We're both staring at each other now, panting hard, quivering with need.
"Marnye!" I hear Miranda call my name cheerfully from the study area, and I know she's found our stuff. She'll know we're here.
It's like a bucket of ice water's been thrown over the two of us. Creed jerks back and turns, raking his fingers through his hair and cursing. Me, I shuffle back to the table and find Miranda leafing through one of the old yearbooks I pulled out.
She glances up and then crinkles her brow.
When she sees her brother close behind me, holding a book over his crotch, her brows practically go up to her hairline.
"What the hell are you two doing in here?"
"Discussing how you've always copied me, even as a child." Creed sweeps his bookbag up and levels a devastating glare on his sister. Most people would shrink back from that look, but Miranda barely blinks. She must be used to it.
“Because I wanted my hair cut short when we were five? That's me 'always'”—she makes little quotes with her fingers—“copying you?”
"I'm just saying, the first girl I've ever truly liked and you decide to go after her, too? You're the epitome of annoying little sister."
Miranda chucks a pencil at him, and he dodges, still covering his crotch.
"I'm ten minutes younger than you, you prick!"
Creed sweeps blond hair from his forehead, in the boys' version of a hair flip. He is disturbingly good at it.
"I have to go. Try not to make-out with my future girlfriend while I'm gone." He moves past us, and Miranda tosses another pen at him. This one nails him right in the back of the neck, and he pauses briefly to turn another earthshaking glare on her before he spins back around and gets the hell out of Dodge.
My body is on fucking fire.
Being seventeen sucks.
"What were you two doing in the shadowy aisles, hmm?" Miranda purrs, but I just sit down in the chair with a huff.
"Just kissing," I say, but I wonder … if we hadn't been in the library, and we hadn't been interrupted, how much farther would we have gone?
With off-campus privileges restored, it's actually a possibility for us all to take a little trip into town together. I'm so nervous when we meet in the front courtyard … until I spot Zayd pretending to hump the statue of the stag. Or maybe he's trying to ride it? I'm not sure, but I'm already covering my mouth to hold back a snort of laughter when I walk around to the front of the fountain.
"Don't make a bet you know you can't win," Zayd crows, howling with laughter as he scrabbles up onto the deer's back, and gets out his phone. It's Saturday, and I swear, it's like an electronics frenzy sweeps the school when we all get our phones back. The addiction is real. He takes several pics of himself, and then notices me standing there.
"Zayd Warren Kaiser," I say, putting my hands on my hips. I've got on tight, dark skinny jeans, red leather boots that I stole from Miranda's closet, and a tight, corset-like top with little buttons down the front. I feel good today, confident, but now that I'm standing out in the brisk fall breeze, I'm wondering why I didn't bring a jacket. "What are you doing up there?"
"Uh, riding the stag?" he says, and then cringes when Ms. Felton's voice snaps out.
"Mr. Kaiser, climbing the courtyard statue is worth two marks. Get down from there right now." She marches up to the brick half-wall that surrounds the fountain and crosses her arms over her chest.
Zayd hops off the statue, but whatever stupid bet he just made, he's clearly won. Creed is scowling, so I'm figuring he was on the opposite end of this particular bet.
"Miss Reed," Ms. Felton says, noticing me standing there. She glances over at Creed and Zayd, and then pauses as Tristan Vanderbilt strolls in, dressed in black jeans, black boots, and a crisp black button-down with the sleeves pushed up. I do my best not to drool. "Is everything okay out here?"
"Everything's A-OK," Zayd says, swinging an arm around my neck. He presses a kiss to my cheek, and I raise a brow. "We're all friends now."
Ms. Felton doesn't look convinced.
In fact, even Mrs. Amberton pulled me aside the other day to check with me. Because I work so hard to block the bad memories, sometimes it's hard to remember that the entire academy staff saw me humiliated so badly. Nobody missed the Idols throwing my panties onto the stage. Nobody.
"I'm okay, Ms. Felton," I reassure her. Every day I hang out with these guys, I wonder though. What would happen if they betrayed me again? What would I do? But what I've realized now is that I'm so much stronger than I was before. No matter what they do to me, I can survive it. I can thrive.
And they better not because the second time around, my vengeance would be a hundredfold.
