Page 105 of Filthy Rich Boys (Rich Boys Of Burberry Prep 1)
“Stop it!” Miranda screams, dropping her bookbag to the floor and leaping into the fray. I follow after her, but the boys are in such a frenzy, they just knock us to the side and continue fighting. There's quite a bit of blood, and when Tristan and Zayd appear to pull them apart, I can see that most of it belongs to Andrew.
“Come on man,” Gregory Van Horn says, stepping out of the crowd that's gathered to watch, “let me have a turn at him.” It takes me a second to realize he doesn't mean John, he means Andrew.
“What the hell is going on here?” Miranda asks, spinning to look at her brother as he comes around the corner. She searches his face desperately, but he doesn't say anything. It's John that speaks first.
“We heard Creed confronting Andrew about being a faggot,” he sneers, reaching up to wipe some blood from the corner of his mouth. I turn to look at Creed, my stomach tightening in knots, but he's already shaking his head.
“That’s not even in the fucking realm of what I was doing. I wasn't confronting him. I just wanted to be sure he wasn’t banging my sister.” Creed runs his fingers through his hair. “I thought he was lying to me, so I followed him after our conversation. That's when I found him making out with Gary Jacobs.” Creed shrugs his shoulders. “But whoever gave you the right to beat him up?” Creed’s voice is as sharp as a whip, and he gives Tristan a run for the money in the asshole department. At least this time, he’s using his asshole powers for good. “There will be absolutely no homophobic bullshit on my watch.” His eyes briefly flick to his sister before he looks away again.
“Why would you confront him like that?” Miranda snaps, stepping up to her brother. Her eyes sparkle dangerously, and even though I'm terrified, I know I have to tell her about my part in all of this. If I don't, then how am I any better than Lizzie or Zack? Just thinking about them makes me want to throw up again, so I push the thoughts aside and reach out for Miranda’s arm.
“Hey,” I say, looking her straight in the face. I haven’t even said anything and she’s backing away from me. Andrew watches us both carefully.
“You said something to him, didn’t you?” she whispers, and then she turns and takes off down the hall at a run. I jog after her, but she’s waiting for me when I turn the corner.
“You said something!” she shouts, and I cringe, clinging to the strap of my bookbag. My guilt is written all over my face; I can feel it.
“I followed you one day, and—” Miranda reaches out and slaps me. I don’t even stop her because I know I deserve it. Still, the explanation tumbles out of my mouth, and I’m frustrated to hear it sound like an excuse. There are no excuses for what I’ve done, getting Creed involved, and subsequently the entirety of the Bluebloods. “I made a bet with Creed during poker—”
She interrupts me again, and I let her.
“I warned you about that fucking Club!” she shouts, pacing the hall in front of me, raking her fingers through her hair. “And I warned you about the Idols.” She stops and stares at me like she has no idea who I am anymore. “I thought you were different, but when it comes down to it, you’re just like them.”
“Don’t say that,” I choke out, already feeling the tears beginning to leak down my cheeks. “Miranda, I’m sorry.”
“You spied on me, and you spilled my secrets, and now look what’s happened. Not everyone is as progressive as you, Marnye, and our secrets—mine and Andrew’s—they were not yours to tell.” She sniffles and puts her face in her hands. When I reach out to touch her shoulder, she jerks away from and drops her arms to her sides, curling her fingers into tight fists. “Don’t touch me. And don’t talk to me.”
“For how long?” I whisper, but I know I messed-up, and I can’t expect her to give me a timeline on her forgiveness … if she even gives it at all.
“I don’t know. Maybe forever?” Miranda pushes past me and my shoulder slams into the wall. I turn and watch her go before Creed appears around the corner, his eyes dark with pain. His sister is the one and only person he seems to care about, and he’s just upset her to the core—with my help.
“I’m sorry, Marnye,” he says, moving over to me and putting his hands on my waist. The world sways around me, but his touch keeps me upright. “I never meant for this to happen.” He leans down and brushes his lips to my forehead, and even though I know I shouldn’t believe him, I do. Because I want to. “Can I come in?” I nod, and use my keys to unlock the door to my apartment. Creed slips in behind me, and I let him stay the night on my couch.
