I exhale and take a sip of my soda, but I'm already nodding.
Not here, not in this tank of sharks.
I swear, it feels like the eyes of every single Blueblood are on me. That scares me. We're outnumbered as it is. And I can't be surrounded by my friends—wait, are the Idols really my friends?—at all times. What happens next time Harper catches me alone in the locker room? Or I come around the corner in the chapel building and find John and Greg waiting for me? My mind strays to that video Andrew took of those psychos chasing him down.
Shivers overtake me.
“Ben has to go down this week,” I whisper, and Zayd gives me a tight half-smile. Creed appears a minute later, pausing next to me as Tristan makes his way up the beach with his dark hair dripping.
I'm not going to lie: he looks like a god.
“So much for ignoring them then?” Creed drawls, yawning and lifting his chin defiantly. “Now what, your majesty?”
“If they engage us, we push back. Don't let them see any cracks in our comradery, Creed.” Tristan pushes sopping hair from his forehead as Windsor steps up beside him, still sipping foamy beer from a cup. The two men exchange a brief look.
“Of course not, Tristan,” Creed replies, rolling his blue eyes. “We're the best of friends, aren't we? Even Zack Brooks here, he's my buddy.”
“I don't see why we can't be friends,” Zack growls, and having all five guys surrounding me like this, it's quite obvious that he's the biggest, strongest one. My heart stutters in my chest. “After all, you've got a cruel streak to match mine. We're a match made in heaven. Just so long as you stop directing that inner core of hate on Marnye, we won't have any problems.”
“When can I beat the shit out of Greg, John, and Ben?” Zayd asks, cracking inked knuckles.
“One step at a time,” Tristan says, staring over my shoulder at the Bluebloods. “One step at a time.” He pushes past Windsor and takes a seat in front of the fire, leaning back against the log for support. “First we win over the Plebs.”
Windsor watches this exchange, and then bites into a peach. I'm not sure where he got it from, but he looks bemused as he smiles at me with juice running down his chin, and then starts off down the beach like he's taking a stroll.
Even though I promised myself I wouldn't put my trust in anyone, Windsor is certainly winning me over. I let him go, and I don't think too hard about it, focusing instead on Miranda and Andrew. She drags him over, pushing past her brother for a spot next to me.
“This is so crazy. Makes last summer look like a breeze,” Miranda whispers, eating the gossip up with a spoon.
“This is dangerous,” Andrew hedges, but I can see him watching Windsor as the prince takes off down the beach. Pretty sure he has a crush on him. Everyone does, even Miranda, so I'm not surprised. “If they were that bad at the lake, how are they going to react after being insulted and rejected? Shit.” Andrew curses under his breath and bites his lip, looking down at the sopping wet form of Tristan Vanderbilt. “I hope you know this is going to bleed over into the Club.”
“I'm well-aware,” Tristan says, staring into the fire. He may as well be a thousand miles away. He's clearly not present right now. Andrew shakes his head and sighs.
Lizzie gets herself a drink and comes back to sit in the sand in front of me, holding her beer between her legs. Her amber eyes flick to Tristan for a second before moving back to my face.
“Don't worry, Marnye, we've got you,” she says, giving an almost shy sort of smile. Part of me wants to hate her for what she did, for making that bet with Zack. But I don't. She seems so genuine … I know I have to be ready for betrayal at any moment, from any corner, but I don't want to believe that about Lizzie. People make mistakes. It's whether or not they learn from them that really matters.
“Easy for you to say,” Miranda says, lifting her chin and sniffing derisively. “Safe over there at Coventry Prep.”
Lizzie's mouth pops open in surprise, and she blinks several times before answering.
“Didn't Tristan tell you?” she asks, and I shake my head. Tell me? Tell me what? “I'm transferring to Burberry next year!”
She sounds so excited about it that I smile, but inside, I'm churning.
Tristan is staring at me, studying me, but I don't let on anything.
Not even to myself.
