“The feeling is not mutual,” I reply, pulling my arm to my chest and playing with the bracelet. “I’m not giving up my scholarship because of some bullying.”
“That was more than just bullying, Marnye. Those boys—” My eyes close and Dad stops talking, like he can see how pained just the mention of that day makes me. “Look, you’re a smart girl, always have been. You’re more driven than I ever was, smarter, too. If you want to go back there, I won’t question it, but know that you have other options.” Dad sighs and rises to his feet, pausing at a knock on the door. “That should be Zack,” he says, and my eyes go wide.
I rise from the couch, but I’m not fast enough to get past before Zack Brooks steps into the trailer, dressed in a tight black tee that pulls across his muscles, dark denim jeans, and brown boots. He stares at me from those dark brown eyes of his, gaze flickering over my black leggings, tight black tank, and total lack of bra, before he returns his attention to my face.
“Happy birthday,” he says, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he made it his mission to see that I would never have another birthday again.
“Excuse me.” I push past the two men, being careful not to even brush against Zack, and get dressed in one of my new outfits from yesterday. May as well test it out on him before heading back to that den of wolves.
If Dad notices that I’m wearing a new pink jumpsuit and black wedges, he doesn’t say anything. If he asks, I’ll … well, I won’t lie about it. But he doesn’t. Zack takes me in carefully, my new hairdo, the bit of makeup I managed to put on with a YouTube tutorial, and my eyelash extensions. Didn’t even know that was a thing until I Googled it.
“You look beautiful,” Zack says, holding out a package wrapped in opalescent paper. It’s very pretty, but I’m loath to take it. Dad is watching though, and I don’t want him to know anything about the Zack situation. It’d just stress him out on top of everything else, and I can tell he’s already pushed to the limit. He looks thinner, paler, and he sleeps a lot more than usual. I’m honestly worried about him, but he seems to like Zack; they’re sort of buddies now. I may as well let Dad keep that relationship. “Just something small. You can open it later, if you want.”
“Later is good,” I tell him, putting the package on the stove. Zack nods and steps back, leaving room for Charlie and me to step out of the train car. The sky is gray, but the rain hasn’t started yet. Zack has his orange McLaren, but it’s only a two-seater, so we take Dad’s Ford instead.
Charlie does his best to make conversation on the drive, but it’s not easy, not with the tangible tension between me and Zack.
When we get to the Railroad Station restaurant—this funky little twenty-four hour diner that’s been here forever—Dad excuses himself to the restroom, and I’m left alone with Zack.
“You’re crashing my daddy-daughter time,” I whisper, and his narrowed eyes soften slightly.
“You want me to leave?” he asks, and I nod.
A long silence follows.
“Only you’re not going to because your wants and needs are more important than mine,” I whisper, and Zack stiffens up, like I’ve slapped him.
“Marnye, I want to help,” he says, but I’m already shaking my head.
“You’ve helped enough, Zack.” I look him straight in the face, and memories flicker across my vision: the bathroom door opening, Zack pulling me into his arms, putting his fingers down my throat. He saved me, but he also pushed me to that point for a bet. How can I ever forgive that? One time, he cornered me outside my math classroom and told me he knew all about my mother, how she didn’t love me enough, how she doted on her other daughter in way she’d never dote on me. My mouth flattens into a thin line. “I don’t know what you’re seeking from me, but if it’s forgiveness, I’m not ready yet.”
Zack’s mouth tightens, and he looks away for a moment before rising to his feet. I glance back at him, my arms crossed over my chest, and I wait. I don’t actually expect him to leave. He pushes in the chair, tosses down a wad of cash on the table, and then holds up his hand when I try to give it back.
“Enjoy breakfast with your dad on me,” he says, moving away from the table towards the door. But he stops when he’s behind me, leaning over and putting his cheek so close to mine that I can feel his stubble. His right hand curves over my shoulder and squeezes, sending a swarm of butterflies winging through me. “But … whether you want to deal with me or not, I’m going to destroy those preppy academy pricks for you.”
“Hypocrite,” I mumble, because it’s the only thing I can think to say. Zack’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and I suck in a sharp breath. “You’re just as bad as they are—maybe worse. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Zack presses a sudden kiss to my cheek and my body goes white-hot before my emotions freeze over, and I’m ice-cold on the inside. “Happy birthday, Marnye.” He rises to his feet just as Dad is making his way back from the bathroom. Zack gives him a little wave and then slips out the door, leaving me to answer awkward questions.
