Poor Little Rich Girls

September 19, 2010
By Anonymous

The Newbury Penthouse

"Guess what!" came the bubbly tones of Gemma Newbury. "Matty-poo just won his lacrosse game! Well, technically Barton just won their lacrosse game against Crowning, but Matty totally scored the winning goal and most of the other ones!"

Gemma came flouncing into her little sister Remy's bedroom, her blonde curls bouncing while she dragged her boyfriend behind her. She grinned widely at Remy. "Isn't that great, Rem?"

Remy Newbury was wholly unlike her older sister. Sure, they shared the same flaxen hair and blue eyes, but the similarities stopped about there. While Gemma was sweet and bubbly, Remy tended to be a bit more sarcastic and quiet. All of the Newbury family's friends on Manhattan's Upper East Side of course thought that the Newbury girls were just the sweetest little things ever, with their cherubic looks. Even Remy's very strict parents thought that she was a good little girl, their little darling. Well, bad news, Mommy and Daddy Newbury - your little Remy isn't quite the angel you think she is.

From her spot lounging on her expansive bed, Remy lazily lifted her head. She had been daydreaming while pretending to do her homework. Forcing a tiny smile, Remy replied, "Oh, yeah, that's nice. Good job, Matty."

Matty nodded at his girlfriend's little sister. "Thanks, Rem," he smiled at her. Remy bit her lip. That smile...it was just...gorgeous. Matthew Vanderpol was one of the most desired boys in Manhattan. He went to Barton, an exclusive school near the girls' Chapman School, and was the star lax player. A senior, Matty was good-looking and he certainly knew it. He was all that Remy's classmates talked about. And somehow, Remy's sister Gemma had managed to snag him.

Remy scowled just thinking about it. Gemma was the epitome of boring - senior class president, extra-curriculars up to her a**, always did her homework on time. Gemma's favorite thing to do on the weekend was to have a sophisticated tea party with a few close friends or go to brunch with her family. Why Matty Vanderpol, renowned party boy and sex god, was dating Gemma Newbury was an ongoing mystery to Remy.

"Whew!" breathed Gemma, running a hand through her hair. "It is ridiculously hot." It was September in New York City, but the Indian summer combined with the heavy traffic had made the entire city unbearably balmy. "I think I'm going to go shower quickly," she said to Matty, leaning up to peck his cheek. "This uniform is getting gross. Remy, keep him entertained while I'm gone, will you?"

Remy rolled her eyes. In a flash, Gemma was across the hall and in her own bedroom. After a few seconds, Matty and Remy heard the water start.

Matty was standing awkwardly in the middle of Remy's spacious bedroom, his hands in his pockets. Finally taking pity on him, Remy raised her head from her textbook again. "You want to sit down?" offered Remy in a bored tone. She gestured to her bed.

"Sure," shrugged Matty. He ambled over to the bed, taking long strides and a seat on the thick red comforter. After a few more moments of silence, he leaned over Remy's shoulder. "What are you reading?"

Remy let out a world-weary sigh. "AP Bio," she groaned. "Or cellular respiration, to be more exact."

"Rough," empathized Matty. "I think I've slept though every science class I've had since the first grade."

Despite herself, Remy let out a small laugh. "Me too. But I have mastered the fine and elusive art of sleeping with my eyes open. Mrs. Lewis thought I was like, a model student until she saw my test grades."

Matty chuckled easily, lounging on his side with one hand on his chin next to Remy. Remy felt her stomach flip. She had never been this close to him before. Of course, Remy was a junior in high school - she had had her share of close encounters with boys in her day, but never with a boy as hot as Matty Vanderpol. He was the kind of boy that could make even society mothers blush.

"The words are all blurring together," moaned Remy, banging her forehead on the thick textbook melodramatically. "Make them stop, Matty!" she joked.

Teasingly, Matty reached out and began massaging Remy's shoulders. "Miss Newbury, when did you first begin to experience signs of insanity?"

"What?" giggled Remy, glancing up at him quizzically.

Matty's face became exaggeratedly serious. "Oh, I'm so sorry, we're not supposed to use that word around our patients. What I meant was, 'Tell me how that makes you feel.'"

Remy fell about laughing, ending up with her head very near to Matty's shoulder. His faux-therapist impression was spot-on. What was a guy with an actual sense of humor doing dating boring old Gemma?

"I feel...I feel...I feel like all these voices in my head won't stop arguing!" grinned Remy, falling into the role of the crazy therapy patient. "Tell me what to do, Dr. Vanderpol!"

"Hmm," Matty said, stroking his chin. "This is a very serious case, indeed. What are the voices telling you to do now, Miss Newbury?" His warm brown eyes gazed seriously into Remy's wide blue ones. Their faces were dangerously close, and suddenly Remy didn't feel like they were playing around anymore.

"They're telling me," breathed Remy, hitching a breath as Matty reached out and brushed a stray strand of blonde hair out of her face, "to..." she trailed off as Matty snaked his other arm around her. "...to kiss you."

Matty leant his face down and brushed his lips softly against Remy's. Shuddering and closing her eyes, Remy leant into the kiss, gripping Matty's cotton shirt tightly. She had never experienced a kiss like this. All of the other boys Remy had made out with had been just that - boys. But Matty was older, and ridiculously good-looking, and...oh %$@!...her sister's boyfriend...

But Remy quickly brushed that thought aside. Of course Gemma was much too nice to ever cheat on anyone, let alone help someone else cheat. But Gemma was too nice for her own good, and Remy wasn't Gemma.

It felt good to stop being such a good girl. For once, Remy could defy all of those stupid expectations her family had imposed on her since she was born. The fact that she got to sabotage Gemma's relationship just made it all the better.

Matty sucked on her bottom lip, and Remy sighed. "Matty..." she breathed. He deepened the kiss, his large hands roaming down Remy's lithe body.

"You taste so good," he groaned into her mouth.

Her breathing was becoming jeopardized, and Remy had never felt like this before. This was pure bliss.

"I'm hungry!" came a loud, perky voice from across the hall. "What do you guys want to have for dinner?"

It was Gemma! Before Remy knew what was happening, Matty had rolled off the bed and was halfway across the room, pretending to examine Remy's jewelry collection very intently. Remy frantically smoothed her hair and pulled her shirt down, turning back to her history textbook.

Gemma waltzed into the bedroom, toweling off her hair. "Mother and Daddy are at a party for Daddy's work. What should we eat...should I tell Marti to make spaghetti? Chicken? Steak?"

"Steak sounds good," Matty replied, smiling brightly. He was doing an excellent job of keeping his cool.

"Okay," said Gemma brightly. "Come on, Matty-poo, let's go find her." Grabbing Matty's arm, she turned to leave the room. "Did you two find something to occupy yourselves while I was showering?"

Swallowing tightly, Remy nodded. "Mm-hmm!" she responded quickly. "Matty was just...helping me with my biology homework." She blushed when she realized the double entendre.

"Great! Thanks Matty!" Gemma began to walk out of the room.

On their way out, Matty turned his head and winked at Remy. She melted into her comforter.

Remy had no idea what she had just started. All she knew was that she never wanted it to stop.

The author's comments:
Pretty little babies grow up to be gorgeous young ladies. Their rich mommies and daddies might have been a little too busy to be there when their darlings were growing up, but they made up for it with nice things and fancy schools. These poor little rich girls have everything they could ever want, from designer wardrobes to lovely frenemies to guaranteed acceptances into the Ivy League. On the Upper East side, they may be filthy rich, but they still want more.

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