We head in without incident, the rest of our crew close behind.
Tonight, we're just testing the waters, seeing how the other students react. Never underestimate the power of mob rule.
“What the fuck are you doing on my boat?” Harper snaps, moving in to intercept Tristan. “You're not invited.”
Tristan looks around, snaps his fingers, and then points right at Harper's chest.
“I see bets being made which makes this an Infinity Club party. You do not have the authority to keep me from a Club gathering.” He smiles at her, and I get that shivery feeling across my skin. A spider spinning his web. “So get the hell out of my way.” He shoves past her with his elbow, and we follow along behind him, Harper’s blue eyes tracking the movement of our group.
We take the stairs and find the top deck, surrounding one of the drink tables and claiming it while we gather refreshments.
I stick with soda.
Not only is my dad a recovering alcoholic, but I feel like I need my wits about me. Greg and John are at the opposite end of the deck, watching us. My throat closes up, and I squeeze my hands into fists by my sides.
Windsor notices me watching, his eyes following the path of my gaze.
“They can both swim, can't they?” he asks casually, directing his attention to Zack. My big burly football player friend looks back at the prince, and nods slightly.
“Last year, during the swim test, they passed.”
“No violence,” I repeat, and find myself under the intense stare of a pair of hazel eyes and a pair of brown ones.
“No violence, just a bit of fun and games,” Windsor says, grabbing Creed's attention. “You game, mate?”
“I'm game,” Creed drawls, his anger focusing into a fine point. Instead of turning it on me, however, he levels it on Greg and John, two of the biggest bullies and undeniably, two of the biggest assholes in Burberry Prep—present company included.
“What are you planning on doing?” I ask, as they take off through the crowd. Zayd and Tristan exchange a look before following after, Myron trailing behind them. Miranda grabs my arm and then, when our gazes connect, she sputters a bit and releases me.
Miranda kissed me.
My best friend kissed me.
What am I supposed to do with that?
I love her, but I've never been attracted to girls like that. If I were, I'd pick Miranda in a heartbeat.
“What are they doing?” she asks finally, but I have no idea. I grab her hand and drag her along in the Idols' wake, pausing as I see them fanned out in a half-circle in front of Greg and John, forcing the other two boys to keep their backs to the railing.
“What were you planning on doing?” Tristan demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “You two, and Ben fucking Thresher, Prince of Factory Farmed fucking Chicken. Real classy, to throw your lot in with someone who makes all their money off abused birds.”
“We were just playing around,” Greg says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. John, on the other hand, is sneering like he's not afraid. He should be. Didn't he learn his lesson in the forest last year when he got his ass kicked by Creed?
But I said no violence. The Idol boys—plus Wind and Zack—better not mess that up.
“Put these on,” Windsor says, handing over a pair of orange life vests. “You're going to want them.”
John snatches one from his hand, and then chucks it over the edge.
“Go to hell, you fucking limey piece of shit.”
“Limey?” Windsor repeats with a harsh laugh. “Oh, you bloody idiot.” He grabs John around the waist, and Zack rushes in to help, pinning his hands while Zayd goes for his legs. John is screaming and thrashing, but with three strong guys on him, he doesn't stand a chance. Without ceremony, they chuck him right over the edge and into the water.
John screams on his way down, and I rush over to the railing to see him disappear with a big, foamy splash. My heart stops as I watch the ebony swells, waiting for him to pop up. A few seconds later, he does, flailing and cursing the boys' names before he starts a fairly impressive butterfly stroke towards the shore.
I glance over and find Greg frantically slipping into the life vest. He might be a bully and a jerk, but he's also apparently not as stupid as John. He lets Tristan, Creed, and Myron lift him up together and dump him over the edge. He pops up much faster than John, swiping soggy hair from his face.
Tristan leans over the railing and cups a hand to his mouth.
“If you come back, we'll dump you again. The less trash at this party, the better.” He turns around and scans the gaping Plebeian crowd with a simmering charcoal gaze. There's a lot of murmuring behind cupped hands, but nobody challenges Tristan. They all stay well away from us all.
“Well, milady,” Windsor starts and then pauses as I raise my eyebrows. “Although really, I should say my lady”—he enunciates those two words nice and sharp—“because my diction teacher would slap me with a ruler if she could hear my nonsense.” He waves his hand dismissively and then, surprisingly, steps forward and sweeps an arm around my waist.
