“Keep going!” Becky shouts, and the crowd echoes their sentiment. The confusion on Creed’s face quickly shifts to perverse joy.
“I had wondered when he and Ebony had broken up. Unfortunately, it came out that she was still dating Jalen and had no intention of breaking up with him. I guess they’re childhood friends or something? Anyway, it seems Tristan and Ebony had plans to meet up and … have sex? I’m not sure, but since I’ve already caught him in the act with Kiara Xiao and some random fourth-year girl, I doubt he had plans to pick flowers and make daisy chains.”
Creed pauses as Jalen lets out a roar of frustration and launches himself at Tristan. There’s a split-second there where I think he’s actually going to get him, but then Tristan steps nimbly out of the way and Jalen stumbles into the cement side of the mausoleum.
“Jalen, stop!” Ebony is screaming, her little red riding hood costume fluttering as she chases after her boyfriend. “It’s not like that.”
Tristan dances back from the cluster of headstones, putting himself in the center of the gravel path and crouching like he fully expects a fight. He gets one, too, when Jalen comes at him again, throwing a punch that Tristan just narrowly ducks. His top hat flutters off and lands on the ground, crushed in seconds by Jalen’s boot. He’s dressed up like Lara Croft—probably thought it was funny as hell—so when he launches himself forward again, his fake boobs bounce.
And … I’ve got everything on film. It’s shaky and blurry and probably not at all in focus, but my phone is running constantly, clutched at my side and carefully aimed in Creed’s direction. In the foggy darkness, it’s pretty hard to see, especially with the glowing jack o’ lanterns everywhere.
“Jalen, don’t,” Ebony screams again, and he whirls to face her, panting, pointing a finger in Tristan’s direction.
“Did you sleep with him?” he asks, and Ebony glances away sharply. Jalen lets out another roar of rage, and then he spins and goes for Tristan yet again. This time, they end up exchanging blows.
“I didn’t!” she shouts, trying to yank her boyfriend back. “We never slept together.” Jalen pushes Tristan, and the king of the school actually stumbles a bit, blood running down the side of his mouth as he sneers at one of the most loyal members of his Inner Circle. One of his most loyal members who’s just been thoroughly betrayed.
“Marnye,” Zack breathes, and he looks at me with a new level of respect, eyes wide. “Holy shit.” I smile tightly, but this isn’t over, not even close.
“We never slept together, but I wanted to,” Ebony chokes out, tears running down her face. “You’re so obsessed with football and working out. We never spend time together. Tristan is …”
“He doesn’t give a shit about you!” Jalen screams, panting, blood streaming from his nose. His brown eyes are wide and wild. Frankly, he looks like he’s about to cry. “I do.” He slams a fist against his chest and gets in Ebony’s face. She just stands there, eyes wide, staring at him. “I love you, Ebony. I fucking love you. I always have.”
“Well, I don’t love you,” she says, and then starts to sob. A few of the other girls, like Abigail and Valentina, come close and put their arms around her. Jalen stares at her in shock for several seconds before he begins to cry, these big, soppy messy tears that actually make me like him more. Boys should be able to cry; it’s disturbing that society tries to tell them otherwise.
But we’ve already learned that people like John Hannibal and Gregory Van Horn are walking nightmares.
“Are you fucking crying? Pussy bitch.” John cackles, his laugh like that of a hyena on the prowl. It’s disturbing. He’s dressed like a serial killer tonight, too, with faux blood all over his shirt. How lovely.
Jalen turns again, so suddenly that Tristan’s still in the process of wiping crimson from his lips. He tackles him, and it takes several of the other boys to pry them apart.
Creed … is absolutely loving this moment.
“Tristan Vanderbilt is a walking STD. He will sleep with anything that moves, but he’s so disrespectful I’m not sure how he even gets girls.” Creed chuckles as Tristan grits his teeth so hard it looks like one or two might just crack. Or hell, maybe Jalen will crack them for him? The boys start scuffling again as Ebony sobs and wails like she’s the victim here. “The sad thing is, he’s truly the king of Burberry Prep, and for good reason. I mean, who else would stand up to him, certainly not—” Creed turns the page and pauses abruptly, the amusement vanishing from his face. His gaze lifts up to mine.
I’m damn sure this is the end, that that’s all he’s going to read, but good old Greg hops up and snatches the journal from him, thrusting it into John’s hands.
