“We’ve changed your dorm assignment as well,” Church continues as Micah, the acting Secretary of the council, scribbles something down on a piece of paper and hands it to me. I pass the notarized dorm assignment form over to Mark, and he gapes at it.
“You’re putting me with that loser science geek from first period?” he says, completely aghast, like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He looks up, and I wonder briefly how I thought he was even remotely handsome. Like, I think I was trying to be nice when I said he could be if he didn’t have such a rotten personality. In reality, he sort of reminds me of a skunk or a weasel, only with less intelligence and heart than either animal exhibits in the worst of circumstances.
“You tried to murder our girlfriend,” Spencer says, sitting slowly back down in his chair and lounging bonelessly in it, like he owns the place. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten that.”
“All of this because of some practical joke?” Mark scoffs, getting that cocky swagger back in his step as he approaches the table. “The Montagues might have some sway and influence, but my dad plays golf with the POTUS.”
POTUS sounds like the name of a fancy toilet room spray, I think with a small chuckle. Only, I’m not as dumb as Mark, so I know it stands for President of the United States.
“So?” Church asks, cocking his head to one side. “What does that have to do with you trying to kidnap Charlotte from a London cemetery? What was up with that fox mask, by the way.” Church gestures at his face with his hand. “And who were your friends? Maybe if you gave up their names, we could reconsider the dorm room assignment?”
“My father’s going to hear about this,” Mark says, gesturing with the page and then spinning on his heel and storming out the door.
I scurry after him, and lock the main office door after he leaves, just so we can have a moment of privacy before our next appointment.
“It’s been a week and you still haven’t told me how you managed to pull all of this off,” I say, stepping back into the room and leaning against one of the statuesque wooden doors that separates this area from the office. “My birthday is coming up, you know, so …”
“Oh, low blow,” Spencer says, shaking out his hand like I’ve slapped him. “Come, take a seat.” He taps his knee, and I roll my eyes. But then I go over and sit down on his lap anyway because I’m stupidly, madly, over-the-top, filled-with-glitter, in love with this guy. “You know how my dad owns a pharmaceutical company, right?”
“Yeah?” I hedge, hoping and praying that his dad isn’t one of those types who, like, triples the price on EpiPens for no reason at all other than pure profit. But we can get to that later. I figure maybe it’s a good thing I’m dating these guys, so I can teach them to check their male and class privilege, huh? Or maybe … maybe I just like them?
“Well, you know how I’ve been refusing to sell weed to everyone? To get them all psyched to vote for us?”
“You mean blackmail them into voting for us,” the twins correct, but Spencer ignores them, clearly proud of his own behind-the-scenes scheming.
“Okay, yep,” I say, narrowing my eyes and wondering where this is going.
“Well, I put pressure on my dad to talk to some of the doctors that are popular among the upper class in NYC, the ones that rely on his generosity to supply copious amounts of pills. They cut the prescriptions off for the parents of half the kids that go to this school.”
My brows go up.
“Damn, dude, that’s hardcore.”
“No ‘us’ on the Student Council, no more celebrity doctors with questionable morals.” Spencer shrugs his shoulders. “And I don’t even feel bad about it. Why should I? Most of them are like Mark and his family, throwing their weight around all the damn time. It’s a lesson that’s well-deserved.”
“How did you get your dad to agree to that?” I ask, noticing that Ranger looks away sharply at the mention of the word dad. His is guilty, that much we know for sure, and as much as he says he doesn’t care about his father, it still hurts. I can see it in his sapphire eyes when he looks off into sky sometimes.
“I told him I’d never see him again. I hate his lies anyway, and it’s a chore to be around him. But I guess he must care about me somewhat because he agreed to it.” Spencer shrugs his shoulders, also throwing on a bit of a cavalier attitude. One day, I’m going to break these boys down and get to the root of their emotions. And you know what? I hope they do the same for me, too.
“I have to admit, I’m impressed by your scheming,” I say, leaning in for a kiss as Ranger grumbles under his breath.
