“But the Working Girl—” the first year chick sputters, and Creed’s eyes, normally half-lidded and lazy, snap up to her, sharp with rage. She retreats back a few steps and pinches her glossy red lips closed. A moment later, Tristan appears in the doorway with Ileana on his arm. She’s giggling and flirting until she sees her brother on the ground.
“Craig!” She pushes away from Tristan and stumbles forward, knocking Creed out of the way in her frenzy. As he bumps into me, my hand sneaks into his pocket and fishes out his keys. They’re in my own pocket before he realizes who he’s just bumped into, turning to look at me. He’s panting with rage, but he quickly closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths, and banishes the emotion. When he opens them back up, they’re the same lazy, insouciant eyes I’m used to.
As he stares at me, I lean down and switch out my flats for the heels he bought me last year, the ones with the gold moon and silver star designs.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” Tristan asks as Craig pushes up to his feet, choking and glaring at Creed. A good fourth of the crowd actually seems to be sympathetic towards him. Nice. This should have been my seventh rule: Create a divide between the Plebs and the Bluebloods. Craig Taittinger, as haughty and arrogant as he is, is still nothing but a Plebeian in the Burberry Prep social scene.
“Me?” I ask, sauntering up to Tristan and putting my hands on the front of his wool jacket. I trail them down, palms flat, as Tristan’s blade gray gaze narrows. I know what I look like, dripping diamonds, wearing a tight, gold dress and heels. A whole summer of working out and preparing myself for this moment, and it shows. I’m still curvy, but my body is much tighter. He can see it, I know he can. God, this is so weird, I think as I curl my fingers around the edges of his pockets. As far as I can tell, there are no keys inside.
I’ll have to look elsewhere.
“I’m here to party.” I push Tristan back, and he stumbles. But only because he’s not expecting the move. As Zayd watches us, still gaping, his eyes following me inside the door, I take off for the drink table and pour myself a beer. No way in hell I’m going to actually drink it, but when I see Harper du Pont glaring at me from across the crowd, I lift my cup in salute and pretend to take a chug. She sneers at me, but I just smile, waiting for Andrew, Miranda, and Jessie to catch up with me.
“What was that all about?” Miranda gasps, looking at me like she’s never seen me before. “Was that part of your revenge plot?”
“It just happened,” I say, which is true. It did. But there are certain ways to play this game, tips and tricks to set the Idols versus the Inner Circle, the Plebs versus the Bluebloods. When Harper’s gaze is safely averted, I dump my beer in the sink and fill the cup with water. Next time she looks, I really do chug the entire cup in one go, getting a few stray cheers from some first years who don’t quite know who I am yet.
“Well, that was scary,” Miranda says, exhaling and running her hands down the front of her dress. “Jessie, drink? I know I could use one.” Miranda starts mixing up two cocktails in red plastic cups while I peek out the back door and see, surprisingly, that the pool isn’t in use. It’s covered up with a tarp, but there’s water pooled on the top along with heaps of dead leaves, weighing it down so that it sags into the pool water. As surreptitiously as I can, I refill my cup.
I look back at Andrew.
“What are you planning?” he asks me, and I shrug. I’m sort of playing things by ear. I mean, I have a list, but … this is much better, this new idea I’m cooking up. “What do you need from me?”
“Can you help me find Tristan’s and Zayd’s keys?” I ask, and he raises both brows before Zayd pops into the kitchen and interrupts us. It’s awkward as hell when he pauses next to me and sighs, holding a beer bottle in his tattooed right hand. He clears his throat and tosses his chin in the direction of the living room.
“Beat it, Payson,” he says, and Andrew frowns, but exchanges a quick look with me before heading in the direction of the staircase. I’m hoping he’s off to find Tristan’s keys. I turn my attention to Zayd. He returns my stare with a hard one of his own, his hand tightening even harder around the bottle. The motion makes his tattoos look like they’re liable to slide right off his skin like stickers. “Marnye, come on, what are you doing here?”
