“You and Zayd were up there a long time,” Creed remarks, leaning against the short white fence like he can barely keep himself upright. “Find anything interesting to talk about?” I give him a look, and there must be something to my expression because he quickly stands upright and shuts his mouth.
“We were just discussing Ben Thresher,” Windsor says, enunciating the boy's name to the point that it'd be impossible for him to miss it. “His family owns Thresher Chicken, a big factory farm conglomerate.” The prince tilts his head to one side as he studies me, hazel eyes burning. “You did say you'd like to get Ben before the week was over, didn't you?”
“What—” Tristan starts to say, but there's a sudden hubbub amongst the other partygoers as several cars pull up, one of which is a police car. The other has a man and a woman in plainclothes, but they both very quickly bring up their badges, and nod to be let through the side gate.
We all watch as they make their way straight over to Ben.
“What was you said?” Windsor asks, drawing my attention away from the spectacle and back to him. “Hang them with their own rope?” The detectives—because that must be what they are—start talking to Ben. In the meantime, several other cars and vans pull up, and out climb news reporters with cameras rolling.
“Hang them with their own rope,” I repeat in awe, as Windsor grins and taps his fingers against the side of his glass.
“Well, I may have called several news stations and let on that Ben Thresher, son of the CEO of Thresher Meats was being hauled in for sexual assault.” Windsor shrugs his shoulders and gives me this wicked little smile. “That was my special, little touch. Well, that and I've guaranteed he won't be paying off or intimidating the girl he assaulted. She's safe, and well-taken care of.”
“He hurt another girl?” I ask, and the idea is just too terrible to put much thought to. Windsor nods and looks me straight in the eye.
“I didn't make that up; I wouldn't make that up. Look, there, milady, I'm learning from you.” Windsor grins and grabs a pair of hor d'oeuvres off of a passing tray. “Mini beef wellington?” He holds it out to me, but I'm locked in place, watching as Ben is dragged from the party in handcuffs.
“How on earth did you find out about that?” Tristan asks, turning to look at Windsor. The prince stops smiling, setting the beef wellingtons on a plate that's been abandoned on a nearby table. He wipes his hand on his shorts and stares Tristan down.
“I have my ways, Mr. Vanderbilt. If there are skeletons in the closet, I'll find them.” Windsor's eyes track across the group as Zayd makes his way over to us, pausing as he senses the tension in our little gathering. “That goes for everyone here: if there's something you want to confess, I suggest you do it before it's too late.”
I shiver.
Windsor York is scary.
No, not just scary, he's terrifying.
At least he’s on my side.
Summer back home with Dad is much less eventful than my single week in the Hamptons. I only just barely glimpsed what next year’s going to be like and already, I’m gearing up for all-out war.
“You okay, Marnye-bear?” Charlie asks, reeling in his line. We’re sitting on the bank of a local fishing spot, pretending like we actually have the skills to catch something. Neither of us has had a single bite, and I know that this pond is stocked once a week with all sorts of fish. Must just be our total lack of experience showing.
“I’m great,” I respond, feeling butterflies take over my stomach when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Every time I hear it make a sound, I get that sensation. Maybe because since I’ve left the Hamptons, I’ve had no shortage of messages. From Miranda, from Andrew, from Lizzie.
And from all five guys: Windsor, Zack, Creed, Zayd, and even Tristan.
“You sure?” Dad asks, setting his rod aside and opening his cooler. He pulls out a pair of sodas for the both of us, and I smile. In the past, he might’ve gone for a beer and tried to justify it to me. Just this one, Marnye, and no more. Even if he kept his promise for that single day, by the end of the week he’d be hammered. He’s really been making an honest effort. “You seem a little distant.”
“There’s just … I’m nervous about school starting next month.” And by next month, I mean in a week. My stomach flip-flops, and I exhale sharply. My birthday’s coming up, too, on the 5th of September. I’ll be seventeen, and a third year at Burberry Preparatory Academy. It’s all going by so fast, I’m almost afraid to see what happens when it ends.