“Certainly not Creed Cabot. If ever there was a definition for wannabe, he’s it. He tries so hard to be Tristan Vanderbilt, it’s pathetic. He could never match up to him—and that’s pretty sad, since the him in question is a womanizing lothario.” John snickers as Zayd throws his head back and howls with laughter. Meanwhile, the fight between Jalen and Tristan escalates.
“The only one worse and more pathetic than Creed,” Greg continues as he reads over John’s shoulder, dressed up like Geralt from The Witcher video games/novels. Cosplay like that might look hot on someone like Zack who has the shoulders and muscles to carry it. On Greg, it looks even worse than Zack’s too tight green dress and pearl necklace (the plastic kind, not the pervy kind, obvs). “Is Zayd Kaiser. I mean, seriously. Does he think his music is actually good? At least Creed’s and Tristan’s dads show up to the school to support their kids. Zayd’s dad doesn’t even bother.”
Zayd’s face is now tight and white, and he’s looking at me like I’m a monster.
Here’s the thing: if they hadn’t stolen my journal and read it, none of this would be happening. None of it. The Bluebloods have brought this on themselves.
Miranda is standing there shaking with rage. I feel bad for what she’s going through, but I didn’t make her brother do any of this. No, he broke into my room all on his own. I bet the guys made copies of my room and locker keys before they handed that bundle over to Vice Principal Castor. How they got keys for my new dorm locks, I’m not sure. It’s horrifying to see how far their treachery went.
“If I were you,” I say, and as soon as I speak, the entire cemetery goes quiet. The only sound is the eerie whisper of the wind through the graves, the song of ghosts. “I would stop reading now. Keep going, and you really won’t like what else I have to say in there.”
Harper snatches the journal from John’s hand and tucks it under her arm, standing up and lifting her chin in defiance. The way she looks at me, I can tell I’ve struck a nerve. Tristan is supposed to be this piece of American royalty, his family’s fortune built on shipping and railroads in the country’s infancy. The Vanderbilt name will give her a prestige that the du Pont name will never have. She’s got all the money in the world, so there’s not much left to strive for but this.
Only, she’ll never have it.
I’ll make certain of that.
“This party is officially over,” Harper snaps, and the crowd groans and grumbles in displeasure. It’s disturbing though, to see how quickly they all scramble to comply with her orders. Where Tristan is the king of the academy, she is most certainly the queen. She’ll be a hard one to take down. “Tristan, let’s go.” He sneers at her, spitting blood and glaring at Jalen before he turns and storms along the path after her. When he passes me, he spits more blood at my feet, but I don’t move, just stand there and stare him down.
He tears away from me with a string of curses and disappears into the fog. Jalen just collapses to the gravel and sobs while Ebony drifts away with Valentina and Abigail. The way she looks at me as she passes says all I need to know.
She’s a lightweight, and I’ve already shoved her out of the ring.
Creed doesn’t move from his place on top of the mausoleum. Zayd, too, is frozen in place.
“Be careful, boys,” I warn them, this strange little purr in my voice that I hardly recognize. “I’m coming for you.”
I turn away and grab Zack’s hand, dragging him with me.
On Sunday evening, I make a video compilation of Creed going through my stuff, stealing my journal, and reading it aloud, and then I email it to Kathleen Cabot with the following message: I really liked your son once, and he hurt me so bad I couldn’t breathe. He seems determined to destroy me, but I don’t want to report him to the administration. Mrs. Cabot, I trust your judgment implicitly.
And all of that, is pure unadulterated truth.
Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep
A list by Miranda Cabot Marnye Reed
The Idols (guys): Tristan Vanderbilt (year one two), Zayd Kaiser (year one two), and Creed Cabot (year one two)
The Idols (girls): Harper du Pont (year one two), Becky Platter (year one two), and Gena Whitley (year four) (graduated), Ileana Taittinger (year one)
The Inner Circle: Andrew Payson, Anna Kirkpatrick, Myron Talbot, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner … and, I guess, me! Kiara Xiao, Ben Thresher
Plebs: everyone else, sorry. XOXO
Zack Brooks
I only have to survive one more week until fall break. Then I can go home and see Dad. Then I can take a break from all of this. To be quite honest, it’s exhausting. Not only am I studying my ass off, working out for the cheer team, and playing the harp in every spare second of my time, but I’m always on high-alert at. One wrong move, and I’m dead.
On the plus side, these last few weeks have been almost … fun? Miranda has stopped talking to her twin completely. I mean, like complete and utter silence. Even I can see that it’s killing him. He looks almost pale and sad when he thinks nobody’s looking. If he’s even remotely aware that there are eyes on him, he puts up his arrogant, haughty front like a shield.