“Bigger ovaries, maybe?” I almost smile, but Zayd just shrugs and stands up. He's like a dream in the white second-year uniform. It's as if the total lack of color on his outfit emphasizes how much color he's got all over his skin. He moves over to stand beside me, and my breath catches in my throat. I know I'm not the only one that notices. Zayd reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and I let him, even though I know I shouldn't.
“Whatever you want to call it, you’ve got it. Big balls, ironclad uterus, deep dark mojo … Anyway,” he points two fingers at me, like he's miming a gun, “you shot me right in the crotch with that one. Bull's-eye, bingo, win for you. The record label’s just pulled my new album.” He frowns down at me, and there's a well of sadness in his emerald green eyes that surprises me. It mirrors the face of the girl whose expression I saw in my reflection that day last year. So good. He's hurting. It's what I wanted, isn't it?
“There will be a new album,” I say with a sigh, putting my hands in my lap. I have special permission to wear white academy slacks when playing the harp. It's a pedal harp, so I need to use my foot, and if I wore the standard second-year skirt there would be more on display than just my music. “That's the problem with all of you; you’ll never know what it's truly like to hurt. There's always more money, new opportunities, underhanded favors …”
Zayd shakes his head, and reaches into his pocket to pull out a small packet of papers. He hands them over to me, and I hesitate a moment before taking them.
“Nah, not this time. My dad is so pissed, he thinks this might affect his career too, so he’s asked the label to drop me completely.” Zayd waits a moment as I unfold the papers, frowning as I find a copy of the test I took on Friday. Well, the test is the same, but the answers are not the ones I gave. My name might be on top of the paper, but this is not my test. “You are now looking at an unsigned, penniless musician.” Zayd laughs and reaches up to twist his gelled hair into little spikes.
I'm so distracted by the test, and the essay underneath it which also has my name but not my words, that it takes me a moment to register what he’s just said. I look up.
“They don't want you to, like, give a statement or something?” I ask. Zayd gives me this wry little smirk, like he could care less. It's quite obvious he cares a whole hell of a lot.
He ignores my question, brushing it aside with a wave of his hand.
“Look, you’re not going to catch Tristan with his hands in the cookie jar.” Zayd reaches out to tap the papers in my hand, and our fingers brush together. Heat leaps from his skin to mine, and we both shiver. It's not fair. It's not fair that I have chemistry with an asshole like Zayd Kaiser. “That's a test with a score of about …” Zayd pauses to think for a minute. “Sixty-five percent? In the essay, that's a copy of Gena Whitley's essay from last year. Plagiarism and all that.”
“Why do these things have my name on them?” I ask, feeling my heart thunder wrapped rapidly in my chest. It should've occurred to me that the idols would try to strike me where it would hurt most (other than my dad, of course): academics. I look up at Zayd. “And why are you showing me these?”
“Becky left her jacket with me the other day,” Zayd starts, rolling his eyes like he just can't with her. The funny thing is, they are two peas in a pod; they deserve each other. “These fell out of it. I have to take them to her now, and I figure when she does her third period office work tomorrow, organizing Miss Peregrine’s papers, she'll swap these out for your real test and essay.”
Zayd reaches out to take the papers, and I let him, thoroughly confused.
“Why are you telling me this?” I repeat, as Zayd tucks the papers away into his bookbag. “I don't understand.”
The guys have been much easier on me this year than last year, but that doesn't make any sense. They must be gearing up for something big.
“For what it's worth,” Zayd says, turning away and glancing over his shoulder at me, “as soon as I found out that Becky had hit you, I haven't touched her. I just couldn't.” Zayd wrinkles his nose, and shakes his head. “I don't want you to get hurt, so please, for the love of all that's holy, Charity, just go.”
Zayd turns back around and heads up the stairs. I watch him go, and then I do my best to come up with a plan.
After cheerleading practice the next day, I head to the office of our English teacher, Miss Peregrine. The room is locked and dark, the lights off, and the shade over the small window pulled down. To get in, I'm either going to need a key… or a lockpick.
Cursing under my breath, I head back to the chapel building, down the hall and out the stained glass doors on the other side. Once I get to Tower Three, I take the elevator to the fifth floor and head over to Zack's room. I barely raise my fist to knock when he's opening it, dressed in low-slung sweats, no shirt, and a fine layer of fresh sweat.
