Kathleen Cabot appeared the Monday after the Halloween party in her white stretch limo, marched down the stone halls in her Louboutins and grabbed her son by the ear. According to Miranda, she’s this close to pulling him out of Burberry Prep and enrolling him in an all-boys military academy. She’s beyond disappointed him in, beyond fawning over me (in front of Creed), and basically begged me to keep tutoring him.
It’s a chore, but I do it. We sit side by side in the library every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for two hours, and speak in low, clipped, studious tones. I get credits for it, at least, and I don’t try to sabotage his work. It’s enough for me to do my job.
After we finish up on that last Monday, I start to pack up my things and Creed leans back in his chair. With his angelic white-blond hair and ice-blue eyes, the white of the second-year uniform looks like it was made for him. The way he lounges, too, is quite incredible, like he’s boneless and deserves to be carried about on a golden litter.
“Do you like tormenting me?” he asks, and I turn to gape at him.
“Are you serious?” It’s now my turn to lean back in my chair, and give him a once-over. “That’s a joke, right? You know who started this, don’t you? I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t me.”
Creed doesn’t react. Actually, he looks like he’s about to fall asleep. Or have sex. Maybe the latter and then the former? I have no idea.
When he reaches out and tucks some loose strands of rose-gold hair behind my ear, I’m too startled to react.
“The girls want to kill you,” he says, and I’m actually quite sure he’s not speaking metaphorically. “Watch out for them.”
“And you?” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest. Creed’s eyes drop to the bare bit of skin above my blouse. It was a bit hot in here, so I took my red tie off and unbuttoned a few buttons. It feels like he can see everything, the way he’s staring at me. “What do you want?”
“I want you to leave,” he says, stressing that last word and then falling back into the usual nonchalant gaiety of the idle rich. “Get out of Burberry Prep, and make yourself at home somewhere else. Why not go buddy up to your friend Lizzie at Coventry Prep?”
“Lizzie and I are not friends,” I bark, and Creed laughs, the sound just as merry as Miranda’s. However, where she reminds me of the school bell, happily reminding us all it’s time for learning, Creed’s bell-laugh is like the death knell of a church tower during a funeral.
“You seem to be friends with Zack Brooks. How is it he gets a free pass and she doesn’t?”
“He did not get a free pass,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm. Creed wants me to get pissed off and react. We just stare at each other, and it doesn’t escape my notice that his shirt is also unbuttoned. I can see a bit of his chest, and my fingers twitch on the edge of my chair. Also, our knees are far too close, just a scant two inches apart. If I moved, I’d bump against his long, long legs. I stay perfectly still. “You saw what I did to him. Be glad all I’ve done is destroy your relationship with your mother and sister.”
Creed’s jaw clenches, the only sign that I’ve struck a nerve.
“If I wanted you to fall to your knees and weep for my mercy, I could have that.” He leans suddenly toward me until our faces are inches apart. “I could destroy you, Charity.”
“Really? Because everything you’ve thrown at me thus far has been weak as hell. I’m not afraid of you, Creed Cabot.” We maintain this stare down, even though it kills me. His lips are so close, I can remember what they tasted like the night of the winter formal, that glorious night that I sat on his lap and kissed him in the crisp cold winter air. Crap. He smells good, too, like fresh linens and soap. Don’t think about his scent, Marnye, that’s ridiculous. “You can say all these horrible things if you want, but you’re not going to act. Because if you do, you’ll dig your own grave. Your sister already hates you, just keep pushing her and see how evil you can get before she abandons you completely. It must hurt a lot, to lose a twin.” I cross my arms over my chest as Creed exhales and closes his eyes.
Yep.
He’s like a neutered dog.
I was right to cross him off my list.
“You were bullied, too,” I whisper finally, and he sits back, looking away sharply. His pretty blond hair falls forward and covers his face. He taps at his lips with a long finger, and I just can’t help but admire how long all of his limbs are. He’s tall and trim, but still muscular. The way his shirt pulls at his shoulders gives away a developing physique. “How could you do that to me?”
“How could you choose Zayd?” he hisses, turning back to me suddenly. I remember the way his face looked when I walked down the steps into the graduation gala in that red dress. My heart hurts a little, but I push the feeling aside. “Zayd.” Creed laughs, the sound dry and reedy, and then he stands up. Well, more like he unfolds his long limbs from the chair, towering over me as he reaches up and pops open one more button. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He takes off around the table, pausing to meet up with Ileana Taittinger.
