Whoa.
Definitely getting this one.
“What’s this? More of your gauche manga?” Creed asks, surprising me by drawing the manga out of my hand and over my head. I spin around to find him standing behind me, dressed in a loose, slightly wrinkled blue button-down and jeans. He doesn’t even try to hide his actions from the bookshop employees when he peels the plastic off and flips right to a dirty scene. His pale blond brows go up. “My, my, Marnye. What have we got here?”
“Give that back,” I whisper, trying to snag it from him, but he’s quick, lifting it out of reach so he can stare at the two dudes, um, well, to put it nicely … fucking? Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.
“Whoooooa there,” Zayd says, slumping his inked body over Creed’s shoulders and peeking at the pages as Creed frowns at him, and scowls. “What the fuck is this? Sensitive Pornograph? Is that the title, really, Charity? The Queen of the Elite really is a perv.” Zayd grabs the manga and tucks it under his arm, reaching up to twist some of his sea green hair into little spikes. “I’ll buy this for you; maybe it’ll give you ideas for our next fuck.”
Creed sneers, and leans his shoulder against one of the bookcases, like it’s simply too much effort for him to stand up straight. Like any of the super-rich, he doesn’t seem to care that he’s in a public space. No, the whole world just belongs to him; that’s the way things should be. Really, they’re all like that at times.
“Gee, thanks,” I say, but my cheeks are flushed anyway. Between schoolwork, cheerleading, harp, and hanging out with everyone … there’s not a lot of time for sex. Or maybe I’m just not making time for it because I don’t know how to balance all these guys? In reality, I sort of went from zero to a hundred pretty quick. Virgin to … having been with three different dudes.
I exhale as Creed narrows his blue eyes on Zayd.
“From what I hear, you really were a two-pump chump. Maybe that should be the name of your next album? How to Come Quick and Leave Disappointment in My Wake. It’s as long and stupid as your nickname.”
“Hah,” Zayd says, rolling his green eyes and then reaching over my head to grab another manga off the shelf. This one’s about a haunted hot springs hotel haunted by a sexy ghost. I see a lot of boobage as Zayd flips through the novel. This, too, he tucks under his arm. He snaps his fingers in Creed’s direction. “You’re hilarious, bro. Really, bravo.” He faux claps his inked hands, and then flashes me a wicked grin, the two silver piercings in his lip sharp and pointed like arrows. I’ve already tried running my tongue over them, and all they do is make it tingle. I thought they’d hurt at first, but they don’t. I really like them actually.
“What are you two doing here anyway? I thought you were waiting at the café.”
“Eh, Lizzie and Tristan got into this super deep conversation,” Zayd says with a shrug as Creed watches him with a sharpness that belies the nonchalant slump of his beautiful body. Carefully, he tucks his pale fingers into his pockets. “Talk about boring as fuck. We bailed on that quick.”
“You are such an impossible idiot,” Creed drawls, turning his attention over to me. “I’m sorry, Marnye. He doesn’t mean to be crass, rude, and oblivious. He can’t help it. He has no mom, his dad’s a crack-addicted groupie-obsessed rockstar, and his grandma is so enamored with the family business, she once forgot him at a summer camp, and the police had to drive him home. Remember that, Zayd?”
“Why don’t you get fucked?” Zayd purrs, but he stalks off with a scowl, and I can tell Creed’s hit a nerve.
“You’re being a bully,” I tell him, crossing my arms and giving him my sternest stare. He turns back to me and then shrugs his shoulders so loosely and lazily that it almost looks like an accident.
“So? You’re either the bully or you’re the one who gets bullied. Surely you’ve learned that by now?” He pushes off the shelf and stands up, looking down at me with the idle gaiety of the super-rich. He’s amused, but it’s expected for the world to amuse him.
“I’m not allowing bullying at Burberry Prep, you know that.” I give him a look. “I don’t consider getting revenge being a bully.”
“Riiiiight,” Creed drawls, turning around and running his fingers along the edge of the bookshelf, all the way to the end before he glances over his shoulder at me. “The predator or the prey, Marnye. It’s a fact of life.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I say, following after him and around the corner. From here, I can see Miranda, Zack, and Andrew sitting at one of the tables on the raised seating area that rings the bookshop’s own small café. It’s nothing compared to the one across the street, the one with the fireplace and the big comfy chairs, but it’s still cute.
