I bite my lower lip. Miranda (who still isn’t here yet) and I take the number three spot while Tristan and Harper are in first place. Even though I hate to admit it, keeping up with Tristan on an academic level is tough. Guess he’s smarter than he looks.
“Tristan and I are doing well together. What right do you have to separate us?” Harper runs her tongue along her lower lip as she scowls.
“A right that was earned with three doctorates and time spent tutoring royalty in Europe. You are not the most special person in this class, Miss du Pont. You’re relying on Mr. Vanderbilt to carry your partnership. Same with Miss Reed and Miss Cabot, who I see has chosen not to join us today.” I cringe a little when Miranda stumbles into the class late, tripping as she struggles to make her way down the steps and slide into the seat next to mine. “Ah, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence I see.”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda whispers as Mrs. Z points from her to Harper.
“Pair up.”
“What?!” Harper’s got her pterodactyl screech thing going on again.
“Mr. Vanderbilt, Miss Reed, you’re paired up.” She continues down the line, directing students together. Harper’s still gaping when Miranda gets up to sit beside her. Tristan slides onto the stool next to me, his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t seem nearly as bothered as Harper.
“This must be your worst nightmare, huh?” I ask, and he slides those gray eyes of his in my direction. A smile grabs the edge of that wicked mouth of his.
“My worst nightmare? Hardly. More like yours.” Tristan turns to look at me, reaching out to straighten my tie. His fingers brush across the tops of my breasts, and my breath leaves me in a rush. Harper is staring at us, eyes flaming, like I’m the girl standing between her and her intended future fiancé. Ironically, I might be the only girl in the class that Tristan hasn’t slept with. “If we didn’t have our little bet, I’d destroy you.” He pauses, considering. “Although I suppose that somehow, even with your piss poor public school education, you excel academically. I figured you were fucking some of the professors, but I don’t imagine you run to Mrs. Z’s tastes.” He glances toward the front of the room where Harper is now standing, arguing with Mrs. Z in hushed, angry tones.
“That’s such an ignorant, misogynistic thing to say, I’m not even going to comment.” I open my laptop and download next week’s lab materials, opening the documents up and scanning the experiment as Tristan watches me.
“How do you do so well? If you’re not screwing anyone, then what is it? Pity? Affirmative action?”
“Try hard work and determination,” I snap, slamming the top on my computer closed. My eyes meet Tristan’s, but it’s hard to hold his stare. He’s just so … ugh. He’s got this cavalier attitude toward me that started on day one. Also, he’s too pretty for his own good. The worst part is that he’s fully aware of his looks. “Getting into this school was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I spent my entire eighth grade year gunning for this scholarship and this position.”
“I’ve spent my entire life working to get into this school.” Tristan stares down at me from eyes that are the color of the stormy sky above the sea, a flat gray with incoming clouds, thick with thunder and flickering with lightning. “For four generations, the Vanderbilts have taken valedictorian at Burberry Prep. If that’s your goal, I suggest you move to a different school.”
“Last I checked, I was still number one in the first year class,” I quip, and his face tightens. But Harper’s finally stomped up to sit next to Miranda, seething, her fingers digging into her pale thighs so tightly that I can see red marks. Mrs. Z starts her lecture, and I pull out my tablet to take notes.
Tristan doesn’t speak to me the rest of the day, but I know he heard me.
And I know he means to fight back.
Come January, I am so screwed.
On Friday, Zayd appears at my door, slipping in before Miranda and Andrew get a chance to close it.
“You were not invited in here,” I say, but he ignores me, green eyes taking in my friends without interest, and then flicking over to me.
“No, but I have something I want from you.” He pauses and raises both eyebrows, his uniform completely unbuttoned, tie loose and lopsided. He’s stuck a pin through the lapel on the jacket, obscuring the Burberry Prep crest. “I’m collecting on our little bet. And I want to do it at Becky Platter’s party tonight.”
My cheeks flame, and Andrew frowns. Miranda crosses her arms under her breasts and glares at Zayd. She’s in the Inner Circle, a member of the prestigious Burberry Bluebloods, she’s allowed to do that. Her connection to Creed makes her invincible. As long as he’s in power, so is she.
“Where is Becky having her party? Because I wasn’t invited.” Miranda glances over at Andrew, and he sighs.
“She didn’t tell me about it either.”