I watch him flirt with her as my insides twist into a dangerous knot. She’s got an old name, a very well established family legacy. Hmm.
Maybe I crossed his name off just a little too soon?
I’ll have to keep an eye on them.
For now, I gather my books, rise to my feet, and leave the sanctity of the library.
Dad isn’t able to get off work to come and get me for fall break, so Zack gives me a ride home in his orange McLaren. We sit in silence for a good portion of the drive which I actually like. When I’m around Zack Brooks, I don’t feel like I have to force anything. The quiet between us is companionable and easygoing, not strained or awkward.
“I can’t believe you’re still hanging around me,” I tell him, glancing up from my phone screen to look at his face. All I’m doing is trolling gossip sites anyway. Every single freaking article is about this prince guy, this Windsor York. He sounds like a total a-hole to me. He’d be right at home at Burberry Prep. According to the online gab rags, he sleeps with every celebrity, model, or billionaire heiress he can get his hands on. Reminds me of a certain someone, but at least his smile in all the pictures is nice.
Still … another manwhore, gross. No thank you.
I shut my phone off.
“Why is that so hard to believe?” Zack asks, his voice unbelievably soft. I notice he does that around me now, softens all of his hard edges. It almost … makes him likable. Almost. But not quite. He’s taken up track now, and he’s stupid good at it. I imagine he’ll be earning himself another letterman jacket next year. Really, I should take him down another peg. But am I going to? We’ll see. I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him which, considering how muscular and tall he is, would not be all that far. “I told you how I feel about you.”
My nostrils flare, and my throat closes up. Oh god. Now the silence really does feel awkward.
I stare out at the road and focus on the yellow lines.
Zack doesn’t love me. That’s weird. He’s a freaking psycho bully. Remember how he treated Ileana during tryouts? He’s a monster inside; he can’t be trusted.
And yet, I’m so relaxed around him that I fall asleep and drool all over his expensive sports car. The next thing I know, he’s carrying me into my bedroom at the Train Car, and tucking me in. Pretty sure I imagine it, but I think he kisses my forehead before I pass out again.
In the morning, I’m woken up by the scent of dad’s famous vanilla waffles and I’ve forgotten all about the almost-possible-maybe-didn’t-happen kiss.
“Good morning,” I say, giving him a huge hug. He looks good, actually, much better than I’d feared. “How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful, actually,” he says, handing me a plate. I smear peanut butter all over my waffles and douse them in real maple syrup. Don’t ask: it’s a Reed thing. As I sit down on the couch in the living room, I’m overwhelmed by emotion and have to choke back tears. I will not think negatively about my father or his prospects. What good would that do him? “The Du Pont Medical Center is incredible.”
My mouth purses into a thin line, and I have to resist the urge to voice my fears. Why, exactly, Harper is helping my father out, I don’t know. To hold it over my head? I can only imagine the whole situation is going to end poorly. If she messes with my father’s heath however … god help her.
“Also, I wanted to talk to you about your mother …”
“Please don’t make me see her,” I blurt. I’m not ready for that. Jennifer and I have a strained relationship at best. Being home means taking care of dad and getting a break from the rat race that is Burberry Preparatory Academy. If I have to spend any forced afternoons with her, I’ll collapse.
“I won’t,” Dad says, surprising me. I put my fork down and lean back into the cushions, playing with Grandma Reed’s charm bracelet. I don’t dare take it to school with me. Can you imagine what those Blueblood psychos would do if they got a hold of it? “It was wrong of me to try to force a relationship.” He swallows hard and glances away, like he’s ashamed about something. I narrow my eyes.
“You didn’t buy a chicken instead of a turkey again this year?” I ask, already thinking ahead to Thanksgiving dinner. Charlie chuckles and glances back at me, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he smiles.
“Wow, you know me too well,” he says, laughing. But it feels so … forced. That was not what he was going to say. I narrow my eyes, but Dad’s already standing up and moving into the kitchen to fry up some eggs. I’m already stuffed, but I don’t have the heart to tell him no. Besides, I just like watching him cook, smelling the smells, sinking into the ratty old couch.
If the Idols think money buys happiness, I feel sorry for them.
This, this right here is what life is all about.