“I’m not exactly Idol material,” I say, giving a slight smile. Tristan frowns and looks away, out the tinted windows towards the forest beyond the hills. Everything he does is so dramatic. I’m not even sure he means to be that way; it’s just his natural personality.
Tristan is silent for the remainder of the drive, but the rest of my new friends are pretty chatty. Their talk helps calm my nerves a bit.
“You got this,” Zayd reassures me, winking before he climbs out of the limo with his bookbag thrown casually over his shoulder. Miranda follows behind him, then Creed, Andrew, Zack, Lizzie, and Windsor. Tristan and I are last, and I’m happy to see that the courtyard with the stag is empty when we walk up the steps toward the fountains and the surrounding towers.
“Let’s do breakfast,” Tristan says casually, and we make our way into the chapel building and down the hall toward The Mess.
It’s strange, being back in these halls after everything that happened at Royal Pointe, and the Hamptons, and my birthday party. Surreal, almost. My palms are sweaty as I cling to my bookbag and follow the group inside the dining hall.
I breathe a sigh of relief as we walk in and find that special table, the one up on the dais, empty.
We all squeeze around it together and take up our menus while Miranda laments the lack of coffee, mumbling under her breath about Ms. Felton being a caffeine Nazi.
“Coventry Prep has catered buffets for every meal,” Lizzie explains, sitting on Tristan’s right. I’m on his left, next to Creed. He’s leaning back in his chair like he’s ready for a nap, but his eyes are intense, laser-focused on me as I pretend to peruse the menu.
“What?” I ask finally, turning to look at him and most definitely not thinking about the hot tub. I mean, why would I? What purpose would that serve? No, my cheeks are not red at all. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
“I’m trying to figure out how to ask you to be my girlfriend,” he drawls with all the confidence and nonchalance of the idle rich, and all the color drains from my face.
“What?!” Miranda shrieks from across the table. I feel faint and dizzy all of a sudden, like I may very well do a face-plant into the fancy white plate with the gold leafing that’s in front of me. Visible tension rises in the other boys—even Andrew. But that’s when I realize he’s the only one not looking at me and Creed. Instead, he’s staring at the door.
My attention swings that way, only to find Harper, Becky, and Ileana, a sea of Bluebloods behind them. They make straight for us, and the tension in our little group shifts.
“What do you want?” Tristan asks as they approach the table. Harper’s the only one to climb the few steps up to stand directly beside us. Without hesitation, she reaches out and shoves Windsor’s water glass over and into his lap. He lets it happen, and turns to her with this look that promises future pain.
“This is our table. Bluebloods eat on the dais. You should know: your great-grandfather invented the tradition of the Idols. Rules are rules, Vanderbilt. You’re not exempt from them because your name’s on half the buildings.”
“Idols have to possess a special je ne sais quoi, Harper. There has to be something about them that makes them stand out from the rest of the crowd. Money, good breeding, looks, connections, or some combination thereof.”
She snorts and interrupts Tristan before he gets a chance to finish.
“Well, we all know you don’t qualify on that first account.” The Bluebloods snicker behind her, and my hands curl into fists. I don’t know why. The last person in the world I should be standing up for is Tristan William Vanderbilt, but I can’t seem to help myself.
He continues on as if Harper didn’t speak.
“You might tick a few boxes, but you’re petty, pathetic, and you walk a fine, fine line when it comes to playing by Club rules.” Tristan shakes his napkin out with a snap and places it carefully in his lap, his blue-black hair shimmering in the glow from the sconces behind him. “You’re so pathetic that even though your family’s blood money would wet the Vanderbilt coffers, I simply can’t stand your presence, let alone your touch. You’re nothing but the granddaughter of a man who built his fortune on the broken back of this country’s changing healthcare system. Now, get the fuck out my sight before I really get angry.”
“You don’t have shit to back you up,” Harper snarls, her hair long and dyed a honeyed blonde. It’s so thick and full and pretty, I’m guessing she’s got human hair extensions in. Long ones, too. Her glossy new hair goes all the way down past her breasts. My hands ache to cut it all off. How satisfying would that be? To get her not once but twice. “You think you’re an institution? Guess what? The money your family made from being railroad tycoons is over. Finished. Dried up. William is going to slaughter you for breaking our engagement.”