“You seem to have a lot of new friends,” Dad hedges, fishing for information. He’s about as successful at that as he is at catching fish. I smile, and tuck some hair behind my ear. I’ve let it grow out a little bit, but it’s still short, still rose-gold. It’s sort of my signature color now. My fingers stray to the tattoo on my hip, pressing into my pelvic bone for comfort. I will not let the Infinity Club beat me.
“They’re just friends,” I repeat with a grin, turning to look at him. We’re so much alike: same brown eyes, same brunette hair (before mine was dyed), same full upper lip with the little dip in the center, same small button nose. Dad always says his features look better on me than they ever did on him, but I still think he’s a pretty handsome guy. “If I get a boyfriend, you’ll be the first to know.”
I salute him, and he grimaces, but at least he’s smiling, too. I have noticed in the last few weeks that he’s started to look thinner, and his hair’s started falling out. Fucking chemo. Both a blessing and a curse. Our old neighbor from the trailer park, Mrs. Fleming, is not only the world’s best texter over the age of ninety, but she also grows her own marijuana with the help of her adult grandsons. She’s beaten cancer four times in her life, and swears that cannabis is responsible for it. She brings dads joints, edibles, and other things and, to make up for her deafness, shouts really loudly about him taking his medicine.
Maybe it’ll help, maybe not, but at least the medical center has been taking excellent care of Charlie. I woke up one night in a cold sweat, panicking about it, certain that Harper was going to poison my father somehow, but Zack talked me down.
Infinity Club rules are ironclad. Harper would never hurt Charlie because it would mean the end of her—financially, socially, and in business. The other Club members take bets very seriously. And by other members, I don’t mean the junior sect.
Exhaling sharply, I pop the top on my soda and down it. I’m trying to get Dad to quit sugar with me, but he says he can only tackle one vice at a time, so for now we’re both still sweet-tooth junkies.
On the way home, Charlie suddenly reaches to turn off the radio—even though his favorite song in the whole world, Every Little Thing She Does is Magic by the Police is on—and then sits back heavily in his chair, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. My first thought is that there’s something going on with his health, and I start to panic.
“What?” My voice is shrill and high and foreign, a whole host of nightmares coming to life inside my head. “Dad, please.” My voice cracks, and Charlie reaches out to take my hand.
“Marnye-bear, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He smiles as my heart races and I narrow my eyes. “This is about your birthday, that’s all.” I exhale sharply and lean back into my seat, pushing some of the yellow batting that’s leaking out of the headrest away from my face. “Your friends asked my permission to organize a surprise party.”
“A surprise party … that you’re telling me about?” I query, glancing at my phone and finding messages from most of my new ‘friends’. The new Bluebloods. A surge of energy goes through me, and I lick my lips. Me, a Blueblood? An Idol? Surely, Tristan was joking. And anyway, I could never be so cruel. I’d never fit in.
“Well, I wanted to make sure you were okay with it,” Dad continues as we pull into the driveway of our new house. It’s disconcerting sometimes, not going back to the Train Car. I have so many fond memories of that place. Bad ones, too. I’ll miss it, but I’m okay with the change in scenery. “Those boys, if the
y’re bullying you again …”
“They’re not,” I say, and the words come out strong, sure, confident. I wait until Dad’s parked the truck and shut off the engine before I reach out and take his hand. “And I’ll never put you through what I did before.”
Red ribbons, water turning pink, my back sliding down the wall of the shower.
Exhale, Marnye, exhale.
“If there’s something you need to tell me,” Dad starts, his cheeks reddening slightly, “even if it’s about sex or anything like that, I’m here. There’s nothing you could do that would change my love for you, Marnye. If you come to me with questions, I promise I won’t be mad.”
My serious expression morphs into a grin, and I lean forward to throw my arms around his neck in a very Miranda-esque sort of hug. When I sit back, Dad’s smiling, too.
“Okay. If I have any questions, I’ll ask Google first, but keep you in mind for a close second.” Dad laughs, but the sound is half mirth and half relief. Good. “And yes to the party. Actually, I’m excited for it.”
I don’t say it aloud, but … it’s been years since I’ve had a birthday with anyone but me and Dad.
