“Put this shit on with your skirt.”
“I’m not wearing heels to a party. I can barely walk in them.” I dump the pile on the bed, but maybe I will wear the tank and jacket. The crisp white academy blouses can be stifling, and they’re expensive as hell. When I picked up my uniforms from the tailor, I had to sign a zeroed out bill. It was for over five thousand dollars. “And besides, our bet was for a kiss, not a party.”
“Tell you what,” Zayd says, coming over to stand in front of me. I keep thinking of him as shorter than Creed and Tristan because he’s always slouching. Standing straight in front of me like he is now, I can see that that’s not true at all. I crane my neck to look up at him. “You come to the party, dance with me, and I’ll consider that payment for the kiss.”
“You’re really interested in Becky Platter, huh?” I ask, but all Zayd does is laugh.
“Interested?” Miranda echoes, shaking her head. “He just wants to check her name off his bingo list.” Zayd doesn’t deny her accusations, sliding his phone from his pocket and tapping out a text message.
“Yeah, so? Becky’s a bitch anyway. What do you care if I bag her?” he lifts his green eyes up from the screen and cocks a brow. “You should hear the crap she talks behind your back, Working Girl.”
“What other people think about me is none of my business,” I say, and Miranda grins. That’s a RuPaul quote right there. “But fine. I’ll go to the party, dance for a few songs, and my obligation is cleared?”
Zayd gives me a thumbs-up, and a smirk, glancing over at Andrew. He hasn’t said much, just leaned against the wall, watching our exchange. Maybe … he’s jealous that I’m going out with Zayd tonight? I don’t know. I mean, not that I encourage fragile masculinity and over-the-top jealousy, but a little proof that someone cares is never a bad thing, right?
“What about you, Payson? Take Miranda and make it a double date?” Zayd leers at him and reaches up to twist tufts of his sea green hair into spikes.
“I think I’d rather stay home tonight, if that’s okay with you?” Miranda asks, answering for Andrew. “If you need my support, I’ll come, but nobody in the Inner Circle will defy Tristan’s orders.”
“They’re not just Tristan’s orders,” Zayd snaps, and I get the idea that both he and Creed resent the fact that everyone acts like Tristan’s the king of the school. “And she’s right: you’ll be safe tonight. If anyone rags on you, they’re socially fucked. Even Harper knows that if she messes with you, she’ll lose her chances with Tristan.”
“Stay home,” I tell Miranda, thinking about her expression when Creed confronted her in the gym. My eyes flick to Andrew but only for a second. I don’t want Zayd to know what I’m thinking, not yet. If I get confirmation that she’s dating Andrew or Tristan or whoever else, I have to tell Creed. But I don’t have to share that information with Zayd. “I’ve got this.”
“Love you,” she says, kissing me on the cheek. I think she means it, too, and I smile.
“I’m going to take off, too, but maybe I’ll come to the party later?” Andrew gives me a quick hug, and whispers in my ear. “Don’t let the Idols bulldoze you.” He stands back up, waving as he heads into the hall with Miranda.
“They are so fucking,” Zayd says as soon as the door slams closed.
“They are not,” I blurt automatically, thinking about my date with Andrew. “Why do you say that?”
“Anyone who hasn’t figured that out yet is either blind, or named Creed Cabot.” Zayd gestures at the stack of clothes on my bed and then taps the fancy watch on his inked wrist. “Hurry up, Charity, I’ve got a one Becky Platter to incense with your presence.”
“Why would Creed not know?” I ask, gathering the clothes into my arms. Zayd rolls his emerald eyes at me.
“He knows everything about everything except when it comes to his sister. She shuts him out, and he hates it.”
“Could she be dating Tristan?” I ask, and Zayd howls with laughter.
“Tristan? Fuck no. He’d be an idiot to tap Miranda. Maybe in a long, drawn-out fight Tristan would win, but Creed would make his life a living hell. They’d both tear each other down so far that neither of them would be Idols again. Maybe he suspects Tristan, but there’s no way.”
Filing that information away for later, I slip into the bathroom to change.
But I definitely don’t wear the heels.Zayd drives us to the party in the same Maserati as before, taking the turns so fast that I end up white-knuckled and clinging to the seat. I most definitely don’t fall asleep this time.