“I’m partying,” I say, tipping the drink to my lips and swallowing a huge mouthful. Zayd raises his pierced brow at me, teasing his right lip ring with his tongue. He’s painfully beautiful, especially with that silver-gray hair of his. It’s spiked up with gel, and as I watch, he reaches up to tease it with his fingers.
“Did you think last year was a joke? It was a warm-up session, Marnye. You shouldn’t be here.”
“So you keep saying,” I retort, taking another sip of my water. Zayd frowns hard, and tips his beer back. Irresistible by Fall Out Boy and Demi Lovato comes on, and I smile. I don’t know a lot of pop songs, but this is one of Miranda’s favorites. She puts it on a lot when we’re getting ready. “But what are you going to do about it? Is there a medal for destroying me a second time, something to hang up beside your trophy?”
Zayd just stares at and then chucks his beer into the sink. When he steps forward suddenly, I’m so surprised that I move back, my butt bumping into the counter. He puts a hand on either side of me, effectively penning me in. I can smell him now, that sweet tobacco and cloves scent that had me swooning last year. Then I remember that he brought a camera into my room to film us while we made out.
Piece of shit.
“You don’t want to know what the Club will do to you if you don’t leave,” he threatens, using his rockstar purr of a voice. It gives me the chills all over, but I ignore the feeling and narrow my eyes. “What I will do to you if you don’t leave.” He puts a palm on my hip, but I shove his arm off, simultaneously diving into the back pocket of his jeans with one hand while I grab his face with the other.
You can do this, Marnye, you are so badass! I tell myself, but still … doesn’t make this any easier. I kiss Zayd hard and fast, pushing my tongue between his lips at the same time I swipe his car keys. He groans and leans into me, putting his hand back on my hip and squeezing.
Oh my god, no. He tastes so damn good. My body melts into Zayd’s even as my heart and soul remain hard as stone, unyielding and immovable. But those damn hormones … With a gasp, I shove away from Zayd, and stumble, spilling my water all over the floor. I ignore it, crushing the cup under my heels as I flee the room.
Fighting my way through the crowd, I somehow find my way over to Zack.
He takes one look at my face and curses.
“They’re still getting to you,” he growls at me as I stand there with my face flushed, feeling weirdly alien in my short dress and heels. I just look up at him, and I have no idea what to say. That it sucks to be crushing on the very same people you hate? That I know I’m an idiot, that I should be an emotionless badass in a catsuit, as tough and capable as my favorite urban fantasy character.
But I’m not.
“I … I need Tristan’s car keys, and a serious distraction,” I choke out, and Zack raises his dark brows at me. I cannot even believe I’m asking him for help, but there it is. He just stares at me for a moment, and then nods. Without a word, he pushes past me and then pauses when Andrew appears, breathless and holding out a jangling set of keys in his palm. “Thank you,” I tell him, feeling a rush of adrenaline spike through me. I look to Zack, and he smiles with tight lips, pushing forward and finding John Hannibal in the crowd.
John turns to look at him, scowling slightly, and then Zack just hauls back and punches him right in the face.
“Fight!” someone screams, and the crowd surges toward that single point in the room, jostling me and Andrew in the process. I take his hand and push in the opposite direction, toward the back doors and the swimming pool. Once we’re outside, I kick off my shoes and take off running, hauling Andrew along with me.
“Make sure nobody comes out here,” I tell
him, heading straight for Tristan’s dad’s Ferrari Spider. For some reason, I want to fuck with him first. Exhaling sharply, and holding strong to that red-hot thread of revenge inside of me, I climb into the driver’s seat, start the vehicle and use it like a bumper car, slamming into the other students’ rides indiscriminately. I don’t go too hard or too fast, just enough to scrape, scratch, and ding as many as I can without making too much noise.
When I get to the edge of the pool, I climb out, put the car in neutral, and then move around behind to push it. Andrew starts to come toward me, but I shake my head, and he goes inside the house. At first, I can’t figure out what he’s up to, but then I hear the volume of the music crank up a few notches. A grin takes over my face as I step back and watch the eighteen million dollar car drive right over the edge, and into the swimming pool.