I use the next few days to relax, spending my time reading or studying up on next year's assignments. Somehow, doing work on the beach makes it feel less like, well, work. The sun feels good, the sea sings a lulling melody, and I have constant company. As if they can sense how tentative this new situation is, the Idols don't stay long or say too much, not like they did the other day.
I haven't gotten straight answers out of anyone, but I'm enjoying my time with Lizzie, Miranda, Andrew, Zack, and Windsor too much to press. That is, until my last night at the Hamptons.
“I wish you could stay longer,” Miranda says with a sigh, “it's going to be downright boring here without you.”
I give her a smile, and accept her outstretched hug, but I want to be home to spend some time with my dad. He might be doing better, but he's still sick. Cancer is a relentless, awful nightmare. Even when you've beat it, it can slither back in the shadows. Spending time with Charlie is my number one priority.
Besides, I think I might have a heart attack if I were to stay here the rest of the summer.
“Hey, I'm not leaving until tomorrow,” I say as Miranda pulls back and sighs, brushing some rose-gold hair from my face. Before third year starts, I'll get it cut and dyed again. I'm pretty fond of the color and style now. Isn't that nice, how a nightmare can sometimes turn into a dream?
“Yeah, but still …” She sighs again, and flops down on the edge of my bed, as boneless and lazy as her brother. I smile. “Are you freaking out about Lizzie?” she asks as I fold things and put them back in my duffel bag. I don't really have a proper suitcase. Too pricey.
I look up and raise an eyebrow.
“Why would I be freaking out about Lizzie?” I ask, setting aside an outfit for tonight. The Cabots are hosting a fancy party for all their rich friends. Unfortunately, that means some of the Bluebloods might be here with their parents. As long as I don't have to see William … If he hits his son in front of me again, I might just explode.
“Because she's freaking obsessed with Tristan, that's what.” Miranda slides off the bed onto the floor, takes the clean cotton panties from my outfit pile, and trades them out for a lacy red pair. My cheeks flush about that same color.
“So?” I choke, because I still haven't had a moment to sort through my feelings, much less figure out a way to explain them to someone else.
“So … aren't you crushing on him?” she asks, tilting her head to one side, white-blonde hair sliding over her shoulder. “I mean, you're crushing on a lot of guys, but I thought Tristan was one of them.”
“I am not crushing!” I blurt, but that's totally not true. I am. I'm just not sure … exactly how many crushes I have, or if all of them are healthy options. “Lizzie is a friend, not a threat.” Those words ring true, both aloud and in my heart, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Even if I am crushing on Tristan … it doesn't matter. If he loves Lizzie, he loves Lizzie. That's it.
A ball of ice forms in my tummy, and I suddenly have a stomachache.
“You two should get dressed,” Kathleen says, pushing open the cracked door with a smile. “Guests are starting to arrive.” I nod, and Miranda groans, but we both get up to change. Miranda heads back to her room, and I change in the bathroom, slipping into a soft, white jersey knit dress and sandals.
When I come out, Zayd is there waiting for me.
“Hey,” I say, pausing shyly in the doorway, my dress fluttering around my ankles. He glances up from his phone, sees me, and smiles.
It's a nice smile, too, genuine.
Butterflies take over my insides, spreading their wing dust all over my common sense. I've been here, done this with Zayd befor
e. And yet …
“Seeing as I won't be around for your seventeenth birthday,” he starts, sitting up, and pulling something from his pocket, “I wanted to give you this.”
I put my dirty clothes in my duffel bag, and then head over to the bed, reaching out to take the item in Zayd's hand. As soon as my fingers brush his palm, he grabs onto me and yanks me forward. Our bodies crash together and we tumble back onto the surface of the bed.
I'm surrounded by that sage and geranium scent of his, teased with the slightest kiss of tobacco and cloves.
“You shouldn't smoke clove cigarettes,” I blurt, our faces so close together that our mouths brush when I talk. Zayd's inked arm is around my waist, and I can feel his heart beating against my own chest. “They'll kill you, you know.”
