“We could dress up as macarons,” I suggest, lifting one of the pretty cookies up to the light. “You know, put some of that temporary dye in our hair, wear matching dresses and heels.”
Miranda squeals and rises up from her seat, nearly knocking the macaron tower over as she throws her arms around my neck and practically strangles me in the name of hugging.
“That’s such a cute freaking idea!” she gushes, eyes sparkling. “And we all still have our off-campus privileges. We could go after school today, just run into town and grab a few things.” Miranda snaps her fingers as Andrew walks in, carrying his bookbag over his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows at her. “But only if you go in full drag.”
“Drag … for what?” Andrew asks suspiciously, and Miranda tosses him a yellow cookie which he just barely catches.
“Halloween. I’ll do your makeup, and we can get you a wig when we go out today. We’re dressing as macarons, like all colorful and cute. You’ll love it. Besides,” she waves her hand dismissively in his direction, totally lost in her own world, “you’ve been saying you wanted to try drag.”
“Um, try drag in private in a place my dad would never—” Andrew stops abruptly as the door to The Mess opens and Zack walks in. My heart flip-flops in my chest, and my throat closes up to the point that it’s hard to breathe. That kiss, that kiss, ah that fucking kiss … But I hate him. Piece of shit.
I focus on my cookie and stuff it into my mouth. Unfortunately, it tastes like cherries which just reminds me of the taste of Zack’s mouth.
“Zack, will you do drag with Andrew?” Miranda asks as he pauses far too close to me. I can smell his cologne, this musky, sporty mix of citrus, mint, and cedar that drives me nuts. “Like, full on makeup, wig, dress, heels.”
Zack shrugs his broad shoulders.
“Yeah, why not? What is Halloween for if not for girls in short skirts and dudes in drag? I was going to go as Russell Brand, a la Aldous Snow in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but this sounds better.” I glance up at him through the feather gold bangs that fall across my forehead. He looks back at me, and I have to hold back a sigh.
I might’ve gotten him good, but that doesn’t mean I forgive him. My revenge on Zack Brooks is satisfied for now, but that’s not going to magically clear the air between us. Not by a long shot.
He was this close to being expelled. This freaking close. Because the video was from middle school, the academy didn’t feel it had the grounds to take things quite so far, but Zack Brooks is on thin ice. Any grade less than a C or a scrap of proof that he’s bullying this year, and he’s out. As things stand, they took his letterman jacket away, kicked him off the varsity team, and gave him in-school suspension. He has no off-campus privileges, and Burberry Prep lost the game to Grenadine Heights. The entire football team hates Zack now, and my dad … Well, that was a tough one to deal with. I came too close to breaking those rules again. Scary close. I explained to my father that Zack and I had patched things up, but I’m not sure if they’ll be friends again. The way he looked at Zack after, that was almost punishment enough. I could see the pain in Zack’s eyes.
To distract myself from the hunky ex-football player beside me, I pull out my journal, unlock it, and start writing. The others have learned not to bother me when I’m penning my thoughts.
Zack and Andrew pull up chairs, and the others talk about their costumes as I write.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Creed shows up.
He’s alone, but that doesn’t matter.
As soon as he sees Miranda with us, his ice-blue eyes narrow to slits. He saunters over to us with that lazy, rolling gait of his, like at any moment he might just lie down on the floor and take an angry nap. Yeah, I know, that doesn’t really make sense, but I swear, that’s what Creed looks like: a pissed-off narcoleptic.
“Miranda,” he says, and his sister stiffens up under his stare. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
“No, you may not, Creed,” she snaps back, lifting angry eyes to her twin’s face. They’re so similar in appearance, it’s eerie. If I’d never seen them in the same room, I might believe that they were one person, a shapeshifter who could swap genders. I once read a book called He & She where a woman would change genders every time she had an orgasm. That could be Creed and Miranda, two sides of the same coin.
“I need you to get something off-campus for me tonight. It’s for my costume.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you displayed such barbaric and despicable behavior?” Miranda quips, turning back to her tea and sipping it slowly. The metaphor in her actions isn’t lost on me. Sip that tea, Miranda, I think with a grin.
Creed notices my expression and turns to face me. I stare him down, curling my arm protectively around my journal, so he can’t see the words written in it. Bet he’d love that, to read it aloud to the academy the way he did with my essay.
“What’s so damn amusing to you?” he drawls, as insouciant and dismissive as always.
