“Windsor?” I ask with a forced laugh. “Pretty sure he's joking.” But then I think about the feel of his arm around my waist, and I get lightheaded. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Andrew says, glancing over at Lizzie. She nods and gives me a sympathetic smile. “And Tristan, he's practically salivating.”
My eyes meet Lizzie's, but she manages to keep her smile.
“Like I told you before, anything I had with him was in the past … with any of them, really.”
“But you still love Tristan?” My heart stutters like crazy as I wait for her answer. I can't believe I actually asked that question aloud. For months now, I've told myself it was better not to know, to just let things play out as they might, but … I need to know.
Lizzie sniffles and then nods once, sharply.
“Don't worry though,” she blurts suddenly. “I'm with Marcel now. My dad hates Tristan's dad, and vice versa. We're an impossibility.”
“But you love him anyway?” Andrew asks, tucking the fingers of his right hand into the pocket of his red academy jacket. Like me, he hasn't bothered to change.
“Yes.” Lizzie is staring right at me, but I don't know how to respond or what to say.
Andrew whistles and shakes his head, pausing as Gary Jacobs passes by, his eyes following the other boy until he disappears into the hallway. There's a longing there that's echoed in Lizzie's gaze. Andrew turns back to me, like he's waiting for me to say something.
“Okay,” I say, and Andrew lifts his brows up.
“Okay?” he echoes, glancing over at Lizzie and then turning back to me. “What does that even mean? Do you like Tristan, too?”
“Me?” I choke out, because … I haven't really let myself think about that too hard.
No lies, damn it. Not even to yourself! I repeat, clenching my hands so tight, I make little crescent marks in my palms with my nails.
When Tristan touches me, my heart races. When he looks at me, I feel lightheaded. When he's not being a jerk to me—which is rare—I want to swoon. Do I like him? The king of the school? The ultimate asshole among assholes?
“Shit,” I curse, feeling my face get hot, and Andrew grins.
“I knew it,” he whispers as I cover my face with my hands.
“I like him,” I murmur, feeling this sensation ripple through me as it hits home. “I do.”
Pulling my hands away, I look back up to find Lizzie and Andrew watching me.
“It's fine, really,” Lizzie says with a sad smile. “I won't sabotage you. Like I said, I'm with Marcel …”
“Tristan likes you back,” I blurt, even though I'm kicking myself all the while. No lies. No fucking lies. That is going to be a hard and shitty rule to follow. “I can tell. He's never gotten over you.” Lizzie glances away and shrugs her shoulders loosely.
“Maybe, but … there's no future for us. If you like him, you should go for him.”
“The question is: who do you like best?” Andrew asks me, and I stare at him with this helpless hole opening inside my chest. Who do I like best? I have to choose?
“I have no idea,” I whisper, and then we all pause as Zack comes up to stand with us. He looks between the three of us, Lizzie and me with flushed faces, and then he raises his dark brows.
“Everything okay in here?” he asks, his voice a deep, smooth rumble that vibrates my bones. I love it, and I like him.
“Everything's fine,” I say as I exhale and try to push those feelings aside for now. Harper and Becky have just entered the room and are staring at me. I have more pressing matters to deal with, but I can't help but wonder who would envy me over this.
Having five guys—maybe five, because Windsor is … well, Windsor—interested in me is not a blessing, it's a curse.
How the fuck am I supposed to choose?
The next few weeks are packed with assignments, club meetings—why did I join so many clubs?!—orchestra rehearsals, cheerleading, and almost daily struggles between us and the ex-Bluebloods.
The crowd on the yacht was clearly split, but intimidated as hell by the boys.
For now, the Plebs seems content to watch. The only bullying I receive anymore is from the girls and their cronies. Everyone else is too scared to mess with me. Still, it's hard to say what's going to happen if push comes to shove. Will the general population side with us … or them.
“Miranda!” I call out, racing up to her in the hall. It's already October first, and I feel like we need to do some Halloween costume planning. It's going to be hard to beat last year's macaron outfits.
It's not like we haven't been talking, but there's clearly an elephant in the room. That kiss …
She's walking with Creed—we're still sticking to the pairs rule—and I've got Andrew trailing along behind me.
“Hey,” she says with a smile, and I swear, as soon as I step between the twins, I can feel the tension.
