We’re sitting close enough that our thighs line up. It’s funny, looking at them like that. Mine is so much smaller than his.
“You pined for me all last year, huh?” I ask, and Zack’s mouth purses tight. He has such a full lower lip. As I stare at it, I can’t help but remember that kiss at the football stadium, and it’s just … like, all of the feels. All of them.
“Maybe.” He turns to look at me, moonlight catching on his masculine features, that straight Greek nose of his, that full mouth. Goodness. I exhale sharply and turn away, looking out across the water. “Would it make any difference?”
“Not really.” But maybe. I keep that thought to myself, knocking my heels against the side of the pool. “How did you and Lizzie come to make that bet anyway?”
Zack goes still beside me, but after a moment, he exhales, like he’s given up.
“Lizzie was a senior member of the Infinity Club; she was sponsoring me. A sponsor always has to challenge their new recruit to a game with high stakes. She was goaded by the other girls. Don’t let Harper or Becky or anyone else pretend to be innocent in all of that.”
“And you? Who were you goaded by? Are you going to blame Tristan, Creed, and Zayd for what you did?” Zack shakes his head, reaching up to run his palm over his hair. His shirt is unbuttoned now, and he’s rolled his slacks up to his knees. Seeing his interactions with his mother, it’s clear he wore the outfit to please her. It’s kind of cute actually, to get this little snippet of his life that shows he cares. It makes this very clear distinction in my mind between Zack and Creed.
Creed doesn’t care if he upsets his family or not. Well, I mean he cares, but yet he does it anyway. It’s so frustrating to watch.
“No. I take full responsibility for my actions.” Zack sighs again, like he’s suddenly so tired. “But you’ve seen them: they’re monsters. All three of them. Honestly, Marnye, take your revenge and then run. You won’t see any remorse from them.”
“I’m not expecting any,” I admit, looking at the curving maze of gardens that makes up Zack’s backyard. Well, one of his backyards I guess, considering I’ve already seen three of his family’s houses: this one, the lake house from last year, and the place he used to live when he attended LBMS. I wonder why his grandfather chose to cut his family off in the first place … and what spurred him to give it all back? “That’s not the point of all of this. Their whole lives, they’ve gotten away with whatever they wanted. The rest of their lives, they probably will, too. For this one, tiny blip on their timeline, I want them to know what it feels like. If it stops them from victimizing one person, then it’s worth it.”
“And that’s it?” Zack asks, voice gently probing, but not pushing. “It has nothing to do with the fact that they broke your heart?”
I purse my lips tight and dig my nails into the cement edge of the pool.
“If it does, it’s none of your business,” I tell him, my voice rough. He turns away sharply, and we sit there in silence for several minutes, the water lapping at our bare legs.
“We don’t deserve you,” Zack growls finally, pushing away from the edge of the pool. “Not a single one of us. Remember that, Marnye.” He turns and pads away with wet feet.
I sit there staring at my reflection until Charlie comes to get me, wondering about my own motivations.
Wondering if my broken glass heart isn’t still making me bleed.
After break, school starts off at a run and doesn’t slow down. I have so little downtime that my revenge plans come to a brief halt while I catch up on my studies, cheer team practices, and orchestra rehearsals. Zack has started training for track and field in February, and Miranda is off in la-la land with Jessie. They are now officially dating. I’m excited for them, but sometimes I catch Miranda gazing off into the distance like she’s daydreaming about someone else.
Uh-oh.
My tutoring activities with Creed continue, and the school’s so impressed with my ‘resilience’ (as they’ve called it), that I’ve been drafted into being a student mentor. Basically, I’m there to help students who are having issues with bullying, or help guide first-years who are struggling. Of course, nobody ever signs up to work with me. I still get credit for it though, so that’s fine.
During the end of our first week back, I strike gold by pure accident.
I’m on my way from my dorm—somebody’s scratched the word Brothel into the door yet again—to the mixed media room to practice some songs for the winter concert. When I get there, however, the room is occupied by Zayd and his cronies.
His howling laughter echoes out into the hall as I pause and glance in. Becky is all over him, making my stomach turn as she nuzzles up against him. She’s changed out of her uniform into a pink tank with no bra, and she’s pressing her chest against his. I wonder if they’ve had sex? I figure they probably have, and my stomach twists in disgusts.
I end up clutching a fist against my chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of my heart.
Did I … get my heart broken by Zayd?