Believe me, this is an Olympic sized swimming pool, made of pure cash. It’s huge, as long as the house is, with fountains and water slides, faux coves and caves and bits of aesthetically pleasing rock. There’s plenty of room for a car. Or two. Or three.
I don’t let myself enjoy the sight for too long, heading back for Creed’s Bentley next. I do the same thing, scraping it along the other vehicles, and leaving it floating in the water with the windows rolled down. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to sink (pretty sure it only takes a few minutes), but I don’t care. Just seeing it partially submerged in water is enough.
Zayd’s car is last, and by the time I’m letting that roll over the edge, both Andrew and Zack are standing on the back patio watching.
Zayd is not far behind.
“Holy … what the fuck?!” he screams as I stand there on the edge of the pool, barefoot and frowning. I don’t smile as I pick up my shoes from the pavement and watch him stumble over to the edge of the water. The cars are very quickly disappearing beneath the surface. “Jesus Christ, are you fucking insane?!”
“You can’t go around hurting people and expect to just get away with it,” I tell him, glad that the kiss is already fading from my mind. I feel better now, more in control. I curl my hands into fists as Zayd drops to his knees next to the pool.
“My dad is going to flay me,” he groans, putting his hands over his face.
“Babe?” Becky asks as she steps out the back door. She gasps and clamps a hand over her mouth as I flip open the top on my purse and dig around inside. “Oh my god. Oh my freaking god. Harper! Tristan!” Becky stumbles outside in her four inch stilettos and turns to look at me, face aghast with horror. “You psycho bitch,” she snarls, blond curls billowing in the wind. I reach into my purse, grab the fancy scissors I bought from the salon, and then reach up and chop a huge hunk of her hair off at the scalp.
She screams and stumbles back toward the edge of the pool. It doesn’t take much for me to reach over and push her in.
Miranda and Jessie appear just as the splash dissipates and Becky comes gasping to the surface, hauling herself over the edge. Zayd helps her up, but then just leaves her lying soggy and wet on the pavement as he turns to me. The edge of my lip quirks up in a half-smile, and I shrug one shoulder.
“I give as good as I get,” I say, just as Tristan, Harper, Creed, and Ileana appear in the doorway. I wonder if she’s going to be the next female Idol, taking Gena Whitley’s place. At this point, I really don’t care. I chuck the scissors in the pool, reach into my bra, and grab Andrew’s keys. “Guys, you ready to go?”
Miranda makes a tiny squeaking sound and nods, grabbing Jessie by the arm and dragging her towards the Lambo. Andrew follows, and Zack pauses beside me, watching as I take in the Idols and their gaping faces. Even Tristan is wide-eyed, his face stricken. Actually, Creed seems the calmest. He turns to look at me, much like his sister did, like he’s never seen me before.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” he asks, sounding as bored as he ever does. I meet his blue gaze, and ignore the little thrill that travels through me. I chalk it up to adrenaline. I’m practically dripping with it right now. “We report you and you’re done. Permanently.”
“Right,” I say, pulling my journal out and cracking the lock. As the party filters outside and the music stops, I scribble some things down inside before looking back up again. “Tell the administration how I somehow single-handedly got these three cars that you’re not supposed to have, in the pool of a house we’re not supposed to be at, surrounded by alcohol we’re not supposed to be drinking, and see if that does the trick. Maybe I’ll be expelled, maybe not. How satisfying would that win be for you?”
Several students lift up their phones and start recording, so I stop talking. I won’t say anything else. I don’t need to: Creed’s face tells me everything I need to know. His shoulders stiffen, his jaw tightens, and his heavy-lidded eyes narrow to slits.
Without waiting another beat, I turn and head back to Andrew’s car with Zack on my heels. Just before I climb in, I look at him, standing so close I can feel the heat of his body. He smells like citrus and musk, and my heart skips a few beats. I look up into his dark gaze.
“Thank you, but … this doesn’t change anything.” He digs his hands into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders.
“I know. It’s fine.” He nods; I nod.
