“Ranger and Church are just there to even out the playing field,” I say, because I can’t fathom them playing for any other reason. Imagine that, the whole Adamson Academy Student Council fighting over me. It’s ridiculous. “But how does it work, with both twins and all that?”
“One of us will sit out,” they say together, exchanging one of those secret twin looks.
“Tomorrow at twelve sharp, we’ll meet at the headmaster’s house and head to the paintball park.” Church finishes his coffee and then sets it aside on a passing tray, smiling a truly wicked smile as he does. “Now I’m off to go find those college girls,” he says, and Ranger grunts, following after him. The two of them disappear into the crowd, and I feel my stomach knot with anxiety.
It’s stupid.
The council doesn’t belong to me.
But it sort of feels like it does. Some dark, quiet part of me likes being the only girl in their world. I feel protected at school, like I have a crew of my own. And I don’t want my crew sleeping with coeds.
“They’re not going to pick up girls while you’re here,” Tobias says, watching his friends weave their way through the crowd. He turns his green eyes back to me, and smiles. “Trust me.”
“Why not?” I ask, genuinely curious, still wrapped in Spencer’s arms. I’m not sure how I feel about this duel thing. When I think about it, I get butterflies. I’m more than happy with just Spencer, but what would it be like to have it all? I don’t dare let myself think about that. You’re just being a selfish brat, I tell myself, and really, that’s the last thing I want to be. That’s the old Charlotte. The new one … I’m still figuring out who, exactly, she is.
“I don’t know,” Tobias continues, looking at Micah who shrugs. “It just doesn’t feel right. They’re probably off picking on North York Prep brats. Come on.” He gestures with his chin toward the dance floor and then holds out his hand for mine. Spencer gives him a look, and then drops his own hands from my hips.
“Go,” he says, giving me that wily grin of his. “I’m not threatened by these idiots. Two days ‘dating’ these dopes, and you’d be so done with the twin trope.”
I let Tobias lead me off toward the dance floor, but as we move, I catch the others watching me.
And not just Micah and Spencer either.
Church and Ranger.
I never even dared to consider …On Saturday, Dad wakes me up like it's a school day, ripping my covers off after the fifth or sixth time of trying to snap me out of my admittedly embarrassing orgy dream featuring all five Student Council boys. I groan and shuffle downstairs in a pink robe, slumping into the chair at the table. I’ve got a terrible hangover, and I’m cranky as hell, although last night was fun. Interesting, but fun.
There's a box of cereal, a bowl and spoon, and some skim milk.
Usually when Dad dumps bad news on me, he tries to butter me up with good food. Not so much today. My nose wrinkles as I pick up the cereal box and study the front.
It's some healthy granola crap. I set it back down and push the bowl away.
“Why am I up at the butt crack of dawn on a Saturday?” I ask, my heart beating frantically as I think about the whole California thing. I'm still trying to figure out a new angle on this, but I'm struggling. Every argument I come up with, Dad seems to refute.
“I want to hear your decision,” he says, sitting down at the head of the table, where he always sits. I just stare back at him.
“Seriously?” I ask, feeling my heart start to pound. “I told you: I don't want to leave Adamson. I like it here.”
“And sometimes, as adults, we have to make decisions, whether we like the choices put before us or not. Santa Cruz or Los Angeles, Charlotte.”
I gape at him, sitting there with his hands folded on the tabletop.
Evil, hateful ogre dictator headmaster dick, I think, trying to keep the worst of my thoughts to myself.
“Are you, like, trying to ship me out tomorrow or something?”
“That would be ideal,” he says, and my heart breaks in half.
“What?!” I have to resist the urge to pick up my fork and throw it at him. “That's total bullshit.”
“So is your language. Speak like a mature adult, and I'll continue to treat you like one.” Dad leans back in his chair, watching me through his glasses, blue eyes stern, mouth set in a thin line. “If you don't make the choice, I'll have to make it for you, and I don't want to have to do that.”
“Why are you so determined to destroy any chance I have at being happy?” I ask, feeling the tears start. “I was happy in Santa Cruz; I'm happier here now. And yet you only seem to want to move me around when it's convenient to you. Dad, please. If you send me away this time, I'll never forgive you.”