It certainly feels that way, watching him laugh and joke with his friends. When he presses a flat kiss to Becky’s mouth, a sour taste rises in the back of my throat. His hair is now dyed a pale blue with dark roots, and his makeup is stage-dark, like he’s getting ready for a concert. All that eyeliner highlights how beautiful his green eyes are, how long his lashes.
“Like, my new album sucks, but it’s going to sell, you know that I mean?” Zayd asks, his husky rockstar voice giving me the chills. Without a second’s hesitation, I pull out my phone and start recording. There’s nothing like letting these Idol idiots hang themselves.
“You mean because Plebs are so fucking stupid, they’ll buy it regardless?” Becky asks, her laugh this grating sound that makes my skin crawl. She enjoys torture and pain like nobody but Harper du Pont.
“Yeah, like,” Zayd starts, and then he gets out a cigarette and lights up. Smoking inside the chapel building is a strict taboo, but he doesn’t seem to care, blowing gray smoke out from between his sexy lips. Watching his tattooed fingers clutch the cigarette shouldn’t turn me on—I hate smoking, as a rule—but some random rebellious part of me is turned one. “I write this profound shit, and it does well, but not good enough. The record label is breathing down my neck for another hit. So they have some ghost writers drum up this drivel, and tell me it’s going to make me famous. Maybe there’s a reason some people are poor? They’re stupid enough to spend what little money they have on this crap album.”
The whole crowd laughs, and my gut turns to ice. Wow. How fucking dare he insult his fans like that? Raking in their hard-earned money and mocking them for it.
“Anyway, you guys want to hear the new single? The peons are going to absolutely lap it up.” Becky climbs Zayd like a koala, and I swear, there’s this flash of annoyance on his face as he gets out his phone and presses play on a pop-rock song that’s a bit catchier than I’d like to admit.
Guess there’s a reason I’m a peon, right? Dick.
“Once this is over, let’s go back to my room and I’ll suck you off,” Becky purrs, rubbing herself all over Zayd and licking along the length of his ear. He pushes her back a step and she stumbles.
“Can we, like listen to this damn song?” he snaps, and her blue eyes go wide. She reaches out and pinches Zayd’s tattooed arm with her long nails, and he sneers at her.
“You were all down for fucking until you started playing around with the Working Girl. Guess I can’t compete with a prostitute’s skillset, huh?”
“Becky, shut the hell up,” Zayd groans, letting his head fall back, ink crawling up from underneath his wrinkled academy shirt.
“No, I will not shut up,” she continues, and Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Greg, and John all exchange looks with each other. “You have been so freaking weird. All summer you were weird. What is it about that low-class bitch that you’re so obsessed with?”
Zayd drops his head and narrows his green eyes. I sense vitriol in the air.
“Low-class? Marnye might be trailer trash”—ouch, Zayd—“but she’s a hundred times classier than you. I’m so done with your shit, Becky. You want me to be your boyfriend or something? Newsflash: I’m not interested anymore. Fuck, I was never interested. It was a game to see if I could get you, and guess what? You were a hundred times easier to dupe than Charity ever was.”
Becky reaches out and slaps Zayd as hard as she can before turning and storming up the steps toward me. I scramble out of the way and duck into The Mess before she gets out the door. There’s no one inside, fortunately, and once I think she’s had enough time to leave, I creep back out.
Zayd’s just started another song, so I wait there and record the entire thing.
“Pretty sure I’m as fucked-up as they come, the only one who knows the loneliness of my throne. Through the darkest nights there’s only one bright star, but when I reach up, it’s just way up there, off in the void, the black too far.”
Mm.
I’m not sure I believe the ghostwriter bit.
Those lyrics scream Zayd Kaiser to me.
After it’s over, there’s a bit of silence before Sai Patel’s laughter snaps out like a whip. He has a pretty strong New York accent, so it’s easy to tell who’s speaking. Other than the usual bits and barbs, he hasn’t stood out to me much.
“That’s the dumbest shit. Holy crap, man, that’s garbage.” The other boys laugh, Mayleen’s feminine giggles interspersed throughout. When I peep around the corner, I wonder if I’m the only person who sees how tight Zayd’s jaw is.
On Monday, I head out into the hall and a storm of chaos ensues.
“Marnye, oh my god,” Miranda gushes, grabbing my hands, her face flushed pink. Her eyes are sparkling as she yanks me down the hall, our white skirts billowing, as we head to the courtyard and push through the throng of people to the front. There’s a fancy black sports car down there, no driver in sight.