“We have back-to-back meetings all day,” he chastises, but I figure he’s just jealous and wants a kiss, too. I plant one on Spencer’s lips, pulling back before he draws me into that fiery essence of his, and then running down the line to kiss each and every boy on the mouth.
“Oh, that was fun,” I say as I hit the door with my back and push it open, spinning out into the office and then doing a triple fist pump and happy shimmy dance where no one can see.
“You’ve left the door open,” Church says, and my face pales as I glance back to see that it hasn’t swung properly closed and everyone’s just seen me act like a total idiot.
That’s … great. Just great.
When Aster Hayes knocks on our door, and I open it, my face is the color of the strawberry-beet jam that the kitchen makes on Fridays.
She smiles at me, but the expression doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
Psychopath, I think, but even if that’s not true, Aster is up to something.
I just know it.
“She didn’t even blow up about any of it,” I say as the twins and I fumble through the complicated process of actually trying to make cauliflower mash taste good. I don’t even see how it could be healthy at this point; we have to load it up with a crapload of butter to give it any flavor. It’s like … tasteless albino broccoli that turns into flavorless mushy white goo when cooked and pureed. “Like, a normal person would be furious. Even used-tampon-face Mark Grandam was annoyed. She creeps me out.”
Aster Hayes took every punishment the Student Council laid out with grace and poise, understandably frustrating the crap out of me. Nobody is that calm unless they have something to hide.
“So maybe she’s the guilty one and not Selena?” Spencer suggests, looking up from the casserole dish in his hands toward the classroom door. We’ve been booking it over here after class every Tuesday and Thursday, just to see if we can’t have some time to ourselves before Aster shows up. Despite the punishments laid out by the Student Council, and despite the fact that we’ve been consistently giving her the cold shoulder, she doesn’t seem able to take the hint. “Or, what if we’re wrong and there’s more than one female attacker?” He goes about putting the dish in the oven as Church raises his head up from his schoolwork, staring at his friend like he’s just given him a revelation. “It’d make sense, you know, because I swear I saw Selena leaving the Valentine’s party with that weird blue-haired girl that Ranger slept with. Then that girl ends up knocked out with no memory of what happened? That’s some shady shit.”
My mouth tightens into a thin line as Ranger gives Spencer a dude, STFU look.
“Kesha.” Just that one word, tinged with a bit of apologetic regret as he looks over at me. I don’t need him or any of the others to regret the people they’ve slept with in the past though; I just want them to only sleep with me in the future. Then again, I’m enjoying his attention too much to say anything, catching that sapphire gaze and holding it. “You saw them leave together and didn’t think to mention it until now?”
“Well, I was high as fuck, and a little bit drunk, and all I can really remember are Chuck’s blue eyes. I’ll admit, that night threw me for a serious loop. I’d been considering sucking dick and even swallowing”—he was going to swallow … for me? cue squealing—“and then I met this gorgeous girl that I felt overwhelmingly attracted to …”
“You were go
ing to cheat on Chuck with Charlotte?” I gasp, and Spencer gives me a saucy look.
“You do it with the twins, don’t you? Maybe I could’ve wrangled a pair of cousins?”
“Okay, enough,” Ranger says as Tobias and Micah chuckle, using the silicone scraper in his hand to gesture in Spencer’s direction. “You saw Kesha leaving with Selena?”
“Pretty sure. And Aster was still inside dancing with Ross. Just saying, we could have two female attackers, and maybe they’re not always both present at the same time?” Spencer puts the casserole in the oven as Church rises from his favorite chair, tapping a stylus against his mouth.
“That could explain a lot. Put Mark, Gareth, Selena, and Aster together … Think about that. The lineages match, there’s the mention of Libby in Jenica’s journal, and every single one of them has given us at least some reason to suspect them.” He pauses and puts his palms on the countertop. “The only things that don’t make sense are your father”—Church holds up a single finger—“and the business owners in Nutmeg. How do they fit in?”
