“We skipped the rest of the Club party,” he says, voice smooth, a Lucullan feast for the ears. “We’ve accomplished what we needed to.”
“And it was oh-so fun,” Creed adds, sprawling onto his own pillow. He looks boneless, the way he lounges.
“If the Company didn’t want to deal with a firestorm, they shouldn’t have shot the first bullet,” Zack growls, and that darkness I remember from junior high comes rushing back in. His brown eyes are heavy-lidded, and as I watch, he rakes his fingers through his brunette hair. There’s something going on between him, his dad, and his grandfather. That much is obvious. I mean, the family was completely cut-off from funds and Zack was sent to Lower Banks High with me. It doesn’t get much worse than that. What kind of man would force his grandson into a school that breeds gang members, dropouts, and assholes?
Okay, so I guess Burberry Prep is a breeding ground for assholes, too, but still.
This time, though, when I see Zack’s darkness rush to the surface, I don’t cringe away from it the way I did when he started to tear Ileana down in the gym. No, this time I watch it happen and I wonder what I can do to help
“From now on, I'll try to be a better man. It wasn't Marnye’s job to teach me how to be one, but she already has anyway.”
It might not be my job, but I want to help Zack. I want to help all of these boys. And maybe that’s a problem. Reforming a bad boy, changing a bully, those are pretty lofty ideals. In the real world, it doesn’t often go right. But these guys are my friends now, they’re … I’ve forgiven them. I really have.
It’s freeing in a way, that forgiveness. And it’s cathartic somehow, to find out that they really are human on the inside. They have wants and needs, pleasures and pains, faults and heroisms. Basically … they’re just people.
Zayd sets me down on my own cushion and takes up the one on my right. I’m waxing poetic yet again. Must be all the hormones.
Yep.
That’s it.
The fucking hormones.
“We thought you might like a game of truth or dare,” Zack says, turning to look at me, scanning me with that soulful umber gaze of his, taking me in. “Like an Infinity Club party, but without all the bullshit.”
“Rules still apply though,” Zayd says with a grin, gesturing at Tristan with an inked hand that’s covered in rings, and a wrist full of rubber bracelets from past concerts. “No chickening out. No fucking way. Now pass me the rum.”
Tristan pours a generous helping of alcohol into a red plastic cup (it wouldn’t be a party without them!) and then passes it around the circle until it makes its way to Zayd. Everyone else gets their drink of choice: vodka for Creed, a beer for Zack, gin for Windsor, and cognac for Tristan. Seems appropriate. That’s how I think of his voice, nice and smooth and velvety. I’ve never had it, but I’ve heard Dad go off on tangents before.
The boys have brought me a bunch of cold drinks, all non-alcoholic, and I smile. They never forget, and I appreciate that.
“Once you empty that beer, Zack,” Zayd says, his husky rockstar voice echoing around the quiet library. “We can play spin the bottle. But only if Marnye is the one who’s spinning it. I’m not kissing any of you assholes.”
“You will if we play a round of truth or dare,” I say with a smile. Zayd glances over at me and raises his pierced brow, grinning all the while.
“Word on the street is you like gay romance novels,” he says with a chuckle, and I flush.
“I read the occasional boys’ love manga, but that’s about it.”
“Don’t let her fool you: those things are practically porn,” Creed drawls, still lying on his side, his elbow propping his head up. “Anal sex, blow jobs, plenty of cum. Buckets of it, really.”
“You’re as crass as your sister,” I choke out, unscrewing the top on a bottle of tropical juice. Pineapple, I think it is. Nice and tangy.
“So you like to read your porn instead of watch it?” Zack asks with a deep chuckle, the sound reverberating through me. “Makes things easier on campus, that’s for sure. Fuck the no phone rule.”
“I’ve been working on cracking that shit since day one. I mean, I’ve figured out how to sneak a phone in, but I swear there’s literally no service out here, and the Wi-fi is locked down hard. They’re freaking Nazis about that shit.” Zayd lies down on his stomach, his cup already emptied, and pillows his head on his hands.
“I’ve got a satellite phone,” Windsor says, unbuttoning the top two buttons on his stupid penguin pajamas. His stupid penguin pajamas that I actually really like. “It doesn’t exactly run apps, but I can make calls. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