"Well, if you ever need privacy to discuss anything, you can see me in my office." She gives Zayd a very stern look and then heads for the doors of Tower One. The Towers are so beautiful, so medieval looking, their white stone sides stretching up into the sky. Twelve floors each, and the home of every single student in the school but me.
"That was awkward," Zayd says, as he takes his arm from my shoulders, and I glance between him and Creed.
"So … what were the stakes this time?" I ask dryly. The crossed out infinity tattoo on my hip seems to burn with hatred. I haven't even begun to work on Harper and Co. but when I do, they'll know it. I'm just trying to get situated. Third year is hugely important when it comes to applying for colleges. In fact, I'm already preparing for that whole event, all the financial aid forms, the scholarship applications (I have no problem being known as the scholarship girl in college if it means I get to go), and the essays.
By the end of this year, I need to have my schools selected, and my applications in before summer's over. It seems so strange that my entire fate rests on the decisions I make now. It could literally alter the entire course of my life. Seems like a heavy burden to place on a teenager, but what do I know?
"I now owe him back the signed Gibson SG John Lennon and George Harrison guitar that I won from him in a previous bet," Creed says with a sigh, and Zayd grins.
"Don't bet a trickster," he says, and then lifts his phone to show me that riding the stag was not the only thing he had to do. No, he was most definitely humping it.
I roll my eyes, and then feel a little thrill as a big, warm body sidles up next to me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I find Zack in jeans, a t-shirt, and his varsity jacket. Actually, I was just given one myself for cheerleading. That's what I should've worn to beat the cold.
Zack's dark eyes take me in, and I shiver as a cold breeze sweeps dry leaves into the courtyard, swirling them around my feet. He notices, too, and it only takes him a split-second to shed his jacket and put it over my shoulders.
"Zack," I start, but he shakes his head at me.
"Take it."
"It's cold out," I protest, but he's clearly already made up his mind, crossing his arms over his broad chest and staring at me until I sigh and slip my arms back into the sleeves.
"Shall we?" Tristan asks, as Windsor steps out of Tower Three's door and gives a little wave.
"I thought Miranda was coming?" I ask, but Creed shakes his head.
"Check your phone." He points at me, and I struggle to push back memories from that day in the library last week. Ugh. I pull my phone from the little harp-shaped purse that Lizzie got me for my birthday, and take a quick glance at my texts.
Volleyball thing came up! I'm so sorry! She's added a bunch of crying, heart, and praying hand emojis, and I smile. Andrew already had to bow out to work on an essay he's struggling with, and Lizzie ended up paired with Myron on a science project they have to finish.
So … it's just me and the guys.
We're off to the town of Lujo again to collect parts for our Halloween costumes, have some lunch, and maybe visit the bookstore there. It's one of the oldest in California, and Zack teased me by telling me about the building it's housed in: I guess it's both an architect's dream and a history buff's greatest fantasy.
"Are we driving?" I ask, feeling this little hiccup of excitement and nervousness. Students aren't technically allowed to keep or use personal cars without special permission, but we all do it anyway. Doesn't mean we can blatantly speed off down the road. We actually applied for off-campus permits for today, so we could spend the night at the little bed and breakfast in town.
I had no idea I was going with just the guys.
My heart thunders, and I clutch my tiny rolling suitcase that Andrew bought me.
"I ordered a car," Tristan says, fixing the cuffs on his rolled-up shirt. "Parking in Lujo's a nightmare, and the hotel doesn't have its own lot."
"It's a bed and breakfast," I remind him with a smile. "Big difference." He gives me a look, but we're interrupted by a huge white limousine pulling up curbside. The driver gets out and opens the door, and the boys let me get in first.
I end up sitting on the far side, next to a bucket with ice and some chilling champagne.
“That's for us,” Tristan says with a shrug, and even though I’ve seen them drink plenty, it’s always surprising to me how casual they are about it. Most teenagers are content with a six pack of beer, but not the Burberry Prep brats. No, they’re only content with hard liquor, champagne, and good wine. Beer is a last resort. “That is, for those of us who drink. There are sodas, juice, and iced teas in the fridge.”
"Thank you," I quip as Zayd grabs the champagne and pops the cork, making us all jump. I get a glass bottle of unsweetened iced tea, and screw the top off, wondering how Tristan's managed to get us this limo and all this stuff when there's no doubt in my mind that his dad is angry with him.
Creed asks the question before I can.
"How did you get your dad to send a car when he so very clearly wants to murder you?"