“I’ll pass,” he says, slouching against the edge of the alcove and kicking one foot up against it. His eyes meet mine, and a spark snaps between us. “I will, however, walk you to orchestra practice tomorrow. It’s about as far as I can manage before I need a nap.” He winks at me, slides down the wall, and kicks out one leg, keeping the other bent at the knee. I’ve never seen anyone luxuriate like he does, sitting in the sun with that white-gold hair sparkling, his phone in his hand.
“I’ll take you up on that,” I say, letting Zayd put his arm around my waist. He guides me down the path and I feel the strangest burst of emotion in my chest, like a flower blooming in the spring sunshine.
I wish this feeling could last forever.The entire social scene at Burberry Prep revolves around a single day in February: Valentine’s Day.
“If you don’t get a rose, you’re worse than a Pleb,” Miranda explains, and then flushes, clamping a hand over her mouth. I smile at her, but she’s already rushing to explain herself. “Not like, well … I’ll be sending you a rose for sure. You don’t have to worry.”
“I’ll send you one, too,” I say as we walk down the hall toward our lockers. I don’t use mine as much since my dorm is actually in the chapel building, but everybody else lives in Tower Three, so they stuff them full of things. Honestly, because we use tablets and laptops in most every class, and physical textbooks have gone the way of the dinosaurs, the lockers function more as a social hub and a place to store personal items people want during the day. When we stop at Miranda’s, she gets out a soda and a bag of cashews.
I once saw inside Tristan’s locker and noticed a box of condoms. Zayd keeps a guitar in his. I’ve never seen Creed’s.
“Maybe my brother will send you a flower?” Miranda teases, hip bumping me as she scoops a handful of cashews into her palm. “He’s walked you to every practice and rehearsal for orchestra, hasn’t he?” I shrug my shoulders, but I can’t deny that it’s true. Creed’s been walking me around campus, Zayd’s been eating with me in The Mess, and Tristan just flits in and makes my heart thunder at random moments.
Maybe … I’ll get more than just one flower from Miranda?
And if I do, what does that mean? Are the Idols fucking with me?
I hate to admit how much I want this new friendship with them. Or more. Could be more than friendship …Roses can be purchased all week in the student lounge, and are delivered during third period on Valentine’s Day. It’s a Friday, so everyone’s already antsy and ready for the weekend. People shift in their seats and whisper behind cupped hands.
Ms. Felton gives up trying to actually teach us anything, and we all wait in nervous anticipation for the bouquets to arrive. Tristan is the only member of the Bluebloods, save Miranda, that’s in this class, and my palms begin to sweat when I see him grab his things and move over to stand beside us.
I did something … risky this week.
I ordered five flowers: one for Miranda, one for Andrew … and three for the Idol boys.
I have no idea how they’re going to react to that.
“Expecting any roses?” Tristan asks, and I shrug because I don’t want to tell him the truth: I am. I really, truly am. He doesn’t say anything, just waits for the door to swing in and the staff to come through with massive bouquets of roses in hand. There are buds in every color, all mixed together in a rainbow of differently shaded blossoms.
The rule is: a student can only order one rose for each recipient.
Tristan watches as the employee makes her way around the room, handing out bunches of long-stemmed roses and little stacks of cards. When she finishes passing out the flowers in her arms, she heads back out to the cart in the hall and grabs a bunch as big around as my waist. This one she presents to Tristan.
“Holy shit,” Miranda chokes out, watching as he puts the flowers aside and moves over to the trash can near Ms. Felton’s desk. The whole class holds its collective breath as Tristan begins to look through the cards that came with them. He tosses the top card into the trash and several of the girls gasp. The second card … also in the trash. Tristan’s gray eyes study the names and dismiss them, one by one. I have no idea how many cards he has, but I’m guessing it’s around a hundred. “I’ve … never even heard of someone getting so many roses.”
“Trash, trash, trash,” Tristan says, chucking one after the other. It’s actually pretty fucking cruel what he’s doing. There’s no reason for it. My cheeks burn, and I can’t help but wonder which one of those cards is mine. “Yawn. No thank you. Stupid bitch.”
