“I’ve spent my entire life working to get into this school.” Tristan stares down at me from eyes that are the color of the stormy sky above the sea, a flat gray with incoming clouds, thick with thunder and flickering with lightning. “For four generations, the Vanderbilts have taken valedictorian at Burberry Prep. If that’s your goal, I suggest you move to a different school.”
“Last I checked, I was still number one in the first year class,” I quip, and his face tightens. But Harper’s finally stomped up to sit next to Miranda, seething, her fingers digging into her pale thighs so tightly that I can see red marks. Mrs. Z starts her lecture, and I pull out my tablet to take notes.
Tristan doesn’t speak to me the rest of the day, but I know he heard me.
And I know he means to fight back.
Come January, I am so screwed.On Friday, Zayd appears at my door, slipping in before Miranda and Andrew get a chance to close it.
“You were not invited in here,” I say, but he ignores me, green eyes taking in my friends without interest, and then flicking over to me.
“No, but I have something I want from you.” He pauses and raises both eyebrows, his uniform completely unbuttoned, tie loose and lopsided. He’s stuck a pin through the lapel on the jacket, obscuring the Burberry Prep crest. “I’m collecting on our little bet. And I want to do it at Becky Platter’s party tonight.”
My cheeks flame, and Andrew frowns. Miranda crosses her arms under her breasts and glares at Zayd. She’s in the Inner Circle, a member of the prestigious Burberry Bluebloods, she’s allowed to do that. Her connection to Creed makes her invincible. As long as he’s in power, so is she.
“Where is Becky having her party? Because I wasn’t invited.” Miranda glances over at Andrew, and he sighs.
“She didn’t tell me about it either.”
“Naw, because you two are always up here in the Brothel.” Zayd scoops a handful of peanuts from the bowl on my counter. “She’s telling everyone you three are in some sort of fucked-up ménage relationship, and that you’ve all got chlamydia or something. Or was it gonorrhea?” He pauses to pop the peanuts into his mouth, eyes darkening. “Here’s the thing: I want to bang Becky Platter. She responds well to jealousy, and you know, she freaking hates you, Charity. Come to the party, dance with me a little, and then kiss me.”
My mouth opens and then snaps closed.
“These bets are stupid,” Miranda snaps, pushing blond hair back from her face. She looks just like Creed when she does that. “This is why I’ve never joined the Infinity Club. It’s not worth it.”
“The Club is so much more than that, and you know it.” Zayd smiles at me, and then lifts his shirt, showing off his infinity tattoo. “So fucking mysterious, right? Girls always ask me about it when they’re going down on me.” He drops the fabric, and I frown. I’m not impressed.
“Aren’t you worried that I know too much?” I ask dryly, my heart pounding. The last thing I want to do tonight is party—especially not with Zayd. And kiss him? I mean, it wouldn’t be our first kiss. The one on Halloween might’ve been though if Zack and I hadn’t had exactly one incredible make out session before we broke up.
“Uh, why? My dad pays over a million for security a year. If you started running your mouth, he could just, like, send his goons after you.” Zayd reaches up and musses with his hair. He wears a lot of eyeliner which bothers the hell out of Miranda. I haven’t admitted it to her yet, but I think he looks really good with it. Makes his emerald eyes pop. “Party’s at Becky’s parents’ place, about an hour from here. Her folks only use that house when they’ve got a horse competition or what the hell ever. She says it’ll be dead, no teachers, no police, in the middle of nowhere.”
“Guessing the dress code is per the usual: slutty, short, and tight?” Miranda asks.
“Preferably,” Zayd says, chuckling. He sits down on my bed like he intends to wait for me. He crosses his feet at the ankles, and I realize he’s wearing boots instead of loafers. So this is his change of clothes for the party. He notices me looking and gestures with his chin. “Couple of other schools might show up tonight. I want to represent.” That’s when I notice what his pin says: Idol. Wow, how subtle.
“I’ll wear my uniform with some sneakers then,” I say and Zayd groans, pushing up from my bed and going straight for my wardrobe again. “Excuse you, we are not friends. Get your hands out of my freaking clothes.” Zayd tosses a tight black tank top at me, grabs my leather jacket next, and then steals my red Prada heels from Halloween.