And then I climb in the Lamborghini and drive away.
When I get back to the academy, I change my clothes, wash the makeup from my face and the hairspray from my hair, and then I report the Bluebloods for drinking.
Oh, and their breathalyzers … don’t exactly zero out.
My mind is focused on one thing above all else: college. That’s why I’m here, suffering through this nightmare of a school. Burberry Prep will give me the best possible future, the greatest chance at a good life. So I’ve upped my game, and by the end of the second week, I’ve added a second language (Spanish) to my class roster, and tacked on a few extracurricular activities. I’m now part of the academy’s book club, history club, and the model UN. The one place I am lacking in, however, is in sports.
Today, I’m going to make up for that.
Cheerleading tryouts are taking place in a special gymnasium once used to house the academy’s gymnastics team. Since moving toward more academically focused endeavors, the school retired their gymnastics program and left the building more or less abandoned for close to a decade. This year, with the addition of Zack to the varsity football team, Burberry Prep is looking to dip its toes in the proverbial waters of sports.
This includes revamping the cheerleading team.
It’s no longer going to be used as a sideline sport for football or basketball, but instead as a competition team, something to earn merits in its own right. For the first few football games of the season, the team remained unchanged from last year, but with Principal Collins putting pressure on the coach, she’s having to open up the ranks.
Now, Burberry Prep is a snobby, academic-based school. Cheerleading is almost seen as a bit … basic. But while Harper and Becky have no interest in signing up, the rest of the Blueblood girls are not beyond the allure. So when I walk in with my gym bag over my shoulder, all eyes are on me.
Including Zack’s.
He’s standing in the center of a cluster of girls, smiling sweet as pie. The expression on his face puts a frown on mine, even as he separates himself from the team and they let out a collective groan. Ileana, in particular, is glaring daggers at me. Kiara, too. Maybe they’re pissed that I single-handedly sent all three Idol boys, both remaining Idol girls, and half the Inner Circle to in-school suspension. It starts on Fridays right after class ends, and consists of school-related chores like stocking books in the library, dusting shelves, sweeping leaves, and scrubbing windows. From Friday evening until late Sunday, the in-school suspension students are locked down by staff members with brief nine hour breaks to sleep—and even then, they’re checked on twice a night.
Basically, it’s hell on earth.
“What are you doing in here?” I whisper as Zack comes up to stand beside me,
towering over me like he always does. I know it’s not on purpose, but it’s intimidating. I refuse to let it get to me, and lift my chin in defiance, trying to make myself feel a little taller.
“Well, I really didn’t expect you to be in here, so you can’t claim I’m stalking you.” He tucks his hands in his pockets and just stares at me. I can feel his gaze like a heated laser, searching across my face, seeking … something. It bugs me, but I also refuse to back down. “I’m a guest judge for tryouts.” He shrugs his shoulders again, as if that makes it all better.
“You are a guest judge?” I ask, and I get a rare smirk from him, this sensual twisting of lips that makes me realize so very quickly why all those girls are swooning over there. Zack leans in close, putting his forearm on the wall above my head. He’s all around me in that moment, hard muscles and musky smelling cologne. My lashes flutter, and I exhale past the hormones. Last year, they got me into trouble. This year, I won’t let that happen again. “What makes you qualified to judge cheerleading?”
“Um, my sister Kelsey was the head of the Burberry Prep cheerleading team.” Zack leans in a little closer, his letterman jacket falling open in the front, encompassing me. It’d be so easy for him to scoop me up and bundle me inside of it. That is, if I didn’t hate his guts. “Also, my mom went through a spell where she was tired of being more than a boring ass trophy wife; she coached for like three seasons.”
“I see …” I exhale, and blink a few times to clear away the cobwebs. I’d really like him to move away from me, but I feel like I can’t say it. I don’t want him to know how his presence is affecting me. “So … you’ll make sure I get on the team then?”
Zack’s brows go up, and a dark chuckle reverberates through him. I swear, I can feel it vibrating the air molecules between us.
Bad, Bad Blu Bloods Page 7