Last year, Zack tried, but I wasn’t ready.
This year, I’m open to change.
And I’m not afraid.
I don’t tell anyone that Dad’s already spilled the beans about my party. Instead, when he starts acting squirrelly after our pancake breakfast at the Railroad Station, I just smile and smother my laughter with my hand.
When we pull up to the Lower Banks Bowling Alley—the only cool place to bowl in the whole Cruz Bay Metro area—there are cars parked outside that are worth more than the entire business. Heh. If I hadn’t already known this was coming, I’d know now.
My heart skips a few beats as Dad rushes around to open my door, treating me like a princess. I feel a little like one, in the black party dress I picked out. It’s a high-low dress (shorter in the front than it is in the back) with a sleeveless, beaded bodice, and a little collar that buttons in the back. The best part? I paid forty bucks for it online, and I feel fabulous in it. I don’t need designer dresses or shoes to feel pretty. It might sound cheesy, but I really do believe that energy is inside of all of us.
Biting my lower lip, I pause just outside the door, next to the sign that says Closed for a Private Party, and then I push my way in.
“Surprise!”
The cheer goes up from the small group gathered in the entryway, next to the old claw machine, and the frosted glass windows that partition off the dining area. There’s a lot of enthusiasm in that cheer, even though Creed’s yawning and clapping at the same time, and Tristan’s as subdued as he always is. The others—Miranda, Lizzie, Andrew, Zack, Windsor, and Zayd—make up for it.
“You’re seventeen today!” Miranda shouts, dancing over to me and giving me a squeeze that’s so enthusiastic that my feet come up off the floor. She smells like that Victoria’s Secret body splash that everyone’s so obsessed with. Love Spell, right? I wonder if she has a new girlfriend?
“I’m seventeen,” I repeat, laughing as I push her off and Lizzie steps in for a much softer, but no less tight, hug. Each girl’s hug matches their personality. The thought makes me smile.
“Happy birthday,” Lizzie says, pulling back and catching sight of my dad. Her breath hitches, and her amber eyes get big. “Mr. Reed.” The words come out in a whisper, and it takes me a minute to figure out what’s going on. She’s worried that he knows her part in the bet. He doesn’t. And honestly, at this point, there’s no reason to tell him.
“Lizzie, this is Charlie,” I introduce them as simply as I can, giving her a look that I hope conveys that. They shake hands as I move over to Andrew next. He’s actually wearing a white shirt with a rainbow flag on the front of it. I raise my eyebrows and he grins, reaching up to muss at his chestnut hair.
“I’m not quite as brave as you,” he says, to which I raise my own eyebrow. I’ve never thought of myself as brave. I’m learning self-confidence and self-care, but bravery? I’m not sure I’m there yet. “It’s just, my parents are still in Italy, so …” Andrew trails off, and we hug anyway.
Those are the easy people to greet.
The rest of the group is … complicated.
Well, maybe to me. Windsor hasn’t gotten the memo. He sweeps me off my feet, and I squeal in surprise as he spins me around and sets me back down, curling his fingers through mine and lifting them up, so that we’re palm to palm. My heart is pounding, my pulse racing, as he leans in and kisses both of my cheeks.
My dad is staring at us with a very reserved and confused sort of expression. After I explained to him who Windsor was, he didn’t believe me. He literally bet me twenty bucks that I was full of it. Then he looked the prince up on his phone, shuffle-walked to my bedroom door, and put a small wad of ones and fives on my dresser.
“My daughter goes to school with royalty,” he’d mumbled, and then, “no wonder you didn’t want to leave that school.”
“We’ve all flown in for your birthday, and,” Windsor lifts up a single finger, “since there’s not a proper five star hotel in all of Cruz Bay, we’re staying at the Bayside Bed and Breakfast.” As a grin spreads across my face, Windsor chuckles. “Thought you’d get a kick out of that.”
“You guys know the Bayside Bed and Breakfast is haunted, right?” I ask. “And besides that, their continental breakfast consists of oranges in a bowl, and cold cereal. There’s no valet, no turndown service, and they definitely have not perfected the art of ass kissing.”
