Tristan reaches out and curls a length of my rose-gold hair around his finger, leaving a springy ringlet bouncing against my forehead.
“Because we're Bluebloods,” I state, trying to reinforce that fact for myself as much as for Lizzie and Tristan.
“Because it's going to be a social bloodbath,” Tristan corrects, turning toward the mirror and straightening his own tie. He's entirely monotone from head to toe, other than for the red and white academy crest on the breast pocket of his blazer. “Keep your guard up. Both of you.”
The King of Burberry Preparatory Academy turns on his heel and walks out. I'm not exactly keen on carrying on this conversation with Lizzie, so I trot after him, emerging into the bright sun to find a scene worthy of an anime or a manga.
All of my friends—and boyfriends—are standing next to a white academy limo, dressed in their black uniforms, poised in various states of relaxation. There's Creed, leaning back against the side of the car with his eyes closed while Miranda fixes the buttons on his shirt. Zayd is sitting on the trunk of the car while Zack stands nearby, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. Windsor is … somehow on the roof of the limo and not getting chastised by the driver. He has a habit of doing that, getting away with things other people wouldn't.
Andrew waves at me as I jog to catch up with Tristan's long-legged strides. There are a couple of other people there, too, like Briana Chow, Jessie Maker, and Gary Jacobs. It's everyone Tristan recruited to round out the Inner Circle.
Just like the first year I started at Burberry, there are three Idol guys: Tristan, Creed, and Zayd. There are three Idol girls: me, Miranda, and Lizzie. And there are twelve Inner Circle members, including Windsor, Zack, Andrew, Gary, Jessie, and Briana, plus some new faces I don’t know very well yet.
The new Bluebloods of Burberry Prep.
Creed steps aside as I approach, and opens the door for me, blue eyes watching as I slide in across the sumptuous leather seats. He comes in after me, but Zayd's close behind, crawling over to take up the position on my left.
We had sex; I actually had sex with him. My cheeks flame, and I suck my lower lip under my teeth.
“Hey,” he purrs, leaning in close, a huge grin plastered on his face. I can smell his sage and geranium scent mixed with the faint whisper of tobacco as he presses up close against me. “Are you daydreaming about all the naughty things we did?”
“Fuck off, Kaiser,” I choke out, but my mouth twitches slightly at the same time Creed scowls. We didn't just have sex, we were downright fucking naughty. My body tingles as I remember Zayd's tattooed hands on my hips, his pelvis grinding me against the speaker …
If the Marnye Reed I was three years ago could see me now, well, she would be well and truly shocked at the transformation. The thing is, what we did was fun. It was consensual. It felt good. There's nothing wrong with that.
“I'm surprised she didn't dump you immediately after seeing your tiny dick,” Creed drawls on the end of another yawn. “It's so little, at first I thought a girl with a weird clit had snuck into the boys' locker room.”
“Aww,” Zayd purrs, putting his hand over his chest, “that joke might've worked before we slept together, but now that Marnye knows how skilled I am, some virgin boy is going to have serious trouble catching up.”
“Better to be a virgin than some diseased man-whore,” Creed snaps back, but Zayd just throws his head back and howls with laughter. “Seriously, man, screw you.”
Zayd stops laughing just long enough to catch his breath, leaning back against the window that separates us from the driver. He rests his inked fingers against the side of his face and smirks in this smug, satisfied male sort of way that would be infuriating if it wasn't so damn sexy, too.
“Don't be mad that we all know your secret. You kept it well. I was convinced you were an even bigger man-slut than Tristan.”
“Please and kindly, shut the fuck up,” Tristan says, tapping his fingers on his thigh. Lizzie is sitting on his right, but I can't decide if that was by her design, his, or just purely accidental. I remember sitting next to him in the limo last year, and my heart clenches painfully.
“His majesty is trying to think,” Windsor says, speaking up and tapping the side of his head with a single finger. “It's not easy for him, so please, quiet while he concentrates.”
