The Envy of Idols

by Stunich, C. M.

  She notices me looking and turns the brand to face me.

  “Do you like it?” she asks, blinking innocently. “I had it custom made. It says Working Girl. I thought maybe we could stamp it on that huge forehead of yours, so the whole world would know who you really are.” She grabs the iron off the fold-out ironing board that’s stored in an inset wall cabinet, and then presses it on my bare arm.

  The pain is so intense that I trash even harder, and manage to dislodge a few of the girls. I barely notice though. No, instead I’m wrapped up in this white-hot agony of blistering flesh. I start weeping without even meaning to, the pain’s so great.

  Harper releases the iron from the crook of my elbow and presses the brand against it, heating it up.

  I’m still fighting against the other girls, making it a hell of a lot harder for them to shave my head.

  “Hurry up, Harper. The brothel bitch is way stronger than she looks.” Ileana’s whine makes my head throb with an incoming migraine. Or, well, maybe that’s the second degree burn on my arm. It’s hard to say.

  The leader of the Harpies, Miss du Pont herself, climbs up on the bed and straddles my waist.

  Her smile is horrific, like watching an alligator open its jaws before it swallows its prey whole.

  There’s a faint sound from the direction of the door, but I’m too focused on the brand coming at my face to pay it much attention. The sound of a lock slipping draws Harper’s attention just before the door is kicked in.

  Zack is there in an instant, grabbing Harper’s arm and throwing her off the bed so hard that she hits the floor with an unfortunate cracking sound, the hot brand tumbling along with her and smacking into her bottom lip. She screams in pain as the other boys rush the room.

  “Get the fuck off of her,” Zack says, grabbing Becky’s wrist and shoving her violently back. Ileana and the others scramble out of the way as Tristan steps in the room and puts his foot flat on Harper’s hand, crushing it to the floor.

  I’m still shaking as Zack sweeps me into his arms, tucking me up close against his chest.

  “Don’t you dare try to get up,” Tristan warns, pushing down harder on Harper’s hand. The other girls exchange looks, like they can’t decide if they’re going to start a fight with the boys. “Throw a single punch and I’ll break your queen’s hand.”

  “Get the hell off of me!” Harper shrieks, but Tristan isn’t going anywhere, that predatory grace of his taking over his limbs, his silver eyes locked on their target.

  Creed, Zayd, and Windsor are right behind him, fanning out across the back of the room.

  A few seconds later, Myron shows up with Lizzie by his side.

  “Are you okay, Marnye?” Zayd asks, panting, his green eyes wide as he takes me in with the shaving cream all over my head and the burn on my arm. I nod. I mean, I could really use some painkillers and aloe vera, but I think I’ll be alright. Oh, and ice. I would kill for a pack of ice right now.

  “I’m fine,” I say, my voice shaky and dark with pain. Zayd notices and scowls, giving Becky a look that’s pure, unadulterated hatred.

  “You fucking idiots,” Tristan says, leaning his weight forward until Harper screams. “We have video footage of this entire thing. You think I won’t use it?”

  “Do you think my parents don’t have any sway over the academy staff?” she shouts back at him. “I’ll get in-school suspension, and a slap on the wrist. This is nothing.” Tristan grinds his heel down and she squeaks with real pain.

  “You should go find your boyfriends—and don’t tell me you’re not fucking John and Greg. I have video footage of that, too.”

  “Wait, you’re screwing Greg?” Abigail whispers, but nobody acknowledges her.

  “What did you do to them?” Valentina asks, wringing her hands. “Where are they?”

  “On their way home,” Creed drawls, lounging against the doorjamb with his hands tucked into his pockets. He’s playing the bored Blueblood act, but I can see worry pinching his brow as he glances over at me.

  “They were caught sharing unauthorized nude photos of other students all over the school,” Windsor says, cool as a cucumber. He actually looks like he might be having fun. Then again, there’s that darkness behind his eyes he isn’t so good at hiding from me anymore.

  “You planted nudes on their phones?” Ileana scoffs, and Windsor turns to look at her with his brows raised.

