“I want to go to Bornstead U,” I blurt, sitting next to Zayd behind the auditorium curtain. I have no idea how he talked me into this, but I’m signing up for the talent show, I guess. Auditions are today because at a place like Burberry Prep, even something as silly as a talent show has to be monitored, graded, and appraised.
“Bornstead, huh?” Zayd says, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. He’s changed his hair color to an ashy-lavender that just begs to be touched. Without thinking, I reach up and run my fingers through it. This horribly embarrassing moan escapes Zayd’s beautiful mouth, and every single person sitting backstage with us turns to look in our direction. My cheeks flush, but I don’t stop touching him. “That’s a ritzy school. You have the grades for it, definitely, but I’m guessing you’d need another scholarship in order to afford it, huh?”
“Pretty much,” I say, but I’ve already started on that. I’ve been forcing myself to spend at least three hours a week in the library’s computer lab so I can submit applications and essays for any scholarship program I can find. “But that’s what I want.”
“Best high school in the country, best university in the country. The sky’s the limit for you, huh, Marnye Reed?” Zayd’s name is called, and he stands up, grabbing his guitar, and leaning down to put his arm on one side of me, our faces so close together I can smell the mint he’s sucking on. “If anyone could do it, it’d be you.” He leans down and puts his cheek against mine. All I want is for him to kiss me, but the asshole pulls back and turns to head onstage.
I sneak up to the break in the curtain to watch as he gets situated at the mic.
Zayd’s emerald eyes glance my way, and he winks.
“Introduce yourself and give a brief explanation of your performance, please,” Mr. Carter says, situated at the same table he sat at when I won first chair for the harp. Zayd sat right near him, and surprised the hell out of me by clapping for my performance. That, I think, was also a very genuine response. It feels good to know that not every moment I enjoyed with the boys was bullshit.
“Zayd Kaiser,” he says, that husky rockstar purr of his melting the panties of every girl in that room—including mine. “And I’ll, uh, be performing a song that I wrote.”
“What’s the name of the song?” Mr. Carter asks, sounding incredibly bored. He has his hand poised above his iPad to type it into some field on a form. Zayd and his music, he’s so much more than that. I fist my hand into the fabric of the black slacks I wore to perform. They’re so unbelievably comfy. If I had time for anything besides school, extracurricular activities, and time with my friends, I’d probably add creating a petition to abolish gender-specific uniform requirements to the list.
“I haven’t named it yet,” Zayd starts, slinging the strap of his guitar over his head and then reaching up to twist some of his gelled hair into spikes.
“Pick something, please.” Mr. Carter looks up and raises an eyebrow as Zayd glances over at me again.
“How about …” He turns back to our music teacher and grins. “Charity?”
Mr. Carter nods, and Zayd sighs, clearing his throat, closing his eyes, and exhaling. When he opens them again, he’s got his performer vibe going strong. His inked fingers strum the guitar, and he starts this beautiful, sweet-sad little melody that makes my heart thump.
Watching his tattooed fingers tease the instrument to life gives me chills.
“That first look in the morning, such a honeyed sweetness, the only thing I’m living for.” Zayd continues to strum, getting into the song and biting his lower lip as he plays. “Nothing could never take away the first blush of morning, the glossed gold of her hair; the way she hates me makes me want her.”
“This is fucking stupid,” I hear Harper snort behind me, but there are too many teachers back here for her to do a damn thing. I’m not concerned.
“There’s no girl that burns so bright as Charity, no sunray that gives off so much light. Summer storms could never sway me, that sweet-hot rain, the taste of her warm mouth.” He closes his eyes and strokes his guitar like I wish he’d stroke me … Eek. Did I just think that?! I did. I did, and I’m not ashamed. “So complex, so un-confusing. Just the way she likes it, the whole world as her oyster, the everything I need.” He draws this last word out, and I swear, I’m swooning. Sucking my bottom lip under my teeth, I wait in tense anticipation for him to finish the song. I want to kiss him so damn bad right now.
Someday soon I’m going to an Afterglow concert, I think, trying to imagine Zayd with an electric guitar, dressed to the nines, putting on a full-blown performance for an adoring crowd. I’ve looked up some of his previous shows on YouTube, but as impressive as they are, I bet it’s nothing compared to seeing him live. There’s this charismatic energy he brings to a room that’s impossible to convey over media. Impossible.
When Zayd finishes the song, I find my feet moving before I can stop myself.
