Students are hanging out in there, too, balancing on graves, making out against the sides of mausoleums. Not my thing—though I can appreciate some of the architecture. My eyes wander away from the gothic eeriness of the graveyard, and over to the row of jack-o-lanterns burning on the shore of the lake. It looks dark and endless right now, like one wrong move and you’d go tumbling through the ice-cold depths forever.
A shiver takes over me just seconds before an arm wraps around my waist and yanks me close to a warm, sweaty body.
“You showed up at the after-party,” Zayd crows, clearly already on his way to being drunk. “You’ve got bigger balls than I thought.”
“I hope you didn’t actually think I had balls at all,” I counter, reaching up with a hand to push against his chest. It’s a mistake, putting my bare palm against those hard, inked muscles. My throat gets so tight it’s suddenly hard to breathe. “I have big ovaries, maybe.”
Zayd pauses for a minute, and I can feel his heartbeat underneath the wing tattoos that cover his chest. In the center, there’s a crest of some sort that reminds me vaguely of the Burberry Prep crest with the griffins on either side. And then he howls with laughter and scoops me up in his arms, like he did with Anna back in the gym.
Miranda’s eyes mirror my shock as Zayd carries me over to one of the kegs where Tristan and Creed are watching some of their Inner Circle buddies face off in chugging contests. When they see him holding me, they exchange a quick glance.
“Look who has big ass ovaries!” he shouts, hefting me up in his arms like I weigh nothing. I’m shocked, actually. I know I’m short, but I’m not exactly the thinnest girl in school. “Working Girl came to party.” He spins me around and I automatically reach up to put my arms around his neck, feeling the fine hairs at the base of his scalp tickle against my skin. “Do you dance, Working Girl?”
“Not really,” I reply, but I’m now surrounded by the Idols and their Inner Circle. I feel like I’ve just walked into a trap. Of course, it’s hard to be upset with Zayd’s strong, inked arms under my thighs and around my waist. His body is rock-solid and piping hot. In all the places our bare skin touches, I burn. “I try, for fun, but it’s not pretty.”
“Kind of like you,” Harper interjects, dressed as a—and I don’t use this word lightly because there’s really nothing wrong with being a slut—slutty princess. She has a crown, a scepter, and a puffy skirt that just barely covers her underwear. The top is pink with a plunging neckline, and she’s covered head to toe in sparkles. I hate to admit it, but she looks good in the outfit.
Tristan stands beside her, dressed in a sharp as hell suit, all tailored lines and creases that could cut. I’m not sure what he’s supposed to be until he sees me looking at him and smiles, a slow awful parting of his lips that reveals two expertly placed fangs in his mouth. Vampire, how creative. Only … the sight actually makes my heart palpate just a little.
Creed is dressed in a blood-red shirt, tight black pants, boots, and an eye patch. Pirate. I think the sword at his side might actually be real. He studies me like an insect that needs to be pinned, wings forever stilled, encased behind glass. Scary.
“I don’t remember you being invited to this party,” Becky spits out, dressed in a matching outfit to Gena Whitley. I think they’re both supposed to be genies, but all they’re wearing are see-through flowy pants, top knots, and bras covered in sequins, so I’m not sure. “Was she invited, Harper?”
“Everyone’s invited to this party,” Zayd shouts with a hoot, and half the crowd cheers along with him. I think most of the people here tonight are too drunk to hate me. Miranda and Andrew hover nearby, a part of the Inner Circle but this freaking close to being pushed out of it. “Everyone’s invited,” Zayd repeats, spinning me around, and then carrying me through the crowd, toward the bonfire and the dance party happening at its edges.
He sets me down and then stumbles a little, using my shoulder for leverage.
Zayd blinks green eyes up at me, and then squints.
“Do you want to go swimming?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for me to answer, raising his fist in the air with a shout that draws the other students in. He grabs my hand and takes off for the dock, but I pull away at the last second, watching in disbelief as he jumps in with a dozen other partygoers. My heart skips a few beats as I wait for them all to surface from the inky blackness, but they do, bobbing up like apples in a barrel.
Zayd pulls himself out of the water, soaking wet, his green hair plastered to either side of his face. He’s grinning as he stands up, towering over me with water dripping everywhere.
“You really are pretty with that red hair,” he says, and then he cups my face in two wet, cold hands and leans in, pressing his lips against mine. There’s the initial shock from the cold water, and then the strange realization that I’m kissing some guy I barely know, a guy that hasn’t been all that nice to me to begin with. But then his lips turn to ardent heat against mine, stirring up strange feelings in my belly.
