Zack jogs over, pulling off his shiny black helmet, his brows crinkled, his big, muscular body made to look even larger with all the pads he’s wearing. He pauses next to his coach and glances down at the video on the phone screen.
His face goes shock-white before he glances over at me and meets my eyes. I smile, but it’s not a pretty smile. No, it’s one of those fuck you smiles that the Idols have given me countless times in the past year and a half.
What goes around comes around, I think as Principal Collins makes her way down the steps, and the crowd begins to buzz with gossip. I’ve sent the same video to every member of staff. It wasn’t hard to get their numbers. Actually, because this is a boarding school, every student is given an emergency list of the staff’s personal cell numbers in case of an accident or emergency during off-hours. Using it for a non-emergency is strict grounds for suspension, but I have that covered: I used a burner phone.
Remember those imperative items that I just had to shop for?
Yeah, well, that was on the list.
A hushed argument is carried out between Principal Collins, Vice Principal Castor, Coach Rolands, and, a few moments later, Zack’s mother, Robin. All I’ve ever seen or heard about that woman is that she’s nice to a fault. I used to wonder, back at LBMS, how she ever created such a monster as Zack Brooks. I hear his father and grandfather are real pieces of work, but Robin was never anything but nice to me, even when her son was bullying me to the point of suicide.
The look on Zack’s face as she watches that video … it almost hurts me.
I toyed with this for a while, wondering if it broke rules two and three: No friendly fire and No innocent bystanders. But … all I did was reveal the truth.
Briefly, I close my eyes. I don’t need to see the video to know that it says.
There’s Zack, telling me to kill myself and filming it. He sent me the video, too, all those years ago, emailed it to me, so I could watch it over and over again. I never told anyone. Not once. But I still had it, buried under years of other emails.
It’s followed by his voice, from just a few days ago. When I made that bet, I didn’t think about the name and face of the girl who would die. I’m sorry. A hundred times over, I’m sorry. But I did it: I made that bet to get you to kill yourself, and I came at you relentlessly. There is no such thing as forgiveness for me.
Let’s see how this zero tolerance bullying policy works.
Zack’s face falls as his mother turns to him, looking at her son like she doesn’t even recognize him. His helmet falls from his fingers, and within minutes—minutes—phones all across the stadium are pinging with the link to the video. Students share it with each other, leaning their heads together and whispering. Parents see it. It’s out there, and it can’t be taken back.
My heart is racing so fast that I feel dizzy, and everyone is looking at me now.
“May I use the restroom?” I ask Coach Hannah, and she blinks stupidly at me. There’s pity and sympathy in her gaze now, but I don’t care. She nods, and I push past the other girls, heading for the long, dark tunnel that leads from the locker rooms to the field.
As soon as I’m hidden in its shadowy depths, I lean my back against the wall, my breath coming in panting gasps.
When I hear footsteps, I don’t expect to see Zack storming down the hall, his face dark and drawn in. He sees me and pauses close, too close, so close that I can see the pain in his eyes. I expect, like Zayd, for him to throw his hurt back in my face.
“I’m not playing in tonight’s game,” he whispers, and we both know that that means: Burberry Prep will lose. “And I’m off the team.” I purse my lips, and he closes his eyes, his head sagging, chin falling to his chest. “In-school suspension, at a minimum. No off-campus privileges. My Mom’s going to disown me.” He groans and crouches down, putting his hands over his face. For a moment, I just watch him. “They’re going to discuss the rest of my punishment on Monday.”
“You deserve it, every single scrap of it,” I tell him, pulling back a few inches, like I’m afraid he’s going to strike out at me. Zack stands up suddenly and tears his jersey over his head, dumping his shoulder pads to the floor with a growl.
When he turns to me, he’s shirtless and sweaty and glorious.
Too bad I hate him.
“You’re right,” he blurts suddenly, and my eyes go wide with shock.
“Ex-excuse me?”
Zack takes several steps towards me and pauses, swiping his palm down his face.