I end up on the stage, throwing my arms around his neck. Several girls that are sitting in the auditorium seats boo, but I ignore them. The inked asshole that I hated, then liked, then hated, and now … whatever it is that I feel for him, he grabs me around the waist and kisses me like he really believes all those things from his song.
We kiss for so long that Mr. Carter has to tap the microphone and ask us to stop.
I’d be embarrassed if I weren’t so elated.
My turn is next, and one of the first-year orchestra students wheels my harp onto the stage.
I sit down to play John Thomas’ Watching the Wheat (an obscure piece from the eighties—told you I was far from hip), and I swear, the harp has never sounded prettier.
I’ve always played with my heart. It must just be that my heart is fuller now.
To think that has something to do with these boys … is terrifying.
I’m going to have to be careful to keep all these new feelings safe.
“They’re all performing at the talent show,” Miranda says, standing in the courtyard with water bubbling in the fountain behind her. She has a nice, high ponytail, black shorts, and a white razorback top with the Burberry Prep logo on it. Fall break is here, and it’s like first year all over again: Miranda is off to a volleyball camp, and Charlie is at a job in Napa. I don’t think he should be working right now, but bills have to be paid.
So I told him about the money, the poker money.
I called him because it felt cowardly to text it, to reveal I had damn near eighty grand in an account that I’d barely touched. Of course, Charlie being Charlie, he refused to take it. He told me to save it for college.
I cross my arms over my chest, and sigh. I’m beyond frustrated. Dad should let me come home and take care of him. Instead, I just got Harry Potter’d again and left at Hogwarts. Only, instead of magic, this school is full of gorgeous boys. Five of them. And they’re all staying for the break to attend more of their stupid Infinity Club parties.
The difference this time, is that Lizzie is here, too.
“What?” I ask, blinking and refocusing on my bestie. We haven’t talked about … the kiss. Not in a while. I’m not sure if she’s given up or if she’s still interested. Frankly, I’m scared to find out. I don’t want romantic feelings to come between us and our friendship. If I’m honest, it’s the same issue with the boys. For four of them—if not all five—this relationship we’ve just started won’t work out. Will we still be friends after? It scares me to think that we won’t because I enjoy their company so damn much.
“I should’ve made Andrew stay here with you,” Miranda murmurs, sighing as the bus pulls up and her coach calls for the girls to climb on. “Who needs an overseas trip to Tokyo when you could be here, at gorgeous Burberry Prep, home of a serious Infinity Club throwdown?” She pauses her rant, leans over, and gives me a big kiss on the cheek. “Stay safe, don’t do anything stupid, and try not to get killed by Harper before I get back, okay?”
“What did you mean about the talent show?” I ask before she pulls away. She shrugs her shoulders, tosses her pony, and then gives me a look.
“If you don’t think your new beaus are going to fuck that shit up, you’ve got another thing coming.” Miranda gives me a wink and bounces off to join her team, leaving me standing there and wondering.
If the old adage, an eye for an eye holds true …
“You’re going to dump paint on them while they perform, aren’t you?” I ask, finding Tristan and Creed waiting for me near the stained glass doors that lead into the chapel. We’re still trying to stick with the chaperone thing. If my boys assaulted the entire Company on their own, then what’s going to happen if the entire Company finds me alone?
“Paint?” Tristan asks, sounding bored. His gray eyes take me in appreciatively, and he lets a naughty little smirk take over his mouth.
“Definitely not paint,” Creed drawls, his white-blond hair catching the light. “That much I can promise.” I give him a look, but he just gives me a slow, little wink. “No lies, right?”
“No outright lies, I’m sure, but you’re clearly running circles around me.”
“Are we, Creed?” Tristan asks, tilting his head to one side. “Running circles around her, I mean?”
“Maybe,” Creed replies slowly, and I think what a deliciously evil pair they make. If they spent as much time working together as they do competing with each other, they’d be a serious force to reckon with. I’m wondering if I’m starting to see the beginning of that right here. Creed smiles at me, this deadly twist of lips that makes my heart pound. “But fuck that. We have more important things to worry about, like how we’re going to spend an entire week off school together.”
“I thought you had Infinity Club crap to keep you busy?” I ask, and the two Idol boys exchange a glance. They both look so handsome in their uniforms, I don’t even mind that they have to wear them every day. Although it’s always a treat to see what clothes they pick when we’re outside of academy time.