For the briefest of instances, his tongue sweeps mine, and I feel like I’m melting.
But then someone pulls Zayd back and shoves him back into the water. He comes up laughing as I stand there with my lips parted, cheeks burning. I turn and make my retreat while Zayd’s friends splash him and pretend to push him under. Probably not the safest game drunk and in the dark, but there’s not a chance in hell that any one of them will listen to me.
“Did I just …” Miranda starts, and I grimace, noticing that Andrew’s also staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Did you just kiss Zayd Kaiser?”
“I … have no idea,” I whisper, but of course, I do. I can still feel the tip of his tongue, scalding as it slid against my own. “He’s drunk off his ass,” I add, but Miranda’s still staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“True,” she hedges, shrugging her thin shoulders. “Whatever. He does that to everyone when he’s plastered. I once saw him kiss John Hannibal on the lips after too many beers. Then they got into a fistfight and Tristan had to break them up.”
My heart sinks a bit, but I push the feeling away. Zayd didn’t kiss me because he has any feelings toward me. It’s just something he does when he’s drunk. Obviously. I mean, we don’t even get along. I didn’t even want to kiss him.
Miranda, Andrew, and I get sodas from the cooler next to the parking lot and carry them into the cemetery. Someone’s lit candles, and there’s a group gathered around the base of one of the graves. Tristan Vanderbilt sits on top of it with a girl in his lap, one arm around her waist, the other stroking her knee.
He’s telling a ghost story of some sort, his voice so low that I can’t quite make it out. We avoid their little group, which includes Harper and Becky, and meander through the rest of the graveyard, fingers brushing across the worn tops of headstones as we read off names and dates.
“Boo,” Creed drawls when we come around a corner and find him sitting with a few other students, a joint in his hand. He doesn’t even bother to hide it as I stare at him, lifting it to his lips and taking a drag. His blue eyes are narrowed to slits as he frowns at me before switching his attention to Miranda. “You aren’t getting into any trouble, are you?” he asks, and she gapes at him.
“Asks he who has a beer in one hand and a joint in the other? Are you kidding me?” Miranda puffs out her chest as her brother comes to stand beside her, glancing first at Andrew and then back at me again. “Don’t get all preachy on me, Creed. You’re my twin, not my older brother.”
“So that means I can’t protect you?” he asks, still looking at me. “Why are you even hanging out with this girl? Nobody likes it. If it weren’t for me, you’d be committing social suicide.” He hands the joint over to Andrew, and after a split-second of hesitation, he takes it, moving away from Miranda and me to sit with his friends. He gives me an apologetic sort of look, but it’s okay, I understand.
“She’s a good person, unlike some of the other people in this school.” Miranda turns to leave and Creed grabs her arm. When she snaps a look over her shoulder, his face hardens but he lets go. “I bet Mom would agree with me. If she had a choice, she’d swap Marnye for you in a heartbeat.” The edge of Creed’s mouth lifts up in a snarl, but he doesn’t say anything. “Do your new friends know you used to be bullied when we lived in Grenadine Heights? I’d think you, at least, would know better.”
My eyes widen as Creed grits his teeth, but then Miranda’s grabbing my arm and dragging me away from their little group.
“Andrew, fucking traitor,” she grumbles as we head for the exit. I know I shouldn’t look back as we leave, but I do, catching Tristan’s gray gaze on me. He tracks me as I go, even as he’s got a girl straddling his lap, his hands cupping her ass.
Gross.
In their natural element, these guys are even worse than they are at school.
The rest of the night, I make it a priority to avoid them. Miranda helps, showing me where to find extra pumpkins, knives, and candles. We carve jack-o-lanterns, sip apple cider, and eat miniature candy bars from an orange bowl. As long as I steer clear of the Idols, everything is fine.
Reaching up to touch what’s left of my hair, I cringe.
Too bad that’s not an option most days.
If I want to stay here, I’m going to have to fight for my own space.
I just hope it’s a fight I can actually win.
The next day, I take the off-campus pass Ms. Felton gave me, have one of the academy’s cars take me into town, and buy a box of rose gold hair dye. Since the shower I took this morning washed most of the blood-red out, it takes just fine, and I find that when I look in the mirror … I actually like it.
Take that, Becky Platter, I think, flicking off the bathroom light and heading for the mixed media room to play the academy’s pedal harp. Bet I’m the only student practicing their instrument tonight.