“You’re forgetting the biggest issue with this four-attacker theory,” Tobias says, and the twins exchange a look. “We’re missing another body,” they add together, and Church’s eyes narrow in thought.
“Maybe there’s someone else they’ve been stalking here or at Everly?” I suggest, and then we all pause as the door opens and Aster Hayes walks in, smiling her frustratingly perfect smile.
“Have I missed anything?” she asks, taking one of her new aprons off the hook near the door and slipping it on. She wears plain white ones and never bleaches them; I can tell it infuriates both Church and Ranger both.
“We were just about to make a four-cheese casserole,” I say, trying to force my lips into a smile and then pushing the cookbook across the counter.
Now that Spencer’s brought it up, I can’t stop wondering: is there another victim on this campus that we don’t know about?
Worse.
One that we won’t know about until it’s too late …
Nutmeg’s Main Street isn’t exactly the boardwalk back home, but I like coming here on the weekends. All the shop owners—even the ones who don’t like Church’s family—are nice. It probably helps that the guys are all loaded, and whenever I say I like something, they buy it for me.
“You don’t have to buy my affection, you know?” I say, sitting with the boys in their favorite booth near the front window. I play with the metal straw in my chocolate shake and pretend like I’m not purposely avoiding looking at the email in my inbox that says An Important Message from Bornstead University. I’m not the only one who has one, by the way. We all do.
“We don’t have to, but we like to,” Micah says, shrugging his shoulders. “And you are really poor, so I figure every little bit helps.”
“Oh, stuff your face,” I grumble as I glance over and watch Merinda sprinting from table to table. Is this place as far in the red as the antique shop? I wonder, looking back at Church. He said he’d tell me the story at some point, but I have yet to hear it.
“And stop stressing so much about this stupid university,” Spencer says, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands. “You know we’re not going anywhere without you, Chuck.”
“I don’t want to hold you guys back because I slacked for the first two years of high school. That’s not fair.”
“Do you fully appreciate how rich we are?” Tobias asks, but not like he’s bragging, just like he’s stating a simple fact. “If there’s one, meaningful thing our privilege can buy, it’s going to be an education for you.”
“We’ve always planned on staying together after high school anyway,” Ranger says with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, like he can’t believe he ever subscribed to something so stupid. It’s all a front, of course. He loves these guys as much as I do. Just … I don’t think he wants to suck their dicks. Only difference between us. “We were sort of tossing around the idea of traveling first, but school is important, too. So open the damn email and stop stressing yourself out.”
“Maybe I need an apron, a good breeze across my backside, and a tray of colorful cupcakes?”
“When we get back to Adamson, I’ll naked bake the crap out of some lavender-vanilla cupcakes. I’m also more than happy to bend you over that counter again and fuck the shit out of you.” Ranger taps the screen of my phone with a blue-painted fingernail as Church sips his coffee and the other boys groan. “But only if you open this damn email and put us all out of our misery.”
“Actually, I was more interested in the story of Nutmeg and the Montagues—”
“We all got in,” the twins say, interrupting me and pausing with their forks paused halfway to their lips, a glistening bite of cherry pie perched on the tines of each. “We already checked with our Mom.”
“We got in?!” I scream, standing up so suddenly that I dump my entire chocolate milkshake into Church’s lap. My hands clamp over my mouth, but he barely reacts, taking another sip of his coffee before setting the mug carefully down on the table. “Church, I’m so, so, so, so sorry …”
“Don’t be, my sweet little bride,” he says, flicking his eyes up to mine before he smirks. Ranger and Micah slide out of the bench seat and Church follows, dripping milkshake everywhere. “Our apologies, Merinda.”
“Not a problem,” she says, as I struggle between wanting to freak out, and wanting to help clean up.
“I’ve got it,” Ranger says, taking the rag from Merinda and shaking his head at me. “Just do it. Go freak out or scream or whatever it is you need to do.”
