Her car stops in front of Maria's house and Madison tells her driver to wait.

She always gets out to greet the Garcias properly. It's the polite thing to do and she has a special fondness for Mrs Garcia. There are the sounds of kids playing a game of football somewhere nearby, the air is tinged with that lazy afternoon sweetness that casts everything in the world in a soft, warm gold, and Madison feels herself begin to breathe a little easier. She is about to walk up to Maria's door when her phone rings.

Madison checks the caller ID automatically and her lips purse a little but she gamely turns her body away from Maria's house to pick up. It is Emily Bishop, the old queen of Redwood Academy and now reigning queen of her family's company. Madison admires the girl deeply, knowing that she will follow in her footsteps, when she leaves Redwood Academy, too.

She looks absently towards where the kids are playing and wrinkles her nose in quiet distaste. She has never liked sports because it seems like a terribly dirtying thing to do and she doesn't partake in anything with mud other than mud masks, as a personal rule.

"Hey, sweetie," Emily drawls easily.

"Emily," Madison greets warmly.

One boy is apparently really good at the game because he keeps whooping like a gorilla and generally doing his bit to help prove Darwin's theory of evolution. Madison curls her lip in distaste, unimpressed.

"Are we still on for this week?" Emily is asking, as the boy tears off his shirt like the ape he is.

Madison wouldn't be surprised if he starts thumping his paws against his chest and demanding bananas like some Tarzan reject. Even so, she can appreciate an attractive body when she sees one and Madison eyes him. He's rather well-built and quite toned, too, from what she can see. Her gaze rakes across him appreciatively and her mouth goes dry.

"I know that you have your family stuff and I've got my own father thinking he can dictate everything I do with the company," Emily is continuing. "And, sweetie, there's just so much to catch up on and I need a good break. They're all driving me crazy."

"Of course," Madison assures Emily quickly. "You know I'd do anything for you, Emily. We're meeting at the Four Seasons, yes?"

Her gaze narrows and Madison's lips part in slight shock. The boy is none other than Nicholas Hawthorne.

She's been gaping like a thirsty bitch at that?

Madison thinks she's going to throw up.

"I'd accept nothing less," Emily agrees easily. "You always do have the best taste, sweetie."

She pauses to speak to her assistant and inadvertently gives Madison the time to reel away in disgust, twisting her body. Madison is not sure why she's feeling so hot, her cheeks flushed in slight embarrassment.

"Oh, and sweetie, before we meet, you have to do something about your heavy muscle of a father."

Madison is so startled she almost drops her phone, her heart hammering away in her chest. She swallows thickly, fighting to catch herself. "I thought I already had," she says, and thank God her voice is cool and blank. "Is he not yet gone?"

"No, sweetie, bless your heart. My people say that he's sticking around. Apparently, he's really interested in gaining back all he lost," Emily says, and Madison's jaw tautens. "I'm just warning you, of course, because I love you. Mwah."

Madison thinks briefly of the various rumours permeating the air thickly around Emily Bishop and the Bishop family name. She chooses the most dangerous rumour and makes a note to divulge it to Emily as thanks, when they have brunch together at the Four Seasons. Perhaps she'll offer her own assistance, Madison thinks before scrapping the idea.

It will look too obvious and make Emily think that she actually cares about her failure of a father.

Which she doesn't.

"Mwah," Madison says and taps at her phone, just as the door opens to reveal Mrs Garcia.

An easy smile spread across her face automatically when Mrs Garcia welcomes her happily, reaching out to grip her fingers warmly. Mrs Garcia is already bustling her into the house impatiently, offering her plates of sweet cookies and muffins.

Madison's gaze lingers hungrily on the chocolate muffin but she shakes her head, smiling at Mrs Garcia perfectly. She's always had a sweet tooth but Mother doesn't think it's a good idea to have even a cheat day.

"Not even one?" Mrs Garcia asks her, her eyes bright and still warm. "Oh, if I could only have the control you do." She pats her rounded tummy and gives a little laugh, one that Madison uncertainly joins. "And you're just looking so beautiful, Madison, every time I see you. So elegant and refined, such a good girl. My Maria tells me that you're getting fantastic grades, too. It's your last year too. You're all growing up so fast. Tell me, then, what do you hope to do, after this year?"

