The Society
by Jodie Andrefski
Release Date: May 3rd 2016
Entangled Teen
Welcome to Trinity Academy’s best-kept secret.
The Society.
You’ve been handpicked by the elite of the elite to become a member. But first you’ll have to prove your worth by making it through Hell Week.
Do you have what it takes?
It’s time to find out.
Samantha Evans knows she’d never get an invite to rush the Society—not after her dad went to jail for insider trading. But after years of relentless bullying at the hands of the Society’s queen bee, Jessica, she’s ready to take down Jessica and the Society one peg at a time from the inside out.
All it’ll take is a bit of computer hacking, a few fake invitations, some eager rushees…and Sam will get her revenge.
Let the games begin.
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The Society.
You’ve been handpicked by the elite of the elite to become a member. But first you’ll have to prove your worth by making it through Hell Week.
Do you have what it takes?
It’s time to find out.
Samantha Evans knows she’d never get an invite to rush the Society—not after her dad went to jail for insider trading. But after years of relentless bullying at the hands of the Society’s queen bee, Jessica, she’s ready to take down Jessica and the Society one peg at a time from the inside out.
All it’ll take is a bit of computer hacking, a few fake invitations, some eager rushees…and Sam will get her revenge.
Let the games begin.
Add to Goodreads
Buy Links:
Amazon│Barnes & Noble│iTunes│Kobo│Amazon UK│Amazon CA│The Book Depository│Books a Million
If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
--William Shakespeare
I pushed through the heavy oak doors leading into Trinity Academy, ignoring the groups of students milling around the wide steps of the ornate brick building. Not like it mattered. They were all busy talking, laughing, and fist-bumping each other, mostly jocks and their adoring fans, none of whom I had the time or interest to speak with.
“Out of my way.”
Bren Fessler--bedazzled toady to my ex-best friend Jessica--shoved past, leaving me gagging from lingering fumes of eau de bitch. I rolled my eyes, hacked through the last of the stench, and headed toward my locker.
Trinity was founded like a hundred years ago, and if buildings really do have a personality, this one had the snooty air of old money. I mean, it was a beautiful campus; it just sucked that I couldn’t stand the majority of the kids who went there anymore. But since Trinity had a stellar academic program that looked great on college applications, I’d remained, even after everything that happened. Besides, my creative writing teacher, Ms. Kemper, had pretty much assured me a shining recommendation to Columbia, her alma mater. I think she felt sorry for me. So I stayed. I wasn’t about to blow my chance at getting into my dream school even if everything around me sucked.
As I neared my locker, five or six members of the golden crew sashayed in a little blond bubble across from me, confident toothy smiles all over their faces. Since it was the start of Rush week, they were probably all certain they’d find a typed note covertly slipped through one of the vents in their locker, an invitation to rush our high school’s hallowed cloak-and-dagger Musterian Society.
Even the name sounded decayed, like a musty blanket you’d find rotting in your grandmother’s attic. I’d looked it up once. Musterian. Turns out it’s Greek for “a mystery confided only to the initiated and not to ordinary mortals.”
There would obviously be no note in my locker. I was way too ordinary, and mortal was putting it mildly. My hair wasn’t blond and shiny enough. I didn’t prance around in a cutesy little uniform with TA emblazoned across my not-quite-big-enough boobs.
The cheerleaders seemed to miss what just about everyone else recognized. The irony in the fact that our school’s initials also stood for a completely different phrase. Then again, they’d probably be just as proud to wear the label, Tits and Ass. Yet these Einsteins were usually the ones chosen to pledge, at least to meet the female initiates quota.
Just about every kid at school dreamed of being invited to rush. Invitation to the Society wasn’t only a guaranteed boost to your social standing, although that was a given. No, being in the Society offered even more tangible, life-changing perks. It pretty much guaranteed acceptance to the college of your choice--past members served on the admissions boards of some of the best schools in the country. Dream jobs tended to follow. The Society members helped their own.
We weren’t supposed to know all that, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out when you saw school acceptance letters roll in. The Society was a who’s who of the in crowd, guaranteeing a life we all fantasize about.
They didn’t ask people like me to join. I wasn’t cool enough, at least not anymore.