“Really?” I ask, my eyes filling with tears. I’m about to get all blubbery and start snotting everywhere. Is that a word? Snotting? Because it really sounds like one that’d get used a lot … “We got into Bornstead U? All of us?”
“We’re in,” Tobias says with a laugh as I hold my arms up above my head and squinch my face up, screaming internally since it’s not considered polite to shout in the middle of a crowded diner. I fist-pump hard and then turn to slap a strong high five with Spencer. “And guess what? Your tuition is covered.”
“I haven’t applied for any student loans yet,” I say, and the four boys still sitting around the table give me looks. “What? I mean, just because we’re dating, I don’t expect you to—”
“We’re paying for it,” the twins say together, taking bites of their pie and then holding their forks up in an X, effectively cutting me off from what I was about to say. “Don’t argue with us. It’s happening.”
“You really think I’d sit by and watch you rack up student loans like that?” Spencer asks, looking over at me. “What sort of asshole do you take me for?”
“I need a minute,” I say, holding back tears as I slip under the table and crawl out the other side, my shoes squeaking on the floor as I run outside and throw my back against the sun-warmed wall next to the front door. “Yes!” My voice echoes down the street and several people turn to look at me. I don’t care though. The only thing I care about right now is reveling in this moment. It’s hard to say how many strings the guys pulled behind the scenes—because Bornstead U is a seriously competitive university—but I did work really hard to turn things around. I’ve got A’s in all my classes currently. First time this has ever happened for me.
I do a ridiculous little jig for the guys’ enjoyment, and then throw open the doors to the diner, my chest swollen with pride.
“I’m a future college student,” I tell some random Adamson students near the door. I don’t really know who they are, but the way they murmur Student Council lackey under their breaths shows that they know who I am. When all four of the boys at my table turn to look at them, the students change their tune real fast.
“Go check on your milkshake-laden boyfriend, college student,” Ranger says, and I bounce over to the unisex bathroom, pushing in the door to find Church cleaning chocolate off of his crotch with a wet rag.
“Do you need help with that?”
I ask, but when I reach to take it from him, Church just leans in and kisses me hard on the mouth.
“Please don’t. I’ll get a hard-on, and then we’ll end up doing it in this bathroom, and Merinda will never forgive us.”
My cheeks flush.
Last night, Church and I may or may not have gone at it again in our dorm room. It became a bit of a game to try to stop groaning and moving when Nathan popped by for the nightly room checks. Pretty sure he knew what we were doing, but screw him. He’s just as shady and close-mouthed as the asshole librarian.
“Your parents … they don’t care if the shops here make any profit, do they?” I ask, and Church looks up with a smile, tossing the rag into the sink. His champagne colored slacks are soaked in the crotch, and it really, really looks like he peed himself, but since this is all my fault, I decide not to say anything.
“They don’t.”
“Because …” I lead, gesturing with my hand for him to continue the story.
“Because they’re both billionaires in their own right?” he suggests, and I give him a look. “Because they met and fell in love in Nutmeg, Chuck. My mother went to Everly and my father to Adamson. They kept seeing each other at all the coed events—the Halloween party, the Valentine’s Day dance, the bake-off. This town is the setting for their love story; they want it preserved.”
“That’s the reason they want to own everything?” I choke out, and Church sighs, like his parents are the most ridiculous people on the planet.
“That’s the gist of it, yes. They let the shop owners run their shops the way they always have, they pay them fair salaries, and they don’t care if the store is in the red. That’s why I’ve never asked them to give the diner back to Merinda. I know this place wasn’t making any money before we bought it.”
“And by fair salary …” I start, and Church smirks.
“Merinda drives a Beemer, Chuck,” he says, and I snort. Am I that obvious? I mean, socioeconomic inequalities really bother me, but that’s not the point. Ugh. Did I just say socioeconomic inside my own head? I wouldn’t have even been able to spell that word back in Santa Cruz, let alone use it in an independent thought.
The Forever Crew Page 22