For a moment, Madison thinks about how her own mother has not even remembered that this is her last year and though the incessant texts from her father show that he does, she does not care about the latter enough for his opinion to mean anything to her. She smiles at Mrs Garcia warmly and says, rather proudly, "I plan to take a position into my mother's company. I hope to work in the Sutton Industries as the CEO of a department first, before making my way up and proving myself to everyone and Mother."

Mrs Garcia's beam widens even more, if possible. Traitorously, Madison thinks, why can her own mother never be so proud of her?

"Isn't that excellent?" Mrs Garcia says, turning her head to Maria, who is coming down the stairs. "Do you hear that, Maria? Madison has more concrete goals. She doesn't think she's going to find a career, kissing Simon Cowell's ass."

Maria reaches for a muffin. "My ass is too good for Simon Cowell," she tells her mother, throwing a wink towards Madison playfully. "I'm going to be a star, Mama."

"Of course you are," Mrs Garcia says indulgently, but it's not patronising either. To Madison, she adds, "You must come over for dinner again, Madison. We'd love to have you."

"Mama, she won't want to come over and listen to your cooking stories again," Maria says, her cheeks flushed slightly, and she lifts her gaze to Madison, giving her an apologetic smile, as if to say, mothers, what can you do?

Madison accepts the invitation politely, biting down the sense of gratefulness she feels within her. She loves dinners with the Garcia family. They are a loud, rowdy sort, filled with Maria's brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts who seem neve-rending, all of them with stories brimming within them. Their antics always make her laugh plus Maria's grandmother always fills her plate with more food than Madison ever eats, thinking that she needs to feed her up.

"Mama, we have to go now," Maria says, impatient as ever.

She pauses to press a quick kiss to her mother's cheek and they're gone.

*

The chicken is amazing.

"Are you sure you don't want some, Madison?" Maria asks, after gushing about how amazing the chicken is. "This is amazing."

Madison's gaze flickers down to her perfectly crafted salad, crisp green lettuce filtering around the soft red baby tomatoes and the lightly toasted beans. She does not like salad very much but she is hungry enough to eat it. To Maria, she shakes her head and summons a perfect, poised smile.

"You know me and my diets," she says. "I like to be in control."

Maria guffaws. "Yeah, the Hawthorne boy says you're a control freak," she says.

Madison tenses. "What?"

Realising she's said the wrong thing, her fingers stilling over her fork, Maria tries to backtrack as best she can. She clumsily stumbles over her words. "It's just that the rumours at school and... well, you know the Hawthorne boy – he's an ass and –,"

Madison's grip tightens on her fork. "Who is he, to judge me?"

"Nobody!" Maria says quickly. "He's nobody! He's an ass!" Her eyes rake Madison nervously and Maria adds, "Mama says that he and his mother don't get along. Apparently, Mrs Hawthorne only found out that her son was living in the city, this summer, and she went back to get him. I heard Mrs Tate say that she fished him out of the slums of the city and that he's so ungrateful he actually wants to go back."

What an ungrateful ass, Madison thinks.

She knows Mrs Hawthorne personally, knows the woman as a hard working one, who bled and sweat to get to where she is now. Mother even respects her and that's a miracle in itself. But Madison doesn't expect anything less of the Hawthorne boy. Attractive body he might have, and she freely admits this, but brains over brawns and it seems he's sorely lacking.

But she doesn't say anything, reeling slightly. Madison takes a bite of her salad and stops herself from making a face, as Maria continues, rambling in her nervousness.

"Plus Lula's family is back on their feet again, thank God, because I was getting so worried," she says, her bright gaze flickering to Madison.

"Oh?" Madison says, affecting a pleasantly surprised expression.

It's perfect: one expertly lined eyebrow lifted slightly up, eyes a little wide, and lips almost beginning to lift upwards just to make it look natural. Madison had practiced in the mirror and judging from the oblivious look on Maria's face, that's practice made perfect.

Maria nods, ducking her head. "Yeah, Lula says some random old grandpa or someone died," she explains casually. "Left her, like, a buttload of money. Madison, it was in the millions. Lucky bitch."

But when Maria's gaze sweeps over Madison again, Madison feels the slightest pang of alarm. Usually, Maria is the most observant one in their group and she's the one whose opinions are highly valued, second to Madison's own. Madison swallows tightly and hums in assent.

