I try to swallow, but there's a lump in my throat, and I get choked up.
Zayd is quiet for a moment, watching as I tease the earrings with my fingers. It's a thoughtful gift, something that money can't buy. I feel like Zayd's learned at least something from spending time with me. Maybe I should try to learn something from him, too? Everybody has some lesson that's worth teaching.
“And then—I'm not sure when, exactly—we all started to … warm up to you, I guess? Must've been just after Halloween, I think, when you marched into that party with bright red hair and a devil costume.” Zayd grins, and I flush. That was a bold move for me, but one that I definitely don't regret. “Anyway, we'd already made the bet, so—”
“With who?” I ask, even though I'm pretty sure the correct grammatical question would be: with whom? Sounds so formal though. Or maybe I'm just nervous, so I'm babbling incoherently in my own brain?
“Harper, Becky, and Anna,” Zayd says, pursing his lips. “Whichever boy won would get a trophy from the girls. If we'd failed, and you hadn't shown up to the graduation gala with anyone, we'd agreed to take the girls on a trip together.” He exhales, and closes his eyes, like the story is painful to tell.
Let me be honest with you: it's painful to hear, too.
“Just before winter formal, the girls made another bet at an Infinity Club party.” He opens his eyes and looks right at me. “They bet each other that they could get you to do what Zack and Lizzie couldn't.”
“What was the prize for that one?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself. I feel suddenly cold, even though it's nice and warm in here. What's my life worth? is what I'm really asking. For Zack, it was his family fortune. For Lizzie … it was simply a sponsorship to the Infinity Club.
So what now? What am I worth now?
“The Blueblood girls made the bet against some of the Plebs.” Zayd chews his lower lip for a second and snaps his fingers, like he's trying to remember names. “Clarissa, maybe? Kiara, before she was in the Inner Circle? I'm not sure. Anyway, the bet lasts until graduation. They're going to keep coming at you until you leave Burberry Prep.”
“The stakes, Zayd,” I choke out, doing my best to keep my breathing even and steady.
“If the Bluebloods win, they get exclusive contracts for their businesses, between them and the businesses of the girls they're up against. If it goes the other way around, there's a pool of money worth about … three million dollars that they'll split, no trust fund BS or strings attached, something they can spend now without their families breathing down their necks.”
Business contracts. Three million dollars.
That's what my life is worth.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper, and then I move to stand up. Zayd grabs my wrist and holds me in place. When I look back at him, I can see his confidence warring with his shame.
“We wanted you to leave Burberry Prep. If you un-enroll, the bet is null and void. That's it. They'll stop. As long as you're there, they'll be relentless.” Zayd stands up and pulls me to him. I'd forgotten how nice it felt to have his inked arms around me. No, no, I didn't forget: I blocked it out. “This goes further than the academy, Marnye. The Infinity Club … it's not all fun and games. People like the du Ponts or the Platters, they're watching their kids' bets. They have a stake in them.”
“Wow. I guess money really is a disease, huh?” I ask, fighting to stay calm, when on the inside, I want to freak out. “These millionaires and billionaires, they have nothing better to do than play around with my life?”
“I'm sorry, Marnye. We … should've just told you what was going on from the beginning.”
“You should have,” I say, but my voice comes out a little shaky. I mean, I'd heard from the boys before that the senior version of the Infinity Club was invested in this, but hearing Zayd say it all aloud, hearing him name the stakes … It's a lot to take in. “Instead, you guys continued to bully me. You made me feel so small, and then you ignored me. You let the others treat me like crap.”
Zayd looks away sharply, that shame creeping up his neck and face. It all makes sense now, the way he pulled away from me, his resistance to being around me. That doesn't make it okay, just … understandable.
“Creed and Tristan, they know you're telling me all this?” Zayd shrugs, and then looks back at me, mouth tight.
“I don't care what they think.” Zayd releases me and steps back, just before the doorknob jiggles, and Miranda calls out to me. I turn away from Zayd, grab my phone, and head outside, pushing the door closed behind me.
“What did he want?” she asks, but I just shake my head, and we go downstairs together.
The party is beautiful, the full indoor-outdoor living of the house brought to life with paper lanterns, tables full of food, and soft but upbeat music. People mill around in swimsuits and expensive gowns both, talking and laughing. For the most part, the crowd is older, but there's a small group of students out back, near the open gate that leads down to the beach.