Windsor's newest favorite thing to do is call Tristan his majesty in the most dry and sarcastic voice known to man. It's really heightened the tension between them, and I'm left wondering yet again how long I can do this, keep this ragtag little group of ours together.
“Be nice, Windy,” I tell him, feeling this rush of anxiety sweep over me as the car pulls up to the courtyard steps. The Towers loom above us with their white stone walls, and the flags on the side of tower one whip in the wind. There's an American flag, a California state flag, and a flag that features the academy crest on it. In the center of the courtyard, the bronze stag statue stands proudly, water pouring into the serene circle of the fountain.
“We've got this,” Zack whispers, noticing my expression. He shrugs out of his letterman jacket and passes it over to me, making me smile. I take it and slip into it, his grapefruit and nutmeg scent surrounding me like a familiar hug. All the boys are watching, and none of them looks particularly happy. Even Miranda has her eyes slightly narrowed. Lizzie looks … kind of thrilled, actually.
“Don't show weakness in the halls. Save the squabbles for behind closed doors,” Tristan says as the limo comes to a stop, and Lizzie climbs out ahead of him. He's right behind her, with Miranda, Windsor, and Zack following behind.
“Don't stress,” Creed tells me, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. He curls his fingers through mine and runs his tongue along his lower lip. “Just focus on kicking Tristan's ass in the class rankings again.”
I nod, exhaling and letting Creed pull me from the car while Zayd follows along behind us.
I have to say, we make a fairly impressive entrance, all of us lined up in all black, bookbags held at our sides or over our shoulders as we march across the courtyard and the other students part like a wave.
That is, until we get in the hall and run into my sister.
Half-sister, or otherwise, I can't tell because Dad won't talk about it, but there she is, standing with a group of other first years … and Harper du Pont.
“Not even ten steps in the fucking door, and we gotta deal with this shit,” Zayd growls as he takes off ahead of us. He's not polite when he storms up to them and inserts himself into their little half-circle.
“Good morning, Zayd,” Becky spits out, giving him this poisonous look that sets me on edge. She has no right to look at him like that, especially not after she and her friends tried to drown me, and then attempted to brand me like chattel. “What do you want?”
“When Idols walk, you get the fuck out of the way.” He looks over at Isabella, and she returns his stare with a stony version of her own.
“Make us,” she says, tossing her glossy chestnut hair over one shoulder. Harper smirks, but Zayd's already gritting his teeth and nodding his chin in the direction of our new posse.
“Girls deal with girls, it's the rule,” Tristan tells me, putting his hand out to keep me from moving forward. Briana Chow and one of the new girls, Daisy Sandberg, I think it is, step up and go to grab my sister on either side. Part of me wants to defend her, but the rest of me knows the truth.
She's got that bully blood in her.
And I won't allow bullying at my school, not anymore.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Isabella snarls as Ileana and Becky step in to defend her. The other girls on our side move forward until there's a bit of a stand-off.
For all the Bluebloods we destroyed last year—like Anna, Ebony, Sai, Greg, and John—Harper's recruited new students to take their places. This is looking to turn into a fight, especially when what's left of The Company shows up. Jalen looks ready to kill somebody, to be quite honest. Maybe because we got his girlf
riend kicked out of school?
“What's the problem here?” Myron Talbot asks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. His eyes are dark, and his face is as closed-off as Tristan's ever is. “When the Idols walk, you move.”
“We don't agree that they are the Idols,” Harper says, but even she looks nervous with Myron staring at her like that. He takes a step forward, and all the girls but Isabella and Harper move back.
“This isn't a debate, du Pont. Get your ass, and your new pet's ass out of the way.”
His threat doesn't dissuade Harper from her position. If anything, the move incenses her to step forward.
“I'm not moving out of the way so some trailer park slut with a magic pussy can drag her harem of assholes unfettered down the hall.” She flings a hand out to point at Tristan and hisses through her teeth. “A du Pont never bows down to charity cases, and they've got two of those in tow.”
I look up and see Tristan tightening his jaw in frustration.