"Lula should be happy then," she says breezily, reaching for a glass of water to cool her suddenly dry throat.

"...do your goddamn job, then!" someone says fiercely, and Madison's gaze narrows coolly.

She turns her head briefly, along with Maria, to eye the boy, who is sitting with his timid girlfriend, his arm wrapped around her tightly, and his friends, laughing raucously as they yell at the poor waiters. Maria's lip is curled in clear derision, looking faintly as though she would not mind planting the heel of her Louboutins into the boy's face.

But then Maria's gaze narrows suddenly and Madison's lips press together. "What's wrong?" Madison asks, feeling slightly uneasy at Maria's sudden mood change.

Sometimes, she just never knows what is going through the Spanish girl's mind, so inscrutable can her face be. It unnerves Madison, who prides herself on her effortless ability to be able to sum up people with one look. Mother's proven partial to that particular ability, as well. Maria leans in, looking uneasy.

"That girl," she says. "She's in our class. Do you see her?"

"I think the whole world sees her," Madison says, her nose wrinkling, "and her disgusting ape of a boyfriend draping himself on her like he's next year's new Chanel scarf."

Maria's lip twitches but she continues, regardless, "She's sent me a message." She lifts her blinking phone.

"What does she say?"

"Help."

Madison eyes Maria carefully, her fingers pressed against the table. Maria is looking worried, her brows knitted together, but as always, with Lula, with Elliot, with Audrey, she looks to Madison, to know what she has to do. Madison purses her lip and lifts her hand for the waiter.

He arrives in an instant, raking a clear appreciative gaze over both herself and Maria. "Yes, Miss Sutton?" he asks, carefully polite. "Would you like the dessert menu?"

Maria is looking confused but Madison rummages through her purse casually, sliding out a hundred pounds, in two fifty-pound crisp notes. She glances briefly to the goggling waiter, whose eyes look as though they are about to burst out of his skull, and clears her throat.

"Do you see that girl over there?" Madison says and gestures vaguely to the girl. The waiter nods and Madison wraps the notes around her glass of water, pressing it within his fingers. "I want you to pour this over her."

The waiter looks startled but that is nothing close to the sheer horror that paints Maria's face. "Madison –," she begins, her eyes wide.

"Now, please."

The waiter gulps, nodding quickly, and pockets the notes.

Maria is gaping, her lips parted as she stares at Madison, as though she is not able to believe her own eyes. "Madison," she repeats, sounding utterly distraught. "Bitch, what the –,"

But Madison's gaze has lingered over to the table and she watches, slightly impressed as the waiter accidentally knocks water all over the girl. For a moment, it seems as though he has spilled water over the boyfriend, too, and Madison's lips pull back to hiss in discontent but the boyfriend has moved himself out of the way, just in time.

"What the hell, man?" the boyfriend is shouting, as the girl bursts into helpless sobs. "Babe, go to the bathroom, okay? I'll take care of this."

As Maria holds back her horrified bursts and the waiter is thoroughly abused, Madison's eyes follow the girl, who hurries quickly to the bathrooms. Madison rises from her seat elegantly and says, her voice low, "Make sure nobody comes in, Maria."

*

When she enters the bathroom, Madison does so, knowing that nobody else is in there, thanks to the other waiter she'd paid off.

She eyes the harrowed girl in front of her, who is hiccupping and attempting to stop her hiccups, looking a mess. Madison clears her throat and the girl turns her head, looking utterly startled, her eyes wide.

"Oh my God," the girl says, her face flooding with colour.

Madison refrains from wrinkling her nose in distaste. "My name is –,"

"Madison Sutton. God, you're amazing and you're here, looking at me, like this, and oh God, I'm so humiliated," the girl says, hiccupping as she quickly rubs at her reddened eyes with balled fists. She clears her throat, attempting to clean herself up quicker, and adjusts her wet shirt, giving a small, shaky laugh. "Stu-stupid waiter dumped some girl's water all over my new Gucci shirt. Can you believe the service here?"

"Why are you crying?" Madison asks bluntly.

