for break. It means rejecting every horny guy that can actually look past my less-than-soaring social standing and less-than-bling bank account for long enough to visualise getting into my pants. It means soaking up the dirty looks I get in the hall and shooting them back.

Me being at Hilton means being treated like dirt. Like the bottom rung of the ladder. Like shit, basically.

But it also means one thing; Bite. Me.

Insert a smirk at the childlike but confident statement.

This is me people. And Hilton's gonna have to deal.

A/N: Howdy y'all, I'm Amy (aka Harmonized) and this is my newest fic. For those of you who've read anything I've done before hey again *waves* and thanks for checking out what you did read. For those of you who've never given one of my fics a second glance, thanks for giving this one the benefit of the doubt. Lol, I'm hoping this chapter didn't totally suck, but to make sure you get a good taste of what Jesse's like I figured I may as well give you the second chapter at the same time. Check it out, tell me whatcha think (good or bad) and let me love you forever. Mwaaa!

A View From the Bridge Readers: Yes, there's a perfectly good reason why I was a cheeky bitch and put up a new story before finishing the final few chapters to Bridge; I did write all the last chapters, taking my time, 'perfecting' them and planning on putting them all up together so I could just finish it and be done, making way for this story. Then I lost them. My comp can be a bugger sometimes and I have no idea what I did but basically I fucked up big time and managed to lose them; I've therefore not had the heart to manage to re-write even the latest one completely yet (I'm ¾ way through it as we speak) since I hate it when u have to re-try summit you felt you got right the first time round . I'm working on the chappie though, like I said. It's near enough done, and once it is I'll post it and get right down to the next chappie. Sorry, and thanks for your support, you babes, you! Mwa!