“Do you have time for dinner in The Mess?” I ask, and she nods. I give Creed a look, and he returns it with heavy-lidded bedroom eyes. “Do you mind walking Andrew back to the Towers? We'll meet you there later, and you can walk me home.” I grin, and he nods once, briefly, before pulling away.
The two of us head into the dining hall and then pause, looking between the empty Idols' table, and our old spot.
Miranda and I exchange a look.
“We should probably make a stand and claim the table,” she says, and I grin.
“I'd rather sit in our spot, but you're right.” Miranda smiles back at me, and we climb the steps to the dais, sitting down and checking the menus briefly before ordering.
I'm trying to cut down the amount of meat I eat, so I pick one of the vegetarian recipes: cheesy Spanish stuffed rice poblano peppers. Yum.
Miranda unfolds her napkin in her lap, folds it again, unfolds it.
She's fidgeting.
“Can we talk about the kiss?” I ask, and her gaze snaps up and over to me, mouth gaping.
“No!” she whispers, and I laugh. “Why do you want to talk about that?”
“Is that why you broke up with Jessie?” I ask, and she cringes slightly, tucking white-blond hair behind one ear.
“Maybe.”
More silence. Our waiter comes to put our drinks down: iced tea for me and lemonade for Miranda.
I smooth my palms down the plaid pleats of my academy skirt.
“Things don't have to be weird, you know. Zack and Creed have asked me out, and … we're doing okay.” That's not exactly a lie. Things are awkward, but we're managing. I haven't stopped hanging out with them. Actually, I'm hanging out with the guys more than I ever have before, even more than first year when they were trying to woo me with the bet.
“I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I shouldn't have told you.” She glances my direction with her ice-blue eyes, and I smile.
“It's always worth it to say something,” I tell her, and I really mean that. “I'm … not about making any decisions right now. I just want to deal with this Harper and Infinity Club stuff, and keep my grades up.”
“For what those boys did to you, they should let you date them all until you make up your mind,” Miranda says with a sigh, grabbing her lemonade and popping the straw in her mouth. They're biodegradable straws now, and dissolve in hot water. Miranda did a whole project on the environmental impact of straws last year for our bio class, and part of that was petitioning the schoolboard to make a change, which, fortunately, they did. “If you aren't going to pick me,” she pauses and smiles softly, “then at the very least, know that I am one hundred percent Team Creed.”
“I …” My cheeks flush with pink. “We're not talking marriage or anything, just high school crushes.”
“Yeah, so? Some love lasts forever.” Miranda turns to look at me. “My parents met in high school. My mom used to report my dad for smoking pot behind the school during class, and he hated her guts. They've been together ever since. I'm pretty sure Creed thinks your his soul mate or something.”
I snort, but Miranda turns to look at me with one brow raised.
“He mentions the hot tub at least once a week—”
I cut her off by reaching over and putting my hand across her mouth.
“Do not even go there,” I whisper, taking my hand back. Miranda watches me carefully for a moment, glancing at the door to see if anyone else might be coming in. There's a group of first year girls in the far corner, but they're all huddled together, and too new to cause any trouble.
She looks back at me.
“Um, I'm not sure if I should be telling you this …”
“Miranda, any sentence that begins with I'm not sure if I should be telling you this gives pretty good indication that you really shouldn't be telling me anything.”
“No, let me say this,” she continues, sighing, and reaching up to sweep some blond bangs from her forehead. “Creed is going to fucking kill me …”
“Miranda!” I blurt, but she glances up sharply, and I can see that I'm going to hear this, whether I like it or not.
“Creed is … well, he's sort of a …” Her voice trails off, and she curses a bit under her breath, unfolding and folding her napkin. When she goes to unfold it for the fiftieth time, I reach out and clamp my hand over hers.
“Stop that.”
“Creed's kind of a … virgin.” Miranda looks right at me as she says it, stealing my breath away.
“Wha … what?!” I chirp so loudly that the first year girls stop talking and turn to gape at us, equal parts fear and envy in their eyes. It's such a different way than I was looked at for the past two years that I'm not sure what to make of it. I reach up subconsciously and touch the opal earrings Creed gifted me for my birthday. I told myself I wasn't going to, but I looked up similar earrings online … and they're worth a lot. Not as much as a car, maybe, but these guys are all so rich, I don't necessarily equate more money spent to better gifts. I snort. “He is not a virgin.”