She doesn't like wasting time, talking over sweet nothings and pretending like there isn't a giant elephant in the room. Madison is unwilling to beat around the bush and puts her bag on the counter delicately, keeping her clear gaze on the girl. The girl blinks.

"I'm –,"

"Your boyfriend. The one who thinks he can touch you when you say no," Madison says, stiffly. "Is it because of him?"

The girl stares at her, and Madison thinks she will get angry and defensive, because her lips wobble a little, but instead, she ends up breaking down completely. She shakes her head desperately, so that her curls tumble about her shoulders, attempting to stop herself from crying.

"No, no," she says, but she's sobbing, her voice hoarse. "I'm – I'm okay, I'm alright – oh, God, I'm so sorry, Madison –,"

Madison ignores her protests. "What's your name?" she asks, as the girl sinks down helplessly, to the polished bathroom floor.

"Eleanor," she hiccups, trying, in vain, to stem her tears. "Eleanor Yates."

"I had the pleasure of meeting your mother," Madison says lightly and her distraction seems to be working well enough, for Eleanor, in her surprise, is crying less now. "She's the presenter for that TV show, isn't she? Are you going to go into TV, too, like her, after school?"

"Mi-Mike wants me to go backpacking with him," Eleanor says, but there's something unwilling within the light of her eyes, "for – for gap year. To – to see animals and stuff."

"And do you want to go backpacking with him?" Madison asks, staring at the girl with steady eyes.

Eleanor bursts into helpless sobs again and she shakes her head, her fingers trembling. She tells Madison, in a half-whisper that echoes around the empty bathroom, "I want to die."

Madison is reeling, staring at the girl. But instead of fleeing as everything within her entire body is screaming at her to do, Madison kneels delicately to the floor. Eleanor's surprise is evident within her features, her eyes widening slightly in shock. Madison swallows tightly, summoning up every bit of her courage.

"I know what that feels like, too," she confesses quickly, in a half-whisper.

The moment the words are out, Madison wants to take them back into her mouth once again. She feels so humiliated she might die, her cheeks pink.

"But," Eleanor hiccups, staring at her, "but you're perfect."

Madison blinks, startled. Yes, she is perfect. She is meant to be perfect. She is the girl that parents wish they could have for their own, that boys and girls both want to have and to be, at the same time. But perfection is like smoke; it is so easy to create, but try as you might, you cannot hold it within your trembling fingers forever. Madison swallows tightly.

"And so should you be," she tells Eleanor strictly, her voice so sharp that it breaks Eleanor out of her tears. "Stand up and pull yourself together, at least for Gucci, if not for yourself."

She wraps her fingers around Eleanor's sharp elbow and lifts the girl up quickly to her feet, perhaps, a little too roughly. Eleanor straightens her shirt, flushing hotly.

"Madison –,"

"I have make up in my bag," Madison says crisply, rummaging through her bag briskly and taking out her make up bag. "You will do yourself up, to the utter perfection that you know you are, and you will go out there and tell that poor excuse for a boy that to go backpacking for his sake alone is utterly beneath you. Because you do not care for a boy, who does not respect your right for boundaries and if it were a choice between the new Elizabeth Arden contour kit," Madison says, lifting the kit, "and him, you would choose...?"

Eleanor blinks at her but the girl looks thoughtful, above all else, her brows furrowed together as she actually begins to think about what Madison is saying to her.

"...the new Elizabeth Arden contour kit?" she answers tentatively.

"Right answer," Madison says, approving. "Because...?"

A small smile begins to spread across Eleanor's face. "Because I am perfection and deserve to be treated as perfection."

*

"You bitch," Mike shouts at her drunkenly, when they are leaving the restaurant.

Beside her, Maria tenses but Madison eyes Mike's clear towering figure carefully and tilts her head towards him. Louie has already opened the doors for them but Madison lifts a hand to stay him, knowing that her driver will already have had the police waiting to be dialled. He's an excellent man, Louie is, and really, Becky could certainly take a leaf out of his book.

By this time, Mike has already stumbled up to them, waving a bottle at them. "You bitch," he repeats viciously, his beady eyes fixed on her. "What the hell did you say to Eleanor?"

"Miss Sutton," Louie begins, delicately.

But Madison shakes her head. "You must be the wannabe Bear Grylls," she says disparagingly, curling her lip in distaste.