“I was bullied in middle school for being rich. Poor kids can be cruel, too, you know.” He pauses at a shelf full of mystery novels with cartoon cats on them, with titles that are all puns about food and animals. Things like The Cat’s Killer Gives Police Paws. Get it? Creed spins the shelf around, idly browsing the books.
“First off, those kids you went to school with in Grenadine Heights would generally be considered upper middleclass. To the students at Lower Banks, they’d appear to be pretty damn rich themselves. But you’re right. You’re right: every person has the capacity to be cruel. The thing is, we’re all human. We also have the intelligence and the empathy necessary to temper that cruelty.” I grab one of Creed’s pale hands, and he pauses, looking down at me. “I’ve seen you guys at your worst; I want to see you at your best.”
He exhales and lets me curl my fingers through his, pulling me close. When Lizzie and Tristan walk in together a moment later, I do my best not to act like a jealous weirdo.
It’s okay: Creed does it for me.
“You’re such a fucking fool, hanging out with another girl when you’ve got a beautiful girlfriend right here.”
“Quiet, sloth,” Tristan snaps back, meeting Creed’s dark stare with one of his own. He might be a ‘charity case’, but the filthy rich brat inside of him is still there, waiting to rear its wealthy head. “Why don’t you go take a nap somewhere and mind your own business?”
Creed lets go of me, but I’m afraid a confrontation between him and Tristan is incoming, so I step between them, my eyes meeting Lizzie’s amber ones. Her expression gives nothing away.
“Did you get what you needed for the prince’s stupid costume?” Tristan asks, completely deadpan. He’s been like that since Vanderbilt Manor, like a beautiful, broken doll. It’s upsetting to me. I just … I want to shake him. I want to play Twister again, I …
“We got it,” I tell him as Windsor appears over the railing above us, leaning over to tickle my hair.
“I’ve ordered you a cup of tea,” he says, glancing back at the counter. “And I’ve warned the barista of the consequences of failing. Join me?” He stands back up, and I nod, grabbing Creed’s hand … and then Tristan’s. I pull him away from Lizzie, but not before I see her lips part in surprise.
The way she frowns when she joins us at the table a few moments later tells me that that one small action was a bold move in her eyes.
I can only imagine that things might amp up from here on out.
Halloween is always a big thing for us, particularly this year. Not only is it our last high school Halloween party, but it’s also our best chance to make a definitive stand for the school and crush Harper’s minor uprising completely.
Only the Bluebloods of Burberry Prep can host the Halloween party.
After some serious deliberation, we decide to use the casino.
Technically, it’s an Infinity Club property, so that makes our party an Infinity Club party, meaning we’re not allowed to kick the Harpies and the Company out. But that’s okay. We don’t need to kick them out to win. If they’re at our party, we’ve already won.
I’m all dressed up in a white gown that looks a little too much like a wedding dress for my comfort, similar to the one I wore in San Francisco but with even more frills and glittery bits. When the guys saw me, I swear, Creed, Zayd, and Tristan looked terrified … while Wind and Zack looked far too excited. I’m honestly not even sure which of their expressions was worse.
The thing is, I’m supposed to be the queen of the school, Harper’s replacement. I have to look the part. While Miranda and Lizzie are dressed as princesses—along with Andrew and Windsor, of course—and the Inner Circle girls are decked out like a royal court of aristocrats, I had to elevate the costume. So I wore the crown, the very expensive, very decadent crown.
Windsor stares out the window and into the darkness as we crawl through the trees toward the abandoned building. We were out here last week decorating and hauling pumpkins. It’s not quite the perfect spooky Samhain paradise from last year, but this isn’t the type of place you bring caterers and decorators. It’s more of … a student-only sort of facility.
“Why don’t you drive anymore?” I ask, and Windsor glances back at me, his face decked out in as much makeup as I’m wearing. It makes me smile because he’s actually a little bit … pretty? I made him put a pink shawl on over his dress because his arms are too thick and muscular for the whole ‘pretty princess’ thing he’s got going on, but secretly I find them hot as hell. “First thing that comes up online when I Google you is a list of expensive cars that you’ve totaled.”
“Ah, you Americans and your Googling,” he says, which just makes me laugh. Some of his American jokes are pretty spot on. That one was just stupid. Still, I liked it anyway. “You know I crashed that yacht into the harbor, right?” I nod. I’ve read about that online, too. People were hurt, hospitalized even. There’s one girl who was only just recently released. From what I read, she’s still in the process of learning how to walk.