I have trouble catching my breath for a moment there, this fevered, frenzied feeling taking over me. Windsor's cheeky, and he flirts with everyone, but I've never had him touch me quite like this.
“Was that an acceptable level of non-violence,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. My pulse begins to race as he leans in toward me, putting his mouth within millimeters of mine. “Because holding back is not one of my specialties.”
“That was okay,” I start. Even though it was a bit more physical than I would've generally gone for, those boys … what they tried to do to me, or pretended they were going to do to me … When I think about it, I get cold sweats. Windsor's touch helps a little.
No. No lies. Not even to myself.
His touch … it helps a lot.
“Good. Because the last thing I'd want to do is upset you.” Windsor leans in and skims a kiss to my cheek, making my pulse thunder. When he pulls back, he's grinning, and I notice the other four boys watching us carefully. Their gazes are rife with tender feelings: jealousy, confusion, possession. I just can’t right now.
I grab Andrew by the hand, and take off, yanking him down the steps and into one of the lounge areas, so I can breathe.
“You're the only person,” I choke out, between panting breaths, “that isn't interested in me or interested in someone I'm interested in or … just plain confusing.” I look up and find Andrew staring at me with sympathy, his blue eyes bemused.
“True,” he says, and then chuckles slightly. “Well, okay, I won't lie, I have a huge crush on Windsor York, but my gay-dar says he's as straight as an arrow.” Andrew sighs wistfully. “And besides that, I'm already engaged …” He glances away, his chestnut hair golden in the yellow lounge lights. It's a palace in here, with custom leather couches, a glass coffee table, and a huge statue that looks like it's plated in gold. It's beyond luxe, and it makes me hate Harper's family even more. If they can afford a yacht like this, maybe they don't need to price the epinephrine injector pens they sell so damn high.
“You should break your engagement,” I tell Andrew as I notice Lizzie coming toward us through the crowd. She pauses nearby, almost hesitantly, and as I look at her, I try to decide if she really is as sweet and genuine as she seems, or if she's the greatest con artist amongst them all. “You should, too,” I tell her, deciding that, even if she is pulling the wool over my eyes, I'm only going to speak the truth.
“Should what?” she asks, stepping into our little circle. She changed into this tight, pale blue dress with sequins that makes her amber eyes pop. Me, I'm just rocking the uniform. I didn't bother to change, I couldn't, not with all those boys in my room. Getting naked with just a thin door between them and us … it was too much.
“Break your engagement,” I tell her, feeling this swell of pride and determination in me. I know who I want to be. I want to be the type of person that puts trust in people. I think that's possible, even without being naïve or gullible. Lizzie stares at me like I've lost my mind. “You're not happy with Marcel Stone. From the little you've said about him, and the brief times I've seen you with him, you don't seem very excited to be engaged.” I glance back at Andrew, and he shrugs his shoulders.
“It's not always that easy,” he whispers back, and I realize then that their money doesn't give them the freedom they think it does. Their blue blood doesn't always mean the grass is greener. Charlie would never force me to marry someone I didn't love. And he sure as hell would never predicate his love on an ultimatum.
Then again, I know not all families work the same. Not all families are glued together by love and trust. Some are built on money and expectations.
“No, it's not easy. I bet it'd make your life a hell of a lot harder.” I exhale and look between the two of them. “You just … both seem so sad sometimes.” I shrug my shoulders, and then move over to the bar to grab another can of soda from a bucket of ice. I forgot mine upstairs just now, and I don't trust the other partygoers not to drug my drink. After all, Andrew did it once and succeeded. “Anyway, I just needed a minute.”
“Because of what happened to John and Greg?” Lizzie asks, and Andrew shakes his head.
“No, because of all those fine guys that are crushing on her.” He grins at me as I give him a look. “What? Come on, there's not a straight or bi girl at this school … or a gay boy … who doesn't envy you right now. Five bully boys brought to their knees by a beautiful working glass girl who doesn't take their shit; it's like a fairy-tale.”
“Five boys …” Lizzie starts, and then I can see her visibly gathering herself together as she forces a smile. “It's true. They all have crushes on you, whether they've said anything to you or not. It isn't just Creed and Zack.”