“If you call opening my locker and having rainbow condoms spill out not that bad, then you’re right: it wasn’t.” I lean in close to my laptop, and squint at the screen, like I’m super focused on the essay I’m writing for government. Really, I’m distracted as can be. While everyone else is excited that it’s Friday again, I’m dreading getting an invite from Miranda to attend whatever party happens to be on.
She doesn’t say anything, sipping an iced coffee that she swiped from the teacher’s lounge.
“Evening ladies,” Andrew says, pausing next to our table. His eyes land on mine and hold there, a smile taking over his mouth. I swallow hard and pretend to be so engrossed in my work that I can barely look away. Lie. I like the way he’s staring at me, like he might actually be interested. “What are you two up to tonight?”
Miranda adjusts her skirt to cover the straps of her garter belt, raising an eyebrow at his question.
“If you’re fishing and trying to find out whether we’re attending Tristan’s party, the answer is … it’s up to Marnye.” Ah. So it’s Tristan’s party tonight. Based on the gossip Miranda’s been feeding me, the bonfire thing was Zayd’s idea. Guess it’s true that the three Idol boys don’t get along all that well. They take turns entertaining their loyal subjects.
“It’s on his father’s yacht,” Andrew adds with a shrug of his shoulders, like having a weekend party on a yacht is no big thing. “Since it’s parked in the harbor behind the school, we don’t even need off-campus permits to go.” I lift my eyes to meet his again, a sparkling blue that matches his smile. When he lifts his fingers up and runs them through his chestnut hair, I almost smile for real. Andrew Payson really is pretty cute. “If you don’t have a date already, Marnye, I’d love to take you. If you’re with me, the others won’t bother you.”
“As much as I appreciate the offer, I don’t think my presence there would be appreciated.” Just the idea of lounging on Tristan’s yacht makes me sick to my stomach. I gather up my books, and rise to my feet. I’d rather walk back to my room with Miranda than risk going alone. Zayd promised me pain this week, and I have yet to see much of it.
I imagine he’s just waiting for the right time.
“If you’re with me and Miranda,” Andrew starts, but I give him a look and he raises his hands in surrender. “Promise: by the time we get there, Zayd will be too drunk to mess with you. Tristan will be on the top deck, surrounded by girls. And Creed …” He glances over at Miranda and she gives me a sympathetic look. She knows what he did to me; everyone does. “We’ll just stick to drinking soda, and dancing. What do you say?” Andrew grins with those pearly whites of his, but all I really want to do is go back to my room and see if I can get ahold of my dad. I’m starting to get worried.
“Oh, come on, Marnye,” Miranda pleads, putting her hands into a prayer position. “I’m not saying throw caution to the wind, but you’re not going to let them win either, right?” Crap, she has a point. Sighing and nodding my head slightly sends Miranda into a squeal, and she wraps her arms around me, giving me a squeeze. “You won’t regret this,” she promises me, but I’m already certain that I will.Tristan’s yacht is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It has several tiers of decks, some with furniture, one with a hot tub, another where students are already in the midst of drunken dancing. Miranda tells me that The Idol cost over a hundred million dollars to build custom, and my stomach feels sick with the level of excess. A hundred million dollars for a boat? It’s like a floating freaking palace.
“And naming it The Idol?” I start as we walk across the grass toward the dock. “Is that because of Tristan?”
“Nah,” Miranda says, giving me a sympathetic half-smile, “that’s because his great-grandfather started the Idol tradition here at Burberry Prep. All the Vanderbilts have been Idols since.”
Great.
So even Tristan’s bullying has a legacy. That does not bode well for me.
There are so many people already on the boat and the dock that I wonder if there’s going to be anything more than standing room. My palms are sweaty as I swipe them down the front of my jeans. Wearing a fancy dress to the last party didn’t do me any good, so this time I’m dressed in my own clothes. At least when I’m dressed like this, I know how to act, how to respond.
“This is not a good idea,” I groan as Andrew puts his arm through my left, and Miranda does the same on my right. They drag me through the crowd and onto the boat, locating a couch in the downstairs cabin that we can sit on. Drinks are passed around, but I don’t touch a thing. Not that I’d planned to, but this time, I don’t even pretend.