“Get the fuck out of the way; I'm warning you.” Myron crosses his arms over his chest, and I sense violence coming like a storm. I step forward and everyone turns to look at me.
“It's okay. I don't need people to move out of my way. That's not a perk of the Idols anymore.” Harper narrows her eyes on me like she thinks I'm playing some trick. I stare her blue gaze down without flinching before I turn to Isabella. “She tried to kill me, you know, Harper did. She and her friends. So whatever it is you hate me so much for, ask yourself how far you're willing to go.”
I start walking and everyone else follows. Well, everyone but Myron. He doesn't move until Tristan pauses next to him and the two share some quiet words.
We head straight for the Gallery, and this time, we're there first. There's no locked door, no Gary sitting at the window smoking a cigarette and sneering at me. For the first time in four years, I walk straight through those stone halls, up the old steps, and over to the front of the balcony.
The feeling of standing up there, so close to the wall of stained glass windows, and looking across the sea of students in their black, white, and red uniforms is humbling in the best sort of way.
A smile curves across my face as Zack steps up beside me.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod. “Even with your sister trying to team up with the Harpies?”
“She's hurting,” I tell him, glancing his way and meeting the narrowed dark slits of his eyes. He looks so tough all the time, with his big, broad shoulders, and that fierce gaze of his, but underneath, he's like a teddy bear. A defensive lineman teddy bear. Yep. “Once she gets past that, she'll see the Harpies for who they are.” I turn back around and look down, watching the wave of faces that turn as Harper marches into the chapel with her cronies behind her, and takes up the front row.
“This is a year that'll go down in Burberry Prep history,” Zayd says, pausing beside me and sitting on the railing in a way that makes me incredibly nervous. He flips Harper off when she glances our way, but she ignores him, nostrils flaring.
“It's a year that'll go down in Infinity Club history,” Zack murmurs, and the two boys exchange a look that makes me nervous.
There's more going on behind the scenes of this academy than meets the eye—and I'm determined to find out what that is.
The new cheerleading uniform for Burberry Prep is a midriff that shows off my entire belly. In my room, I take a moment to pace and freak out, but when I walk out into that hallway, I almost hair flip I’m exuding so much confidence.
There are no condoms on my doorstep, no spray painted words on my door.
Of course, I still have an escort. It’s too dangerous not to.
“Look at you,” Zack growls when I step out and find him in his black jersey, the number 60 printed on the front. He doesn’t even need shoulder pads to make him look big and broad. He curves a muscular arm around my waist and pulls me close. “I’ve never seen you look so damn hot.”
“Uh-uh.” I put my palms on his chest and push him back just enough to look him over. He really is beautiful, his hair like dark chocolate, his eyes just as decadent, his body hard and toned to perfection. He’s certainly come a long way from the bully of Lower Banks Middle School, now hasn’t he? “So you have a thing for cheerleaders, huh? Good to know. I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”
Zack looks me over, eyes staring at the intertwined black and red ‘V’ shapes on the top of my uniform, the white background, the Burberry Prep crest in the center of my chest. The arms are long, patterned with black and red, and the skirt is a super mini in white, no pleats this time, just a small ‘V’ cutout on one side, and more black and red stripes along the hem. Underneath, I have on bloomers—aka spanky pants, but like eww, I’m not about to call them that—ankle socks, and brand-new sneakers.
The whole uniform costs like six hundred bucks, but extracurricular activities are covered by the Cabot Scholarship Award, so I’m covered. Of course … I could probably ask any one of my boyfriends to help me out with costs, but the thought just makes me sick.
I’m not dating them for their money, and I refuse to take advantage of it. Even Windsor purchasing Dad’s house has left me feeling uncomfortable. Charlie doesn’t even know about it, and I don’t know how to tell him. All he knows is that the house sold, and that our current landlord has briefly suspended rent payments …
Zack cups my face in one, big hand and looks at me from heavy-lidded eyes.