“You’re right. Marnye, you’re right.” He drops his hands by his sides, and it’s freaking impossible for me not to notice how muscular his arms are, how rounded his biceps, how flat his chest. My breath hitches as he takes a step forward, and I cross my arms over my chest to keep myself in check. Zack’s eyes drop down to my waist, and his brows go up. When he reaches out to me, my heart stops in my chest. He takes the edge of my skirt and with a little tug, pulls me forward. His fingers dive under my waistband, searing me with wicked hot heat and dragging my waistband down just far enough that he can see my tattoo.
He lets out a long string of curses, his voice so dark it’s almost scary.
“Marnye, what is this?”
“The Infinity Club,” I start, sucking in a deep breath and puffing out my chest. I wish he’d take his fingers away. It feels good for him to touch me like that, and that’s the last thing I want. I won’t let myself get soft on these guys. There’s nothing sexy or cool or endearing about being an asshole. If this were a bully romance, well, I’d probably end up marrying Miranda because I just don’t abide by bullies. “They’re going to learn that they can’t treat people like collateral damage.”
Zack rubs his knuckles against my tattoo, and curses again before lifting his eyes to mine.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he whispers, and I purse my lips. I know that, and yet … I can’t seem to control myself. These rich a-holes need to learn that a person is a person, no matter the size of their bank account. There’s no such thing as Social Darwinism or royalty or Idols, it’s all a façade, a bunch of bullshit that lets certain people get a free pass for throwing away their humanity. “You don’t have the resources or the insider knowledge to take down the club.”
“I don’t—” I start, and Zack leans in toward me, so close that I can see his pulse thundering in his throat, can trace the beads of sweat running down his muscular chest.
“But I do,” he says, and his eyes fall to my lips. My body trembles as his huge form towers over me, his knuckles stroking my tattoo. Damn hormones. He leans in a little bit closer. “I can help you, Marnye.”
“I’m never going to fall for you,” I blurt, but my eyes can’t seem to look anywhere but the thickness of his lower lip. “Never.”
“Good,” he whispers, closing his eyes and putting his forehead against mine. He’s sweaty, but I don’t care. My palms somehow end up on the flat planes of his chest, my fingertips curling against his damp, hot skin. “Because I’m in love with you, even though I know I’m not good enough for you.” My heart stops in my chest, and my eyes go wide. My gaze transfers from his lips to his eyes, and it stays there; I can’t look away. Zack puts his left hand over one of mine, pressing my skin against his. His right hand continues to stroke my tattoo. “You want to know why I’m helping you? Now you know. But you’ll never be with me, and that’s okay. Because I’m not enough for you. I’m the kind of person who tries to make a girl kill herself to get into some stupid club. All I want to do is try to make up for it, even if takes me the rest of my life.”
“Shut up,” I whisper, but he just leans in even closer and puts his lips right up against mine. I can taste him now, right there on my mouth. I flick my tongue out and we both groan as I trace his lower lip. “I don’t trust you, and I don’t believe you. Whatever you have to say, it’s all bullshit to me.”
“Good,” he repeats, his mouth moving against mine. “Maybe someday, you’ll forgive me an
d we can be friends. Until then, let me help you.”
I’m panting; he’s panting.
We’re sharing breaths.
After a moment, Zack turns his head slightly to one side, and I follow his gaze.
The Idols—all six of them—are standing there watching us.
Tristan’s face is hard, dead, cold. Creed’s hands are curled into fists at his sides, belying the bored, lazy expression in his half-lidded eyes. Zayd, he’s just scowling openly, even as he’s holding hands with Becky. It’s so clear in their gazes how much they all hate Zack. Despise him, even. Looking back on that day at the lake, I can see things as they really are. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and all that.
They didn’t tell me about Zack and Lizzie because they cared about me.
They told me about Zack and Lizzie to hurt me. And hurt me they did.
I turn back to Zack.
“Let me kiss you,” he whispers, and I realize then that I’m trembling. I’ve just destroyed this guy’s football career, lost the big game for the academy, maybe even sent Zack running back to Lower Banks High. And yet … “Let me help you, and I’ll only go as far as you’ll let me. We can take down the Infinity Club together.”