“What happened to Zack?” Charlie asks, taking his seat and then pausing to look at the heaping pile of cash on the table. He whistles and reaches up to adjust his gray fedora. “I think he left a hundred on accident,” he says, and I smile, but I don’t think it was an accident at all.
But maybe what Zack doesn’t get, and Tristan doesn’t get, Creed, Zayd … money isn’t that important to me. Now, only a truly privileged person will tell you it doesn’t matter: it does. Food, clothing, shelter, security, medical care … Those things require money, but I don’t worship the green. It doesn’t impress me. It doesn’t buy my friendship or my love.
My throat gets tight.
“Zack had a thing he forgot about,” I say with a shrug, and while Dad raises an eyebrow, he doesn’t say anything. When our orders come out, I glance at Zack’s plate of pancakes, his empty chair, and I think about his statement: I’m going to destroy those preppy academy pricks for you.
Only … he’s not. Because that’s my job.
It’s my job to destroy the Bluebloods of Burberry Prep. Those bad, bad Bluebloods.
The end of the year prank that left me reeling, it did not go unnoticed by the staff. As Dad grabs some snacks for the drive back to Burberry Preparatory Academy, I head online and look at all the beginning of the year emails with information about classes, school policies … and bullying.
Burberry Prep is now a zero tolerance campus. Students involved in bullying incidents will be subject to suspension or expulsion depending on the severity of the offense. Respect towards peers and staff is not just encouraged, it is mandatory. If you have any questions regarding this policy, please see Ms. Felton or Principal Collins during their office hours.
My lips feel suddenly dry, so I push my laptop aside and head over to the printer to grab my class schedule. The no electronics rule will go into effect as soon as I set foot on campus. No, before. Actually, the drivers of the academy-issued cars that travel between the visitors’ lot and the school, they’re the ones that take the phones.
“They may as well post my name right there on the front page for everyone to see,” I grumble as I grab the page, give it a quick glance, and pull some lip balm out of the drawer on my side table. My bags are packed, my heart is in my throat, and I’m ready.
I’m ready.
I can do this.
My phone pings, and I turn it over to see a text from Miranda.
Can we talk sometime today?
My palms feel suddenly sweaty, and I tuck my phone into the front of my leather bookbag.
Miranda’s been out of the country most of the summer, but this isn’t the first text I’ve received from her. Actually, she’s sent me several. I’ve replied, but barely. We clearly aren’t friends again yet. I mean, if we ever will be again.
Grabbing my bookbag in one hand and my duffel in the other, I head out the door and pause when a white limo pulls across the gravel in front of our house. Dad is standing there watching like he’s as confused as I am.
The driver parks and climbs out, tipping his hat to me. “Marnye Reed?”
“That’s me,” I mumble, thoroughly confused and hoping like crazy that none of the guys sent this car. If they did, I’m refusing to get in. But of course, what a stupid thought that is. Why on earth would they send a car to get me unless they wanted to crash it into the ocean?
“Hey.” Andrew rolls down the window, and my eyes go wide as he waves at me, a half-smile on his face. He looks unsure, as tentative as I feel. “We’re going the same way, so I thought …” The driver moves between us to open the back door, and Andrew climbs out, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. I’m not in my uniform either. Instead, I’ve got on black leggings and a tank top for the drive. I planned on switching clothes in the visitors’ bathroom like I did last year. “I thought you might want a ride.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, the sun catching on his chestnut hair. His blue eyes take in the Train Car, my dad, and me with a flicker of something I can’t quite recognize. Pity? It might be pity.
I sigh.
“Dad, this is Andrew Payson. Andrew, this is Charlie Reed.” The two men shake hands, but I can see from my dad’s face that he isn’t sure about this. “He wasn’t involved in the prank,” I whisper, and both Charlie and Andrew stiffen slightly.
“I see.” Dad studies Andrew carefully, like he isn’t quite sure he believes me. I don’t blame him. There were dozens of boys in academy uniforms brandishing my underwear in the crowd. Andrew just wasn’t one of the many. “You’re offering Marnye a ride?”
“I was on my way through,” he says, glancing from my dad to me. “I know Kathleen Cabot offered to send a car, and you refused, but I thought maybe we could talk?”