  “No. They already had the nudes. I guess this time, they just sent them out to the whole school on accident. And while Harper might have good enough connections to escape the zero tolerance policy on bullying, Greg and John do not.”

  Abigail shoves between Zayd and Creed, taking off down the hall with her heels clacking on the stone.

  “Bye-bye, Greg,” Tristan says, giving a derisive little one handed wave. “Bye-bye, John. Oh, unfortunately, John’s father isn’t going to get reelected, so … you can kiss your father’s handpicked future US senator goodbye, too. It’s just a day of bittersweet farewells, isn’t it?”

  “He was screwing his secretary’s seventeen year old son,” Zack whispers in my ear, kissing me softly. “Hang them with their own rope, right?” I cling to him, sucking in a sharp breath.

  “Don’t forget about Greg’s family,” Windsor says, speaking up.

  “Nah, how could we?” Zayd says, getting out a cigarette and lighting up. He saunters into my room and cracks open the bathroom window, planting his boot on the closed toilet lid, so he can smoke. “Not when he media’s having a field day with all those leaked documents. How many illegal foreclosures did they push through in the last decade?”

  “You can’t mess with Infinity Club members like that!” Harper snarls as Tristan finally releases her hand, and she scrambles to her feet. He collects the Working Girl brand before she can get hold of it and chucks it into my trash can. “It’s against the rules. That’s what the bets are for. You don’t involve business, politics, or media.”

  “We bet you that we could keep Marnye here at Burberry until she graduated. However we have to go about doing that is fair game.”

  “We’ll see,” Harper sneers, touching the blister on her bottom lip. It starts to bleed, but I have no sympathy left for her.

  She grabs Becky and Ileana by the arms and heads for the door.

  “Wait,” I call out, and she actually pauses, turning a poisonous glare on me. I lick my dry lower lip. “Last year, when I was collecting information on all of you … I found out that John has chlamydia. I’m really sorry. At least it’s curable, right?”

  Harper’s eyes go wide and she jerks her friends into the hallway. The rest of the girls follow after, and Myron and Lizzie push the door closed.

  “Does he really chlamydia?” Zack asks, and I nod.

  “He left his notebook lying on the ground during football drills once, and I peeked inside.”

  “Good thing you stopped screwing the Blueblood girls during first year,” Creed drawls, giving both Tristan and Zayd looks. “Looks like shit went down after that.”

  “Well, I just got my STD results in,” Tristan purrs, and Zayd grins.

  “Same, bro. We’re clean.” Zayd flicks his cigarette into the sink, and comes to stand in the room with is hands in his pockets, locking those beautiful emerald eyes with my brown ones. “We didn’t dare touch Marnye until we knew for sure.”

  “Game’s on,” Tristan breathes, and then he takes a step toward me, but I don’t remember what happens after that because I’m in so much pain, I just pass out.

  The burn on my arm is about the size of an apple, and it’s definitely second-degree, according to the Burberry Prep school nurse. She gives me a scolding about being careful with the iron, calls my dad, and makes me sit there while he fusses over me.

  After word about what happened gets around, the attitude in the Plebs shifts. When I walk down the hall, people scramble to get out of my way. If I step onto an elevator, everyone else vacates. And for the time being, nobody sits at the high table bu
t us.

  “Harper’s not done yet,” Windsor says, lying back on the grass and looking up at the blue sky. It’s February now, and still technically winter, but today has been beyond beautiful, sunny and bright with hardly a breeze to be felt.

  Thank god because I really needed it.

  “Not even close,” Tristan says, looking at the checkered blanket and picnic basket like he’s never been on a picnic in his life. Hell, maybe he hasn’t? I cradle my arm against my chest, buried deep in thought. “Because the Plebs are so used to having three female Idols, I’ve put Lizzie and Miranda down as your peers,” he continues, and I lift my head to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

  Zayd’s head is in my lap, and I find my fingers unconsciously digging into the lavender-ash color of his hair.

  “To me, you’re the only Idol,” Zayd mumbles, and I grin. Miranda and Jessie have started seeing each other again, but Jessie feels uncomfortable acting like a couple in front of me. Seems everyone knows about my bestie’s crush. Maybe I was the last person to find out? And of course, I had to be hit over the head with it.