“Pretend to date you?” I ask, and he shrugs his big shoulders, his favored response to every question.
“Or just fucking kiss me.”
My heartrate picks up speed, and a bead of sweat works its way between my breasts, tickling my skin. Zack moves his hand and tugs up the waistband of my skirt to hide my tattoo. He grabs hold of my hip then and pulls my body against him. Before I can think too hard about it, my hands are sliding up his chest and curling around his neck.
Our mouths clash together in a rush of heat and desperation and need.
It feels so good that it almost hurts.
Zack’s mouth is warm and soft, and he tastes like cherry Gatorade. He wraps his left arm around me and lifts me up against him, his tongue teasing mine, taking control of the kiss without being domineering. I tell myself I’m only doing it because they’re watching. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. On the inside, I’m melting.
“Well, well, it’s the Working Girl doing what she does best,” Harper sneers, but I barely hear her. I’m so wrapped up in Zack’s big, strong arms, in the taste of his hot mouth on mine. Even if I hate him, even if I’ve just gotten him expelled … this feels too good.
And if it hurts the Bluebloods, then that’s just the cherry on top.
We stumble back into the wall, but I know I can’t let this go any further.
Zack must know it, too, because he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine for a moment. Both of us just breathe, slow in and outs. We’re both trembling, even as he moves away from me and picks up his discarded jersey and pads.
I don’t look at the Bluebloods as I fix my uniform and brush my palm over my hair before exchanging a look with Zack. He gives me a grim smile before heading into the locker room, and I turn back for the field.
“Fucking whore,” Becky snarls as I pass, but I just pause and smile at her.
“Takes one to know one,” I say, and then I’m sweeping past and heading back for the cluster of cheerleaders in their black, red, and white uniforms. I know I’m going to have to talk to Dad after about Zack, but that can wait.
For now, I dance.
Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep
A list by Miranda Cabot Marnye Reed
The Idols (guys): Tristan Vanderbilt (year one two), Zayd Kaiser (year one two), and Creed Cabot (year one two)
The Idols (girls): Harper du Pont (year one two), Becky Platter (year one two), and Gena Whitley (year four) (graduated), Ileana Taittinger (year one)
The Inner Circle: Andrew Payson, Anna Kirkpatrick, Myron Talbot, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner … and, I guess, me! Kiara Xiao, Ben Thresher
Plebs: everyone else, sorry. XOXO
Zack Brooks
Halloween is on a Thursday this year which makes partying difficult, especially with all the Bluebloods—and Zack—restricted to the Burberry Prep campus. According to school gossip, there’s going to be a party Friday night at the cemetery. Technically, that is on campus, so there’s less risk of being discovering.
“I’m over the ‘slutty’ theme,” Miranda says, flipping through a magazine as we sit in The Mess and binge on a colorful stack of macarons. “For Halloween, I mean. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just … feel like I’d rather go as a giant bowl of popcorn than a sexy kitty, sexy firefighter, sexy nurse, or sexy warthog.”
“Warthog?” I choke, pounding on my chest with a fist and raising a brow. Miranda throws her head back and laughs, the sound like the tinkling of bells. I notice Jessie Maker watching her and biting her lower lip. Those two … “Whoever dressed as a sexy warthog?”
“Academy legend says that in the nineties, when The Lion King first came out, that Ms. Felton came to school dressed as a sexy warthog, in furry panties, a furry bra, and tusks. The yearbook from that year is missing from the library which totally makes me think it’s true.” She stuffs a pink cookie in her mouth and presents me and Jessie with the glossy page of the magazine.
Ah, print is still alive and well on the Burberry Prep campus, particularly between Monday morning when we hand in our phones, and Friday evening when we get them back. Of course, I snuck a burner phone in here by hiding it in a box of tampons (of which I carefully used glue to reseal the flap so it looked unopened). I’m sure I’m not the only student to have thought of that.