“Naw, because you two are always up here in the Brothel.” Zayd scoops a handful of peanuts from the bowl on my counter. “She’s telling everyone you three are in some sort of fucked-up ménage relationship, and that you’ve all got chlamydia or something. Or was it gonorrhea?” He pauses to pop the peanuts into his mouth, eyes darkening. “Here’s the thing: I want to bang Becky Platter. She responds well to jealousy, and you know, she freaking hates you, Charity. Come to the party, dance with me a little, and then kiss me.”
My mouth opens and then snaps closed.
“These bets are stupid,” Miranda snaps, pushing blond hair back from her face. She looks just like Creed when she does that. “This is why I’ve never joined the Infinity Club. It’s not worth it.”
“The Club is so much more than that, and you know it.” Zayd smiles at me, and then lifts his shirt, showing off his infinity tattoo. “So fucking mysterious, right? Girls always ask me about it when they’re going down on me.” He drops the fabric, and I frown. I’m not impressed.
“Aren’t you worried that I know too much?” I ask dryly, my heart pounding. The last thing I want to do tonight is party—especially not with Zayd. And kiss him? I mean, it wouldn’t be our first kiss. The one on Halloween might’ve been though if Zack and I hadn’t had exactly one incredible make out session before we broke up.
“Uh, why? My dad pays over a million for security a year. If you started running your mouth, he could just, like, send his goons after you.” Zayd reaches up and musses with his hair. He wears a lot of eyeliner which bothers the hell out of Miranda. I haven’t admitted it to her yet, but I think he looks really good with it. Makes his emerald eyes pop. “Party’s at Becky’s parents’ place, about an hour from here. Her folks only use that house when they’ve got a horse competition or what the hell ever. She says it’ll be dead, no teachers, no police, in the middle of nowhere.”
“Guessing the dress code is per the usual: slutty, short, and tight?” Miranda asks.
“Preferably,” Zayd says, chuckling. He sits down on my bed like he intends to wait for me. He crosses his feet at the ankles, and I realize he’s wearing boots instead of loafers. So this is his change of clothes for the party. He notices me looking and gestures with his chin. “Couple of other schools might show up tonight. I want to represent.” That’s when I notice what his pin says: Idol. Wow, how subtle.
“I’ll wear my uniform with some sneakers then,” I say and Zayd groans, pushing up from my bed and going straight for my wardrobe again. “Excuse you, we are not friends. Get your hands out of my freaking clothes.” Zayd tosses a tight black tank top at me, grabs my leather jacket next, and then steals my red Prada heels from Halloween.
“Put this shit on with your skirt.”
“I’m not wearing heels to a party. I can barely walk in them.” I dump the pile on the bed, but maybe I will wear the tank and jacket. The crisp white academy blouses can be stifling, and they’re expensive as hell. When I picked up my uniforms from the tailor, I had to sign a zeroed out bill. It was for over five thousand dollars. “And besides, our bet was for a kiss, not a party.”
“Tell you what,” Zayd says, coming over to stand in front of me. I keep thinking of him as shorter than Creed and Tristan because he’s always slouching. Standing straight in front of me like he is now, I can see that that’s not true at all. I crane my neck to look up at him. “You come to the party, dance with me, and I’ll consider that payment for the kiss.”
“You’re really interested in Becky Platter, huh?” I ask, but all Zayd does is laugh.
“Interested?” Miranda echoes, shaking her head. “He just wants to check her name off his bingo list.” Zayd doesn’t deny her accusations, sliding his phone from his pocket and tapping out a text message.
“Yeah, so? Becky’s a bitch anyway. What do you care if I bag her?” he lifts his green eyes up from the screen and cocks a brow. “You should hear the crap she talks behind your back, Working Girl.”
“What other people think about me is none of my business,” I say, and Miranda grins. That’s a RuPaul quote right there. “But fine. I’ll go to the party, dance for a few songs, and my obligation is cleared?”
Zayd gives me a thumbs-up, and a smirk, glancing over at Andrew. He hasn’t said much, just leaned against the wall, watching our exchange. Maybe … he’s jealous that I’m going out with Zayd tonight? I don’t know. I mean, not that I encourage fragile masculinity and over-the-top jealousy, but a little proof that someone cares is never a bad thing, right?
“What about you, Payson? Take Miranda and make it a double date?” Zayd leers at him and reaches up to twist tufts of his sea green hair into spikes.
“I think I’d rather stay home tonight, if that’s okay with you?” Miranda asks, answering for Andrew. “If you need my support, I’ll come, but nobody in the Inner Circle will defy Tristan’s orders.”