“You, waltzing around the school like you think you’re the prince. Maybe you are, but you’ll never be king.” My grin rachets up a notch, as wide and maniacal as the Cheshire Cat’s. “Tristan will always rule this school. At best, you’re second in command. At best. Then again, your grades are trash, and you don’t bother to apply yourself. At least Tristan can boast that much.”
If only I could describe the way his body stiffens up, like he’s suddenly carved of stone. Every wrinkle in his shirt, every crease in his slacks, it all looks chiseled from limestone. When he opens his mouth, Miranda lunges up from her chair and gets in his face.
“Don’t. Just don’t. Leave her alone, Creed. Mom’s already disgusted with you. And now, after the incident with the Bentley, so is Dad. Don’t dig yourself an even deeper hole.” Creed’s blue eyes go wide, but he manages to school his expression quickly, and his gaze narrows back to that heavy-lidded bedroom look that he enjoys so much.
He turns away from us and heads to the Idols’ table, sitting down and snapping his fingers for the waiter. That motion alone drives me nuts. These people might work here, but they’re not his personal freaking slaves.
“Fucking creep,” Zack murmurs, but really, he doesn’t have much room to talk, does he? And yet … when I look at him and he stares back, I can see in his eyes that he’s sorry. And not just because I punished him. No, he was sorry long before that.
I refocus on my journal, fully aware that Creed is watching me the entire time.
Good.
Let him watch.
Because what I have planned for him requires his cooperation.
Bet he gives it freely and willingly.
“I look ridiculous,” Zack says with a laugh, examining his sea green dress, heels, and wig in the mirror. He’s such a big, bulky guy, I can’t exactly disagree. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a chuckle, and he glances over his shoulder at me, batting his falsies in my direction. Laughter explodes from me anyway, and he grins. Usually, he’s as reserved as Tristan, all dark and brooding and probably evil underneath, but right now … he’s actually kind of cute. “Andrew’s the hot one. I’d bang him, if I were into, uh, what’s it called?”
“When two drag queens have sex? Is it kiki or kaikai?” Miranda taps her frosty pink lips with the tip of one finger. We even managed to squeeze getting our nails done in last night, so we’ve got matching acrylics. Since Zack is banned from leaving campus, he got a sort of shitty paint job from Miranda this morning. It only helps add to the hilarity of his look.
“Oh my god, Miranda,” Andrew says, fluffing his pale blue wig in the mirror. “Kiki is just a chat, a conversation. Kaikai is when two drag queens … you know …”
“Fuck?” Miranda replies, and we all groan. She’s so crass sometimes.
“You watch more RuPaul’s Drag Race than anyone,” Jessie says, speaking up for the first time, and twirling so that her frothy white tulle skirts spin around her. Miranda watches, her gaze softening as she takes in the brunette with an appreciative once-over. I hate to admit it, but Zack is looking at me in much the same way. “You know the terms better than Andrew does.”
“It’s true,” I say, still chuckling as I check my own hair in the mirror. My rose-gold hair is perfect, since I’ve been designated the yellow, lemon-flavored macaron. We’re all wearing necklaces made of real cookies, and our perfume is coordinated to our specific flavors. Actually, we make a pretty cute little group. “So … we do the whole school thing,” I start, referencing the academy sponsored party in the gym, “and then how do we get to the cemetery? I doubt sneaking the cars on campus is going to work.”
“We’ll have to walk,” Miranda says with a groan, sticking her tongue out at her heels which, by the way, cost almost a thousand bucks. I bought my own shoes this time at an outlet store for thirty-five big ones. These are by far the priciest shoes I’ve ever purchased for myself. Zack, Miranda, Andrew, and Jessie all offered to get me something else, but I refused.
Despite what Tristan, Zayd, and Creed think, I am not a charity case.
“I can always carry you, if your feet hurt too much from dancing,” Zack says, and the way he’s holding his face, the purr in his voice … it’d be sexy if he didn’t look so ridiculous in an ill-fitting dress with his massive muscular shoulders showing. Andrew actually looks sexy as hell. If I were into girls, I think I’d be into him the way he’s dressed now. Even Miranda whistled appreciatively when he came out of the bathroom for his big reveal.
“Thanks, but I think I can manage walking,” I reply, forcing a smile and running my palms down the front of my glittery yellow gown. “Shall we?” I hold out my arm for Andrew, and he takes it. I notice Zack looking longingly at us, but technically, we’ve decided that Miranda and Jessie are a couple for the night, and I’m going with Andrew.