“Haven't you learned your lesson with the Infinity Club?” Zack whispers, and then he's standing up and pushing away from the table. He grabs his letterman jacket off the back of his chair and storms out of the room.
Bingo.
Looks like I hit a nerve.
Zack needs to win this game on Friday, I'll bet.
And I really need to have a conversation with Charlie.The next morning, I'm up bright and early, using the iron in my room to smooth out the pleats in my white skirt and jacket. The second-year uniform is one of my favorites, all of that crisp white linen with just a touch of color in the red of the tie, the shiny black of the shoes, and the little stripes of black and red on the elbows of the jacket and the tops of the socks.
Just for fun, I put on the necklace Tristan gave me. I imagine it'll mess with his head, making him wonder how exactly I ended up getting it back. Knowing that Dad's likely to be late, I hold back and wait to head for the courtyard until I'm sure most of the other students will have cleared out. I'm out for blue blood this year, and I’m willing to take punches to get it, but I won't accept any attacks from those assholes that are directed at my father.
On my way down the hall, I notice that one of the office doors is open. It's of note to me because I come down this way all the time and never once have I seen it open. In fact, it's usually locked. The school staff has officially moved into the new outbuildings, and nobody uses the old chapel offices anymore.
“You've disappointed me, son.” I hear a patronizing tone that sets me on edge. It's so frustratingly condescending that it makes my teeth hurt. Even though I know I shouldn't, I end up creeping forward to peep in the glass window on the door.
What I see in there makes me raise my brows.
Tristan's standing with his back straight, his face frozen into an expression of bored disinterest. Unlike Creed, however, he doesn't quite manage to pull it off. Actually, for the first time ever, he looks truly terrified beneath the mask. Even when he saw his dad's car floating in the pool, it wasn't this bad.
Tristan Vanderbilt is scared of something, huh?
Apparently, he's scared of … his dad?
The man sitting on the edge of the old desk looks like a mature—and if possible crueler—version of his son. He's got that same raven-dark hair, those gray eyes, and a smile like a snake. The moment I lay eyes on him, I know he's bad news. Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Tristan doesn't say anything, just stands there and stares his father down. There's the slightest quiver in his shoulders that doesn't seem right. Is he actually trembling? That's when I notice the slight glisten of red at the corner of his mouth. Is that … blood?
“You're right,” Tristan says, and that's it, just those two words. His uniform is as perfectly pressed as always, just sharp lines and creases that could cut. His tie is straight, his jacket buttoned, his hair smooth and shiny. But his eyes are disturbingly empty. Even his usual cruelty is missing. “I messed up.”
Mr. Vanderbilt sighs and taps his fingers against the leg of his immaculately pressed suit. Just like his son, there's not a single thread, button, or hair out of place. And there's no doubt in my mind that his suit costs more than my father's yearly salary.
“I'm still struggling to understand how my car ended up in a swimming pool.”
Tristan flinches, and my heart begins to race. If he hasn't ratted me out yet, he's not going to. But still …
“I told you: it was a senior prank.” His voice is cold, empty, dark.
After a moment, Mr. Vanderbilt goes to reach for something in his pocket, and Tristan flinches like he's been struck. But all his dad does is produce a black box with a little crown on the top. He passes it over to his son, and Tristan takes it warily, cracking the top to reveal a black and red Rolex watch. He turns it over and I see a custom engraved infinity symbol on the back.
Well, damn.
“A senior prank?” Mr. Vanderbilt asks as he takes the box back, removes the watch, and gestures for his son to hold out his arm. “And how, exactly, did the seniors get my car out of our garage in Los Angeles?”
Tristan says nothing, just lets his dad put the watch on for him.
“I haven't seen the class rankings posted yet. Have you?” Mr. Vanderbilt's voice just drips with menace; the high cheekbones and straight, ridged nose that look so regal on his son become villainous when he reaches out and snatches Tristan by the tie, yanking him close.