“Maybe,” he whispers, and then he captures my mouth with his, kissing me with this lightness that I haven't felt in him before. It takes over me, and before I know it, I'm kissing him, too. Zayd's hands roam my back, but don't stray any further, like he knows not to push boundaries.
My mind flickers with memories of a time just like this, during first year, when he had a camera set up to …
I jerk back with a gasp, and sit up on the edge of the bed, clutching the item I stole from Zayd's hand.
It's a pair of earrings, made from guitar picks.
“Those are from my first concert,” he whispers as he sits up, too, his mouth smeared with the pale pink of my lipstick. “I opened for some backyard punk band at this little place in downtown Santa Cruz. There were like … maybe ten people in the audience?” Zayd stares at the floor, his eyes distant and far away. When he turns them back up to me, there's a passion burning there that makes me flush. “I'm pretty sure I've never been happier than I was in that moment.”
I smile, and he smiles back.
There's a knock on the door, and Miranda calls my name.
“Just a minute,” I shout back, looking at Zayd. He seems … like maybe he's strung a little tight? But a lot of that shame he was carrying is gone. “Did you come here to kiss or to talk?” I ask as I reach up and struggle to get the earring through the hole in my lobe. Zayd scoots closer, and takes over, helping me get them both in.
Once he's finished, he reaches out and cups the side of my face.
“You're leaving tomorrow?” he asks, and I nod. It feels almost bittersweet, like the end of an era. I know that's not true, but there's something about the soft sunshine filtering through the windows, the call of the gulls, and the lapping of the ocean that makes it feel that way. “Then I guess we sort of … need to talk turkey?”
My mouth flattens out into a neutral line, and all that anxiety and angst I've been feeling rises to the surface.
“I just don't understand how you could hate me, and then …” I trail off as Zayd drops his hands into his lap. He has so many tattoos, these gorgeous twists of color made up of stars, guitars, birds, musical notes, women, and butterflies.
“I don't hate you, Marnye,” he says, exhaling and then running the fingers of both his hands through his hair. His emerald eyes turn to mine, and catch my gaze. I can't look away. “Maybe at first, yeah, I did.”
“Why?” Just that one word, a whisper.
“You … came in swinging. You were smart, and you play music like a goddess. You're pretty and driven, and you don't care what someone's last name is or how much money they have. You came to Burberry, and you didn't have to pay an arm and a leg, and I guess … we got the wrong idea about your scholarship.” He looks at me with a genuine sort of expression etched into his handsome features. “We really did want you gone because you're a threat to everything we know and understand.”
I try to swallow, but there's a lump in my throat, and I get choked up.
Zayd is quiet for a moment, watching as I tease the earrings with my fingers. It's a thoughtful gift, something that money can't buy. I feel like Zayd's learned at least something from spending time with me. Maybe I should try to learn something from him, too? Everybody has some lesson that's worth teaching.
“And then—I'm not sure when, exactly—we all started to … warm up to you, I guess? Must've been just after Halloween, I think, when you marched into that party with bright red hair and a devil costume.” Zayd grins, and I flush. That was a bold move for me, but one that I definitely don't regret. “Anyway, we'd already made the bet, so—”
“With who?” I ask, even though I'm pretty sure the correct grammatical question would be: with whom? Sounds so formal though. Or maybe I'm just nervous, so I'm babbling incoherently in my own brain?
“Harper, Becky, and Anna,” Zayd says, pursing his lips. “Whichever boy won would get a trophy from the girls. If we'd failed, and you hadn't shown up to the graduation gala with anyone, we'd agreed to take the girls on a trip together.” He exhales, and closes his eyes, like the story is painful to tell.
Let me be honest with you: it's painful to hear, too.
“Just before winter formal, the girls made another bet at an Infinity Club party.” He opens his eyes and looks right at me. “They bet each other that they could get you to do what Zack and Lizzie couldn't.”
“What was the prize for that one?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself. I feel suddenly cold, even though it's nice and warm in here. What's my life worth? is what I'm really asking. For Zack, it was his family fortune. For Lizzie … it was simply a sponsorship to the Infinity Club.