Steps away from my locker, the golden crew parted like the Red Sea. Whispers and giggles engulfed me--dark as smoke, and just as acrid.
“Oh my God, it’s perfect.”
“…her expression.”
I tried to ignore them, just another day in Trinity paradise.
Until I saw it. Jessica. She’d gone too far this time.
--William Shakespeare
I pushed through the heavy oak doors leading into Trinity Academy, ignoring the groups of students milling around the wide steps of the ornate brick building. Not like it mattered. They were all busy talking, laughing, and fist-bumping each other, mostly jocks and their adoring fans, none of whom I had the time or interest to speak with.
“Out of my way.”
Bren Fessler--bedazzled toady to my ex-best friend Jessica--shoved past, leaving me gagging from lingering fumes of eau de bitch. I rolled my eyes, hacked through the last of the stench, and headed toward my locker.
Trinity was founded like a hundred years ago, and if buildings really do have a personality, this one had the snooty air of old money. I mean, it was a beautiful campus; it just sucked that I couldn’t stand the majority of the kids who went there anymore. But since Trinity had a stellar academic program that looked great on college applications, I’d remained, even after everything that happened. Besides, my creative writing teacher, Ms. Kemper, had pretty much assured me a shining recommendation to Columbia, her alma mater. I think she felt sorry for me. So I stayed. I wasn’t about to blow my chance at getting into my dream school even if everything around me sucked.
As I neared my locker, five or six members of the golden crew sashayed in a little blond bubble across from me, confident toothy smiles all over their faces. Since it was the start of Rush week, they were probably all certain they’d find a typed note covertly slipped through one of the vents in their locker, an invitation to rush our high school’s hallowed cloak-and-dagger Musterian Society.
Even the name sounded decayed, like a musty blanket you’d find rotting in your grandmother’s attic. I’d looked it up once. Musterian. Turns out it’s Greek for “a mystery confided only to the initiated and not to ordinary mortals.”
There would obviously be no note in my locker. I was way too ordinary, and mortal was putting it mildly. My hair wasn’t blond and shiny enough. I didn’t prance around in a cutesy little uniform with TA emblazoned across my not-quite-big-enough boobs.
The cheerleaders seemed to miss what just about everyone else recognized. The irony in the fact that our school’s initials also stood for a completely different phrase. Then again, they’d probably be just as proud to wear the label, Tits and Ass. Yet these Einsteins were usually the ones chosen to pledge, at least to meet the female initiates quota.
Just about every kid at school dreamed of being invited to rush. Invitation to the Society wasn’t only a guaranteed boost to your social standing, although that was a given. No, being in the Society offered even more tangible, life-changing perks. It pretty much guaranteed acceptance to the college of your choice--past members served on the admissions boards of some of the best schools in the country. Dream jobs tended to follow. The Society members helped their own.
We weren’t supposed to know all that, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out when you saw school acceptance letters roll in. The Society was a who’s who of the in crowd, guaranteeing a life we all fantasize about.
They didn’t ask people like me to join. I wasn’t cool enough, at least not anymore.
Steps away from my locker, the golden crew parted like the Red Sea. Whispers and giggles engulfed me--dark as smoke, and just as acrid.
“Oh my God, it’s perfect.”
“…her expression.”
I tried to ignore them, just another day in Trinity paradise.
Until I saw it. Jessica. She’d gone too far this time.
Jodie Andrefski lives in a tiny town in PA that no one has ever heard of with her teenage daughter. She received her BS in Secondary English Education from Penn State, then taught a few years before changing focus and going back to school for her Master's degree in Mental Health Counseling.
Andrefski always loved both reading and writing, and wrote for several websites and magazines before deciding to write novels. She writes YA Contemporary, most of which involves at least some kissing. The Society is her second novel with Entangled Teen.
Author Links:
Website│Twitter│Facebook│Goodreads
Andrefski always loved both reading and writing, and wrote for several websites and magazines before deciding to write novels. She writes YA Contemporary, most of which involves at least some kissing. The Society is her second novel with Entangled Teen.
Author Links:
Website│Twitter│Facebook│Goodreads