  “Agreed,” Zack says, digging into a bag of pretzels, his eyes on me. “I’m assuming you three are going to be the Idols for the boy’s team?”

  Creed rolls his shoulders in a lazy shrug.

  “Naturally.”

  I don’t look at him. If I do, carnal memories will come pouring out, and sitting on the back lawn with dozens of students situated around the garden is not the place to start getting hot and heavy. Although, someone might want to tell Jasmine May and Chris Sanchez that.

  “For the Inner Circle, we have you and Windsor,” Tristan continues, and Zack smirks.

  “Naturally,” he mimics, and Tristan gives him a narrowed silver glare in response.

  “To fill in the rest of the ranks, I’ll start recruiting from the first years mostly. They weren’t around for Marnye’s bullying, and we’re less likely to end up with a fox in the chicken coop.”

  “Like you even know what a chicken coop is,” I tease, and he turns his gray glare on me. There’s a playful edge to it though that makes me smile.

  “You were Harper’s fiancée,” Windsor continues, closing his eyes. “Tell me: now that she’s been backed into a corner, and we’ve taken control of the school, what happens next?”

  Tristan says nothing, but there’s a faraway look in his eyes that I don’t like. I’ve never seen it before. He stares across the gardens with a sigh, and then shake his head, raven-black hair fluttering gently around his face.

  “She’s already made plenty of moves—we just don’t know about them yet.”

  “Well, she can’t out my dad for sleeping with hookers or doing drugs: the whole world knows about that. And my grandma’s business is clean.” Zayd sits up slightly, leaning back so that his head is sort of pillowed on my breasts. I push him back down into my lap.

  “I imagine we’ll find out at the next official Club meeting?” Zack hazards, and Tristan nods sharply.

  “How often do those happen?” I ask, and Creed sighs.

  “At least six times a year, sometimes more depending on the whims of the board.”

  “There’s a board of directors for the Infinity Club?” I ask incredulously, and Creed nods.

  “Both of Harper’s parents are on it. She’s a tough nut to crack.”

  “Are you guys really going to get in trouble for all of this?” I lick my lips and wait for an answer, but none of the boys looks at me or gives it.

  That scares me.

  That scares me a whole hell of a lot.

  Valentine’s Day brings equal parts revenge and romance.

  The Bluebloods—and this time, I mean us and our new crew—spread a decree around the school that none of the Harpies or their Company boys are to receive roses. Anyone caught sending them is worse than a Plebian.

  “This kind of politicking just doesn’t occur to me,” I say, pushing my plate away and picking up my ice tea. Zack, Zayd, and I are sitting in The Mess, eating dinner and getting ready for tomorrow. There’s the usual garden party in the evening, and now that we’re sitting on the Burberry Prep thrones, we have no choice but to go. Or at least we have to make an appearance.

  “No?” Zayd asks, grinning and dipping his fingers into his ice water. He flicks some at me, and I flick some iced tea back at him. “Because, come on, pushing our cars into the pool? That was brilliant.” I grin and shrug at the same time.

  “Sure, but that’s obvious. Of course you’re going to be upset if your car gets dumped in a swimming pool. But not receiving some roses on Valentine’s Day? So what?”

  “That’s why I like you,” Zayd says, tugging on one of his lip rings. “Because you don’t think like they do. You have no idea how much someone like Becky craves attention and approval from others. Not getting roses on Valentine’s is, like, the equivalent of being shaved bald for her. Trust me: this is sweet, sweet revenge in its finest form.”

  The door to The Mess opens, and the other boys come in, talking up seats around the table. Creed slides his foot up my leg, and I flush, pretending not to notice. Last night, he snuck over to my room in the middle of the night, and we … well, he had a quick repeat of what happened at the hotel.

  He came in and didn’t say a word, pushed my shirt up and over my breasts, sucked gently on the flesh, and slid in me with a groan that’s still ringing in my ears. Just thinking about it makes my nipples pebble to fine points. It’s all so new, all this physical affection. I get jitters just thinking about it.