So what now? What am I worth now?
“The Blueblood girls made the bet against some of the Plebs.” Zayd chews his lower lip for a second and snaps his fingers, like he's trying to remember names. “Clarissa, maybe? Kiara, before she was in the Inner Circle? I'm not sure. Anyway, the bet lasts until graduation. They're going to keep coming at you until you leave Burberry Prep.”
“The stakes, Zayd,” I choke out, doing my best to keep my breathing even and steady.
“If the Bluebloods win, they get exclusive contracts for their businesses, between them and the businesses of the girls they're up against. If it goes the other way around, there's a pool of money worth about … three million dollars that they'll split, no trust fund BS or strings attached, something they can spend now without their families breathing down their necks.”
Business contracts. Three million dollars.
That's what my life is worth.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper, and then I move to stand up. Zayd grabs my wrist and holds me in place. When I look back at him, I can see his confidence warring with his shame.
“We wanted you to leave Burberry Prep. If you un-enroll, the bet is null and void. That's it. They'll stop. As long as you're there, they'll be relentless.” Zayd stands up and pulls me to him. I'd forgotten how nice it felt to have his inked arms around me. No, no, I didn't forget: I blocked it out. “This goes further than the academy, Marnye. The Infinity Club … it's not all fun and games. People like the du Ponts or the Platters, they're watching their kids' bets. They have a stake in them.”
“Wow. I guess money really is a disease, huh?” I ask, fighting to stay calm, when on the inside, I want to freak out. “These millionaires and billionaires, they have nothing better to do than play around with my life?”
“I'm sorry, Marnye. We … should've just told you what was going on from the beginning.”
“You should have,” I say, but my voice comes out a little shaky. I mean, I'd heard from the boys before that the senior version of the Infinity Club was invested in this, but hearing Zayd say it all aloud, hearing him name the stakes … It's a lot to take in. “Instead, you guys continued to bully me. You made me feel so small, and then you ignored me. You let the others treat me like crap.”
Zayd looks away sharply, that shame creeping up his neck and face. It all makes sense now, the way he pulled away from me, his resistance to being around me. That doesn't make it okay, just … understandable.
“Creed and Tristan, they know you're telling me all this?” Zayd shrugs, and then looks
back at me, mouth tight.
“I don't care what they think.” Zayd releases me and steps back, just before the doorknob jiggles, and Miranda calls out to me. I turn away from Zayd, grab my phone, and head outside, pushing the door closed behind me.
“What did he want?” she asks, but I just shake my head, and we go downstairs together.
The party is beautiful, the full indoor-outdoor living of the house brought to life with paper lanterns, tables full of food, and soft but upbeat music. People mill around in swimsuits and expensive gowns both, talking and laughing. For the most part, the crowd is older, but there's a small group of students out back, near the open gate that leads down to the beach.
The boys are all there—Tristan, Creed, Windsor, and Zack—as well as Andrew and Lizzie.
In the corner, huddled together for protection, there's Ben, Harper, and Becky.
“Seeing the three of them standing on my property,” Miranda starts, narrowing her eyes and flipping Harper off when she turns our way, “it's just infuriating. It makes me sick to my stomach. My mother knows the things that girl has done. She knows it, and yet …” Miranda sighs as we pick our way between the party guests. “She can't exactly stand up to the Infinity Club by herself. We might be rich, but sometimes those old money bonds are impossible to break.”
“It's okay,” I say with a slight smile, “I get it.”
Really, I'm standing there thinking that growing up with Charlie in the Train Car in the Cruz Bay Trailer Park was the best thing that ever happened to me. These people are insane. All they care about is money, appearance, and power. There's a total lack of compassion or empathy or care. My stomach starts to hurt again, and I think that at the very least, maybe I made some kind of impact on these boys?
Maybe Tristan, Zayd, Creed, and Zack will think a little differently about how they behave in the future?
“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.”
My eyes lock on Zack's as we move across the small stretch of lawn toward him. He smiles at me as we approach, and I take up a position on his right side.
The Envy of Idols Page 5