The boys are all there—Tristan, Creed, Windsor, and Zack—as well as Andrew and Lizzie.
In the corner, huddled together for protection, there's Ben, Harper, and Becky.
“Seeing the three of them standing on my property,” Miranda starts, narrowing her eyes and flipping Harper off when she turns our way, “it's just infuriating. It makes me sick to my stomach. My mother knows the things that girl has done. She knows it, and yet …” Miranda sighs as we pick our way between the party guests. “She can't exactly stand up to the Infinity Club by herself. We might be rich, but sometimes those old money bonds are impossible to break.”
“It's okay,” I say with a slight smile, “I get it.”
Really, I'm standing there thinking that growing up with Charlie in the Train Car in the Cruz Bay Trailer Park was the best thing that ever happened to me. These people are insane. All they care about is money, appearance, and power. There's a total lack of compassion or empathy or care. My stomach starts to hurt again, and I think that at the very least, maybe I made some kind of impact on these boys?
Maybe Tristan, Zayd, Creed, and Zack will think a little differently about how they behave in the future?
“From now on, I'll try to be a better man. It wasn't Marnye’s job to teach me how to be one, but she already has anyway.”
My eyes lock on Zack's as we move across the small stretch of lawn toward him. He smiles at me as we approach, and I take up a position on his right side.
“You and Zayd were up there a long time,” Creed remarks, leaning against the short white fence like he can barely keep himself upright. “Find anything interesting to talk about?” I give him a look, and there must be something to my expression because he quickly stands upright and shuts his mouth.
“We were just discussing Ben Thresher,” Windsor says, enunciating the boy's name to the point that it'd be impossible for him to miss it. “His family owns Thresher Chicken, a big factory farm conglomerate.” The prince tilts his head to one side as he studies me, hazel eyes burning. “You did say you'd like to get Ben before the week was over, didn't you?”
“What—” Tristan starts to say, but there's a sudden hubbub amongst the other partygoers as several cars pull up, one of which is a police car. The other has a man and a woman in plainclothes, but they both very quickly bring up their badges, and nod to be let through the side gate.
We all watch as they make their way straight over to Ben.
“What was you said?” Windsor asks, drawing my attention away from the spectacle and back to him. “Hang them with their own rope?” The detectives—because that must be what they are—start talking to Ben. In the meantime, several other cars and vans pull up, and out climb news reporters with cameras rolling.
“Hang them with their own rope,” I repeat in awe, as Windsor grins and taps his fingers against the side of his glass.
“Well, I may have called several news stations and let on that Ben Thresher, son of the CEO of Thresher Meats was being hauled in for sexual assault.” Windsor shrugs his shoulders and gives me this wicked little smile. “That was my special, little touch. Well, that and I've guaranteed he won't be paying off or intimidating the girl he assaulted. She's safe, and well-taken care of.”
“He hurt another girl?” I ask, and the idea is just too terrible to put much thought to. Windsor nods and looks me straight in the eye.
“I didn't make that up; I wouldn't make that up. Look, there, milady, I'm learning from you.” Windsor grins and grabs a pair of hor d'oeuvres off of a passing tray. “Mini beef wellington?” He holds it out to me, but I'm locked in place, watching as Ben is dragged from the party in handcuffs.
“How on earth did you find out about that?” Tristan asks, turning to look at Windsor. The prince stops smiling, setting the beef wellingtons on a plate that's been abandoned on a nearby table. He wipes his hand on his shorts and stares Tristan down.
“I have my ways, Mr. Vanderbilt. If there are skeletons in the closet, I'll find them.” Windsor's eyes track across the group as Zayd makes his way over to us, pausing as he senses the tension in our little gathering. “That goes for everyone here: if there's something you want to confess, I suggest you do it before it's too late.”
I shiver.
Windsor York is scary.
No, not just scary, he's terrifying.
At least he’s on my side.
Summer back home with Dad is much less eventful than my single week in the Hamptons. I only just barely glimpsed what next year’s going to be like and already, I’m gearing up for all-out war.
“You okay, Marnye-bear?” Charlie asks, reeling in his line. We’re sitting on the bank of a local fishing spot, pretending like we actually have the skills to catch something. Neither of us has had a single bite, and I know that this pond is stocked once a week with all sorts of fish. Must just be our total lack of experience showing.