“That’s up to her. Ask nicely and maybe she’ll say yes.”
“Like, bro, who the fuck are you?” Zayd snaps, pushing Tristan out of the way and pausing in the door. He glances over at me, and to be honest, he looks like shit. He actually looks like he might puke all over the expensive rugs Kathleen Cabot bought for my dorm room floor. I’m walking on more money in here than my dad has in my college fund. “You just moved in here, and you think you know shit about what goes on?”
“I know the Infinity Club owns this school,” Windsor begins, ticking things off on his hand. “I know they’re desperate to have me as a member, but I’ve refused over a dozen times. I know that you’re all part of the Club, and that you used poor Marnye here as a pawn in one of your asinine bets.” He shrugs his shoulders as pretty much every person in the room gapes at him.
I mean … of course a rich, handsome prince knows about the Infinity Club. But also, wow. Wow.
“Marnye, can we come in?” Creed deadpans, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, his blue eyes focused on me. With Miranda here, he’ll be on his best behavior, so at least there’s that.
I sigh and rake my fingers through my hair.
“Yeah, why not?” I say, and Zack bristles behind me. The three sets of matching glares the Idols throw him when they walk in don’t help. Swear to god, he even growls at them.
“Should we go?” Andrew asks, glancing over at Miranda and Jessie. He turns back to me and lifts his chin, like he’s determined to be here if I need him to, but also willing to leave if that’s what I want.
“Everyone can stay,” I say loudly, as Windsor shuts the door and locks it. Smart man.
Jessie, however, looks intimidated as hell and politely excuses herself. Nobody else makes any move to leave, and Windsor re-locks it behind her.
The Idols fan out near the end of my bed. Zayd looks ashamed to even be standing in here, his eyes wandering the room. I wonder if he’s remembering how he hid a camera in here to film us making out, and then shared it in front of the entire freaking school? I hope so.
We all just stare at each other, and it’s awkward as hell. If I have to watch these videos later, I’m going to get secondhand embarrassment. At least I know my cameras are still running. If the Idols say or do anything incriminating, I’ll have it on film.
“I told you to watch out for the girls,” Creed says with a sigh, like he’s so tired he might just flop onto my bed and cuddle up with me and Zack. There’s something about that thought that excites me, but it’s an impossibility from a distant galaxy that will never happen, so I push it aside. “I told you they were out to get you.”
Tristan glances irritably in his direction before turning his silver eyes on me. His attention makes me want to shift uncomfortably which just makes me rub against Zack, and then it makes Zack … Well, he’s hard again. Pressed right up against my back. Help me, RuPaul, I pray, because I’m really not all that religious, and I’m not sure who to ask for advice.
“What happened today?” Tristan says, his voice cold and authoritative. Everyone in that room perks up to listen … except Windsor. He yawns and flops down in the chair again, swinging one leg over the arm to watch.
Sucking in a deep breath—air never tasted so good—I quickly relive the story. Only Zack’s warm, muscular arms keep me grounded as I talk about those horrific few moments. They felt like freaking hours, though I know based on my level of consciousness at the end there that it was probably only two or three minutes max.
The Idols listen and then exchange glances.
Zayd’s the first one to speak up.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Marnye.” He sits down on the edge of my bed, refusing to acknowledge any sort of social grace or any boundary between us. He looks at me with those emerald green eyes of his. “Why the hell did you come back here?”
“You guys keep asking me that damn question!” I shout, and the words come out much stronger and harsher than I intend them to. I’m panting as I close my eyes and force myself to breathe. “Why do you think I came back here? I earned a scholarship to the best prep school in the country. Why wouldn’t I come back?” I open my eyes to glare at them. “Despite what your rich idiot asses might think, poor people do not want to be poor. Everyone dreams of being able to feed and clothe their family, to live without having to worry that the electricity is going to be shut off, or that their debit card won’t work when they’re trying to buy groceries. Why did I come back here? Because I want to graduate, go to college, and get a good job. I want to take care of my father, and I want to have a life where I can have kids and take care of them, too.” I pause in my rant and notice that the entire room has gone silent. Even Miranda is staring at me with a new sense of understanding.