I examine the costume—it’s a giant bowl of popcorn made out of papier-mâché that’s totally not going to work considering Halloween is tomorrow—but it’s cute.
“We could dress up as macarons,” I suggest, lifting one of the pretty cookies up to the light. “You know, put some of that temporary dye in our hair, wear matching dresses and heels.”
Miranda squeals and rises up from her seat, nearly knocking the macaron tower over as she throws her arms around my neck and practically strangles me in the name of hugging.
“That’s such a cute freaking idea!” she gushes, eyes sparkling. “And we all still have our off-campus privileges. We could go after school today, just run into town and grab a few things.” Miranda snaps her fingers as Andrew walks in, carrying his bookbag over his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows at her. “But only if you go in full drag.”
“Drag … for what?” Andrew asks suspiciously, and Miranda tosses him a yellow cookie which he just barely catches.
“Halloween. I’ll do your makeup, and we can get you a wig when we go out today. We’re dressing as macarons, like all colorful and cute. You’ll love it. Besides,” she waves her hand dismissively in his direction, totally lost in her own world, “you’ve been saying you wanted to try drag.”
“Um, try drag in private in a place my dad would never—” Andrew stops abruptly as the door to The Mess opens and Zack walks in. My heart flip-flops in my chest, and my throat closes up to the point that it’s hard to breathe. That kiss, that kiss, ah that fucking kiss … But I hate him. Piece of shit.
I focus on my cookie and stuff it into my mouth. Unfortunately, it tastes like cherries which just reminds me of the taste of Zack’s mouth.
“Zack, will you do drag with Andrew?” Miranda asks as he pauses far too close to me. I can smell his cologne, this musky, sporty mix of citrus, mint, and cedar that drives me nuts. “Like, full on makeup, wig, dress, heels.”
Zack shrugs his broad shoulders.
“Yeah, why not? What is Halloween for if not for girls in short skirts and dudes in drag? I was going to go as Russell Brand, a la Aldous Snow in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but this sounds better.” I glance up at him through the feather gold bangs that fall across my forehead. He looks back at me, and I have to hold back a sigh.
I might’ve gotten him good, but that doesn’t mean I forgive him. My revenge on Zack Bro
oks is satisfied for now, but that’s not going to magically clear the air between us. Not by a long shot.
He was this close to being expelled. This freaking close. Because the video was from middle school, the academy didn’t feel it had the grounds to take things quite so far, but Zack Brooks is on thin ice. Any grade less than a C or a scrap of proof that he’s bullying this year, and he’s out. As things stand, they took his letterman jacket away, kicked him off the varsity team, and gave him in-school suspension. He has no off-campus privileges, and Burberry Prep lost the game to Grenadine Heights. The entire football team hates Zack now, and my dad … Well, that was a tough one to deal with. I came too close to breaking those rules again. Scary close. I explained to my father that Zack and I had patched things up, but I’m not sure if they’ll be friends again. The way he looked at Zack after, that was almost punishment enough. I could see the pain in Zack’s eyes.
To distract myself from the hunky ex-football player beside me, I pull out my journal, unlock it, and start writing. The others have learned not to bother me when I’m penning my thoughts.
Zack and Andrew pull up chairs, and the others talk about their costumes as I write.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Creed shows up.
He’s alone, but that doesn’t matter.
As soon as he sees Miranda with us, his ice-blue eyes narrow to slits. He saunters over to us with that lazy, rolling gait of his, like at any moment he might just lie down on the floor and take an angry nap. Yeah, I know, that doesn’t really make sense, but I swear, that’s what Creed looks like: a pissed-off narcoleptic.
“Miranda,” he says, and his sister stiffens up under his stare. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
“No, you may not, Creed,” she snaps back, lifting angry eyes to her twin’s face. They’re so similar in appearance, it’s eerie. If I’d never seen them in the same room, I might believe that they were one person, a shapeshifter who could swap genders. I once read a book called He & She where a woman would change genders every time she had an orgasm. That could be Creed and Miranda, two sides of the same coin.
Bad, Bad Blu Bloods Page 11