  “What are the plans for tomorrow?” Windsor asks, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands over the front of his uniform. I’m in love with the red jackets, the plaid ties, and the white shirts. I’m going to miss them. Then again, fourth year uniforms are solid black: black ties, black shirt, black jacket, black skirt/slacks.

  “Hit the garden party, grab a table, and romance the shit out of our new girlfriend?” Zayd says with a grin, and Zack slams a palm onto the table, shaking the dishes. Everyone turns to look at him, his brown eyes narrowed to slits, his gaze focused on me. I shiver under the intensity.

  “No.”

  “No?” Creed echoes, and Windsor raises his eyebrows. Tristan looks bored, and Zayd looks irritated.

  “What do you mean no?” the rocker boy asks, rubbing his inked hand up his equally inked arm.

  “I mean I’ve been placid, and I’ve been nice, and I’m done with it. I thought that’s what Marnye wanted.” Zack stops and then sits back in his chair, lifting his chin in a way that promise he’s just as much a member of the Burberry Prep royal court as any of the other guys. “But it’s not. She wants me to fight for her, so that’s what I’m going to fucking do. I’m taking her on a date, just me.”

  “Says friggin’ who?” Zayd growls, rising to his feet. I reach out and grab his arm, and he sits down, letting out a string of curses.

  “Where are you wanting to take me?” I ask, heart pounding, knowing this is going to be good. Zack is thoughtful. He bought me a freaking pedal harp for Christmas.

  “I got some off-campus passes for the afternoon. Thought we could go to the bookstore, and I could get you some more of those boys’ love mangas you like. And then … maybe a picnic by the lake.”

  “Are you for real?” Zayd asks, leaning back in his chair so far I’m worried he might topple over. “What makes you think you get Marnye all to yourself on Valentine’s Day?”

  “Because I asked for it first,” Zack says, voice cool and dark. He turns to look at me. “What do you think?”

  I look at the others, but they don’t give anything away.

  “We can hold court at the garden party,” Windsor says, surprising me. “You go. There’ll be time for other dates later.” Zayd curses, but then he just chucks his napkin onto his plate and throws a tattooed hand up in the air.

  “Yeah, sure, Mr. Rich and Royal is going to be all chivalrous and shit. Fine. Go, have fun, but remember that when I take you out,”
Zayd smirks as he levels a glare on Zack, “it’s going to be a hell of a lot better than a fucking picnic.”

  Valentine’s Day is just a normal day of school, capped off with the dramatic ritual of the roses. This time, I end up with a huge bundle. Pretty sure all of them are from my friends—boyfriends and non-boyfriends alike—but Zayd was right: it really does feel good to be wanted and appreciated.

  After I set my colorful spray of roses up in a water pitcher (I don’t exactly have a lot of vases lying around), I change into a short, pink dress and some white ballet flats, pausing as I head out the door and find a small stack of gifts waiting for me.

  Not a one of the boys is about to be outdone, so there’s a little something from everyone but Zack.

  “The things I want to give you,” he says, leaning against the stone wall next to my door, dressed in jeans, a tight black shirt, and his red and black letterman jacket, “can’t be wrapped.”

  My cheeks flush, and I lick my lower lip.

  “Look at you, all poetic and romantic,” I murmur, putting the stack of presents carefully on my bed for later. What a treat that’ll be to come home to. What girl wouldn’t want to go on a date with her hunky football player boyfriend, and then come back to a stack of beautifully wrapped gifts from her other four beaus.

  I’m starting to feel spoiled.

  Zack takes my arm and we head outside, threading through sun-dappled woods toward the visitors lot until we get to his orange McLaren. He opens the doors—which lift up in a Back to the Future sort of way—and holds my hand while I climb in, ever the gentleman.

  True to his word, we hit the bookstore and load up on yaoi—yes, more of the super sexual Japanese manga that I like. I’m not even ashamed to admit it anymore. Zack decides to go a different route and ends up deciding to try some yuri—a girl on girl version of the books I’ve got. He says he’s not really into manga, but I appreciate that he’s willing to give it a try.

  “I didn’t know it was my thing either until … well, I read some and now it definitely is my thing,” I say as we get back in the car, and Zack puts the giant bag of books in the backseat.