“So we discovered yesterday,” Tristan says, gray eyes sliding to one side. His arms are crossed tight over his chest, and even though I’m no psychologist, there’s something about his stance that says guarded, closed-off, unavailable. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose? “The ceiling in my bathroom drips, and there’s no room service.”
“Grenadine Heights might be an exclusive neighborhood, but overall, Cruz Bay is laid back, and very West Coast casual. Sorry, guys.” I grin as Windsor releases me, and I turn to see Zack, watching us with a brand-new red and black varsity jacket on his shoulders.
“They let you back on the team?” I ask, and he nods, grimacing slightly.
“Honestly, it’s kind of bullshit that they forgave me so easily,” he starts, but then I’m sliding my arms around his trim waist, and he’s enveloping me in a hug that makes me sweat buckets. I feel all swoon-y and weird around him in a way I never have before.
Dad grumbles something under his breath, and disappears into the dining area to order a root beer float. He’s trying to give me some privacy with my friends, which I appreciate, but every now and then his eyes flick our direction.
“Win some for Burberry Prep this year, okay?” I say, because once I took my revenge, and crossed his name off my list, I was done. There’s no point in beating a dead horse, and I trust that Zack’s learned a lesson he’ll never forget. I didn’t take revenge so I could gloat about it, or roll around in the blood of my enemies the way Harper might. And now that it’s over—with these guys anyway—I’m ready to start down the path of forgiveness.
Ask anyone: forgiveness is a much harder path than revenge.
That much I know for sure, because seconds later, the door opens and in walks Jennifer with a cluster of balloons in hand.
My heart turns to ice, plummets into my belly, and shatters into shards.
I feel sick.
“Hi …” Miranda starts, looking totally unsure. But then she glances back at me, sees my face, and she knows: this is my mother. She knows all the stories, too, about the cheating and the rest stop and the sister I’ve never met.
“Marnye,” Jennifer begins, making her way over to us in a party dress almost as fancy and flouncy as my own. “I brought you something.” She weaves her way between my friends without acknowledging them. That is, until she spots Windsor York. “Oh. Oh my god. Your majesty.” She blurts the words, and my face turns beet red. I’m proba
bly hot to the touch, too.
Jennifer turns to me with this look of pure glee on her face, like somehow my being friends with British royalty reflects on her in a positive way. To be honest, I’ve never felt more alien around anyone in my life the way I do around Jennifer. She’s a stranger in the worst kind of way. I mean, she’s my mother, one of the people in this world who are supposed to be closer to me than anyone, and yet, she’s as far away from me as a random woman off the street.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as Dad comes around the edge of the glass wall, and gives her a look of surprise. I can tell by the expression on his face that he didn’t invite her either. He wouldn’t do that to me, not without asking.
“Well, it came up in passing conversation with your father that you might be here today …” Jennifer trails off, her blond hair coiffed on the top of her head like a princess, all braided with glittering silver thread and tiny pearl beads.
“I did not invite you, Jenn,” Charlie says, his face this strange mix of empathy and frustration.
I feel so weird, having this moment with the Idols on one side of me, Zack and Windsor on the other, and my new friends fanned out behind my mother with matching expressions of sympathy.
“I just came to give my baby girl some balloons,” Jennifer says, passing over the bobbing bundle. Her eyes skim past me and come to land on Zayd. Her red painted mouth pops open in surprise. “You’re Billy Kaiser’s son, aren’t you?”
“The one and only,” Zayd says, but he sounds slightly irritated. When I glance back at him, I can see he’s studying my mood. He knows what it’s like to have an absentee parent, too.
“You’ve certainly done well at the academy, all these nice friends,” Jennifer says, sounding a little breathless as her blue eyes take in Tristan and Creed before turning back to me. “Which one’s your boyfriend?”
Forgiveness is a virtue, I tell myself as I stare into my mother’s face. I try to make myself smile, but my lips remain flat. All I can think about is sitting in the rain, crying, watching cars come in and out of the parking lot while I hid beneath the thick limbs of a tree.
The Envy of Idols Page 6