“There’s only one cheerleader I have my eye on,” he says, his mouth curving into a sharp smile. “Well, I’m only checking out one cheerleader, I should say. There are a few others that I’m watching in a different way.” He pauses, and I know we’re both thinking about the Harpies. Most of them are on the team with me: Mayleen, Abigail, Kiara, and Ileana. They’re trying to start a trend on campus, calling themselves the Reigning Royals. I’ve heard it whispered a few times here and there, but I hear the term Harpies just as often.
“Don’t worry about them,” I say, taking his hand and letting him walk me to class. The game isn’t until this evening, but the academy is trying to drum up some school spirit by having us wear our uniforms during the day. I don’t mind it, especially not with the way everyone looks at me as I walk the halls. I’m not the Working Girl anymore, not to the majority of the students. They watch me with respect … and maybe a little bit of fear.
Zack drops me off at my math class where Tristan’s waiting, and everything seems to be going just fine until we step into the hallway after and find Harper and her friends waiting. I’m sad to see that Isabella is with them, too, and wearing a cheer uniform. She's on the JV team though, so hers isn’t a midriff. Instead it’s similar to the one I wore during second year.
“Look, it’s the charity cases,” Harper says, tilting her head to one side, blue eyes gleaming. Everyone but her and Becky is dressed in a cheerleading uniform, and they’re all watching me very, very carefully. “Do you need some lunch money?” Harper’s new red hair slithers over her shoulder like a snake, and my eyes narrow.
“No bullying allowed at my school,” I tell her, before Tristan can even open his mouth. I don’t need to tell you how unusual that really is, considering he’s so used to being king. “Not toward me, Tristan, or anyone else.” I step forward, filling the space between us, and then I turn, reaching down to grab Tristan’s hand. “Let’s go. I’m not feeding her fire anymore.”
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that your own sister’s standing against you?” Harper says as I try to pull Tristan away. He’s glued to the spot though, determined to stand his ground. He’s a man used to taking the offensive in most situations. The key here, however, is to play it neutral. “I mean, what does that say about you if even your own family is disgusted?” Harper walks around and comes to stand in front of me, putting her hands on her hips. She looks a bit like a witch with that bloodred hair and all black uniform. Then again, maybe that’s a little insulting to witches? “Or do you think it’s because your sister is so ashame
d at the fact that her father isn’t actually Adam Carmichael, CEO and heir to a multi-million dollar fortune … Instead, he’s a drunk, just like yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my voice cool and calm. Because if even I don’t know the truth, there’s no way that Harper does. My eyes slide over to Isabella’s brown ones, narrowed into two slits on her pretty face. She turns away from us suddenly, like maybe Harper’s struck a nerve.
Fuck.
Is this what Harper’s holding over my sister? Or did … did Isabella tell her willingly?
“You know what I’m saying: Isabella Carmichael is really Isabella Reed, right? I mean, she should be, considering your whore of a mother threw herself at a rich man while at the same time warming the bed of a poor one?”
My hands clench into fists on my skirt, and it takes everything I have in me to keep from slapping this brat again. She seriously needs to be put in her place; that is, back down on earth with all the rest of us.
“Don’t you dare call my mother a whore again,” I say, and there’s ice in my voice, shards of it that seem to cut.
“A spade’s a spade,” Harper says, shrugging her thin shoulders and smirking. “You’re lucky your fancy prince trotted in on his white horse to save you and your soon-to-be-dead dad, or I would’ve bought that house and knocked it down in front of you.” She smirks, and keeps talking, like she’s completely unaware of the anger burning inside of me. Tristan watches us carefully, almost like he’s holding back, curious to see what I might do. “Did I mention I already own the trailer park where that stupid Train Car of yours is? That’s right.” She steps toward me when my eyes widen and reaches out to pick some imaginary lint from my uniform. “Didn’t your new boyfriends tell you? My father knew the man who owned it, so he bought it without it ever touching the market. Your boy toys tried to win it for you at the Club meeting, but they lost. Just like they lost so many other things that week. Have they talked about it? Any of it?”
In the Arms of the Elite Page 10