[CONTENTID1]Rich Girl - Penelope's POV[/CONTENTID1]

[CONTENTID2]I woke up to the smell of sizzling bacon. Yawning, I stretched like a cat in my queen sized bed and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I checked the time and groaned; 7:15am. I only had 45 minutes to shower, dress, have breakfast and get to school. Dragging myself out of bed, I trudged to my en suite bathroom and stripped off my clothes. I stepped into the shower and washed myself in the fastest ten minutes of my life. After drying myself, I got dressed in a white skater skirt, an off-shoulder floral crop top and leather-strap wedges. I applied my makeup before blow-drying my hair and tying it up in a curly, voluminous ponytail. I grabbed my Marc Jacobs bag and shoved my school stuff in it, snatching my phone from its charger and rushed out of my elaborate room - it was really more like an apartment of its own, without a kitchen. 

"Morning, Penny," my mom said as she finished her cup of coffee and gathered her plethora of court papers, preparing to leave for work as the CEO of a world renowned law firm, Park Legality & Co. In terms of skill, fame and fortune, she was right up there with Joe Jamail Jr and Richard Scruggs. I sat down in my regular spot on the island and watched as the caretaker finished off preparing my food.

"Morning, mom. Morning, Henrietta. What's for breakfast?" I asked, fixing a loose strand of hair.

"Zucchini Apple cake with pecans, medjool dates and a sweet cashew glaze, tofu scramble and soy milk pancakes," Henrietta replied as she placed the food in front of me and my cheek. Grinning, I breathed in the sweet and savoury smells and my lips, immediately digging into my vegan food. I classed myself as a strict vegetation simply because I liked to wear wool, silk and other animal-made materials - except for fur, never fur - which defeated the purpose of being called a vegan. So I ate vegan but dressed vegetarian. 

My mom left with a kiss on my forehead and I was left to finish my breakfast in the company of our chef. Henrietta was more like a mother to me than my own mom in many ways; she cooked for me, she cleaned my room, she stayed up with me to have late night es about my friends and she was always there when I needed her. It's not that my own mother didn't love me - she did, I'm sure she did...she just wasn't home enough to show it. That was more than I could say for my dad. He was an oil tycoon, the President and CEO of a multinational, multibillion oil and gas company called PetroPark that was founded back in 1935 by my great grandfather who'd migrated from South Korea to America. In other words, my family was stinkin' rich and everybody knew it. 

", I'm gonna be late," I muttered, jumping out of my chair and planting a kiss on Henrietta's cheek before darting outside to the grand driveway. Our butler had already parked my white Maserati GranCabrio MC right where it was convenient for me. Taking out my keys, I unlocked my car and slid into the smooth, black leather interior.

I rolled down the hood, enjoying the warmth of the sun beaming down on me. Extracting my Ray-Bans from my bag, I slipped them onto my face and pulled out of the driveway, waving to Henrietta and Arthur - the butler - as I left through the automated gates. Today being Monday and the first day back to school after summer, I assumed my friends would already be there and drove past their houses. It was no secret that we all lived in the richest parts of Dallas, Texas, with my house locating in Preston Hollows.

I pulled up at school and swore under my breath when someone had taken my proclaimed spot. Had it been a Porsche or a Lamborghini, I would've been more forgiving but this was a ing pick up truck! I liked to think I wasn't as materialistic as my elitist peers - I was certainly the most compassionate out of them - but I'd be lying if I said my rich upbringing didn't sometimes come out in my personality. Muttering profanity, I parked in a different spot and put my hood back up, grabbing my bag and getting out. I slammed my car door and stormed to the school entrance. 

"Hey, Penelope!" Someone shouted and I smiled at them, continuing my walk to my locker.

"Hi, Penelope."

"'Sup, Penny?"

"You coming to my party this weekend, Penelope?"

"You look really pretty today, Penelope."

"I saw your summer Instagram posts, Penelope. I can't believe you modelled for Vogue!" 

I flashed a few smiles here and there as I reached my locker, opening it and retrieving my AP Literature and AP Calc BC books. I closed it again and turned around to go to class when a strong body trapped me in my spot, thick arms on either side of me. I plastered a sweet smile on my lips and looked up at Logan Samuels, my boyfriend. Logan's parents had ties with my parents, the sole reason we were together in the first place. My mom had somehow managed to convince me that he and I were a good match - bull. Logan was the reincarnation of the stereotypical jock - brutish and stupid - whereas I was a straight A student, the brains and the beauty...if I may say so myself. 

"Move Logan, I'm gonna be late for class." 

"Is that anyway to speak to your lovely boyfriend?" He pouted, leaning down and catching my lips in a hungry kiss. Despite the fact that I only tolerated him, even if he was my boyfriend, I couldn't deny the boy was good with his mouth. My resistance crumbled and I cupped his cheek, melting into his sturdy frame. 

"No fraternising in school!" A stern voice scolded and I broke away, blushing hard as Mrs Smith impatiently tapped her foot. Logan smirked, going in for another kiss but I pushed him away and scurried off to my AP Literature class. The first period passed quickly, at least to me - I loved school. I know, nerd. But something about acquiring an infinite amount of knowledge just thrilled me and I was not ashamed to admit I also loved homework and studying. I was easily one of the top, if not the best student in the school. Wilson High School was a public school I'd coaxed my parents into letting me attend - they'd wanted me to go to a private, elite school but I'd refused, wanting some diversity in my learning. Wilson High sported both rich and poor, academically challenged and otherwise, black and white, Asian and...not. It was a fruit salad of personalities. The classes were mixed; there were poor students who worked their asses off to get the best grades and rich students who either paid to be let in or got expensive private tutors. I was neither. 

Second period, AP Calculus BC, also flew by and before I knew it, it was the end of period 4 and the lunch bell rang. I exited the classroom, making a stop at my locker before making my way to the cafeteria. It was large and well decorated; think High School Music. A portion of the grand room was elevated, the platform strictly for upperclassman but had been converted to the area for the socially - though not necessarily financially - elite. The Populars, in short. No, I wasn't a cheerleader (though I was friends with a few and loved by them all) but instead I was on the volleyball team. Captain, actually. We had a special table reserved just for us though I usually drifted between groups depending on my mood. 

"I'll buy you lunch, Penelope," a boy I was sure was in my calculus class said and I simply smiled, politely declining. His shoulders slumped and he walked back to his friends who were sniggering at his failure. After purchasing my meal, I carried my tray to my main table and sat down, joining in the pointless conversation between my friends. To be quite honest, I hardly liked any of them apart from Cleo. Stacey and Suyun were grade-A es and the only reason I kept them around was because our fathers all worked together. Cleo Montenegro was the heiress of a multimillion Mexican oil company that her father owned and she was very much in the same situation as me: hated the idea of carrying on the family business but was forced to because it was seen as her 'duty' to do so. Luckily for her, she had a younger, impressionable brother that could be brainwashed by their parents into taking over the company. Me? I was the youngest of two daughters in my family. My older sister, Victoria, had defied my father and pursued a career in orthopaedic surgery. Somewhere along the way, she'd met and had fallen in love with Nate Dawson, a famous NFL player and through him had made a loyal client base of celebrities. She was a world renowned surgeon now as well as my role model. 

"I heard there's a new kid in school. I heard he's really poor. I heard he's in some AP classes, like, what?" Stacey sneered and I rolled