“Marnye?” he asks, stepping aside to let me in. There is some seriously sexy jazz music on, and all the shades are pulled down. For a moment there, I wonder if I'm interrupting something that I don't want to see.
I spin around, and find Zack is suddenly standing far too close to me. He smells good too, which is really weird considering he's all sweaty. But seriously, there's something so different between fresh sweat and old sweat. The latter is disgusting, but the former … it's almost like a cologne. I find myself attracted to it even though I don't want to be.
“Is there a girl in here?” I ask, and Zack narrows his eyes on me. He takes a step forward, and I take one back. The movement surprises him, and he ends up raising one of his dark brows.
“That bother you?” he replies, his voice dark and smooth and cold as bittersweet chocolate ice cream. He takes a step toward me again, but I have nowhere to go. My butt bumps up against the table, and Zack puts one hand on either side of me.
“No,” I lie, ducking out from underneath his arm and stepping aside. When I turn back to face him again, he’s smirking. My first instinct is to wipe that look off of his face, but instead I just sigh. “When we went to Lower Banks, didn’t you get in trouble for stealing a car?”
Zack is still smirking as he leans back against the table and crosses his muscular arms over his bare, sweaty chest. We always seem to be together when he’s shirtless, Zack and me. Like the universe is trying to throw us together.
“Yeah, so?” He looks me up and down appreciatively, and I shiver. I'm wearing the short black practice shorts with the rhinestones on the butt cheeks that I hate, a pair of red bike shorts underneath, and a black razorback tank top with the Burberry crest logo on the front. Even cheerleading practice comes with required uniforms.
“I need your help,” I say, hating the phrase even as it leaves my mouth. “Could you pick a lock on a teacher's door?”
Zack thinks for a moment, letting his chin fall down and his eyes close. After a moment, he looks back up at me and gives me a sexy sideways smirk.
“I could. It's risky though, with the bodyguard guy patrolling the halls, and all those new cameras. But if we had a cover story, some reason to be over there that didn't involve … whatever it is that you're up to, it might work.” His smirk turns into a grin, and I shift uncomfortably. “I'm assuming this has to do with the revenge plot?”
“Maybe …” I hedge, and Zack's grin gets a little wider.
“Let me put a shirt on then.” He pauses and takes a few steps closer to me, his chocolate brown eyes staring at me through his thick lashes. “Unless … you'd rather I wasn't wearing one?”
“Shirt is fine,” I blurt, holding my ground. “But if you have an extra sweater, I'll take it. It's freezing outside.” Zack laughs at me, and snatches his hoodie from the back of the couch, tossing it over to me. I slip it on and quickly realize that drowning in a big, soft, Zack-scented hoodie is both a blessing and a curse. If I were his girlfriend, I'd wear his hoodie all the time.
“Right,” Zack says, taking in my much smaller form as I burrow in his hoodie, and running his tongue over his lower lip. “Sure, and lock picking kit.”
“You brought a lock picking kit to the academy?”
Zack glances over his shoulder and grins, this dark sensual expression that gives me goose bumps.
“I guess you can take the boy out of the bad school, but you can't take the bad out of the boy.” He winks theatrically at me, and I can't decide if what he's just said is sexy or hilarious.
I choose the safer option and laugh, but that doesn't mean that my heart doesn't race or that I don't bundle the hoodie close around me.
Zack and I head outside together, moving through the winter-dead gardens toward a cluster of admin buildings. There are a few students here and there, but because of the cold front we got last week, most people are still inside. It really is chilly out here.
Campus security patrols the area regularly, and I know there are cameras, too. I also know that the footage isn't regularly checked, not unless there's a problem.
Besides, Zack says he has a plan.
As we approach the door to Miss Peregrine’s office, Zack grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around, looking straight into my face with a very serious expression.
“Will you trust me with this?” he asks, voice sober. “I’m not asking you to trust me all the time, just right now.”
I nod my head, and before I know it, Zack is backing me up against the door. He wraps his right arm around my waist, pressing our bodies together. His mouth drops to mine, warm breath fluttering across my lips.
“Can I kiss you again?” he whispers, and then he smiles softly. We're so close, I can feel the emotion against my own mouth. “It's all part of the plan, of course. Although, I can't deny that seeing you in my hoodie isn't exciting as fuck.”