Stuck With The Four Hotties

When he sees me looking at him, he scowls and turns away.

“My dad’s on tour right now. What the fuck is your parents’ excuse? Too busy working at the factory?”

“There’s nothing wrong with working at a factory,” I grind out, my jaw clenched tight, “but no, my dad will be here.” I’m not about to explain to Zayd that I’m worried he’s too drunk, that he passed out somewhere, that he forgot. That’d just give him more ammo to throw at me, and even without a whole lot, the Idols are doing a damn good job gunning for me. “He’ll be here,” I repeat, crossing my arms over my chest and shivering at the cool breeze. I’ve always disliked October and the cold chill of fall. While everybody else was going to the pumpkin patch with their families, trick-or- treating, having big Thanksgiving get-togethers, it was just me and Dad struggling to get by.

Zayd ignores me, humming some song under his breath that I vaguely recognize. I’m more of a classical music person, so I’m not super familiar with rock, but I’m pretty sure Zayd’s dad is Billy Kaiser, the lead singer for Battered Wings, a popular rock band from my parents’ days. I bet that’s hard, having a parent who’s on the road all the time.

Then Zayd mumbles something like poor little Working Girl under his breath, and all my sympathy fades away.

We both perk up a bit at the sound of a car coming down the winding road. It’s impossible to tell who’s in it because the windows are tinted, and it’s got the academy’s logo on the side. Parents aren’t allowed to drive up to the school and instead have to park in the visitors’ lot five miles away. Everyone

-even the working class-gets a ride to the front entrance in the same vehicle.

When the door opens, and I see my dad climb out, I have to hold back a small shriek of joy, my cheeks lighting up. As I stand up and smooth my skirt out, I notice Zayd watching me, and try not to feel smug. My dad is here, so where is yours? Even if the guy’s a jerk, the thought’s just too mean. I’m not that kind of person. Or … at least I try not to be.

I start down the stairs with a perky bounce in my steps, grinning from ear to ear when Dad smiles at me and opens his arms for a hug. He’s clearly sober, and his hair looks freshly-washed and styled, his face clean-shaven.

“Baby girl!” he calls out, wrapping me up in his strong arms and spinning me around. We haven’t been separated for this long since … forever ago. When Mom first left and tried to take me with her. Shaking my head, I decide not to think about that. Those memories are best left forgotten. “I’ve missed you so much, honey.”

I open my mouth to tell him the same when a second figure climbs out of the car, and my heart turns to ice in my chest.

“Zack,” I choke out, eyes widening.

“Hey Marnye,” he says, his voice still that same dark bass it was in eighth grade. Zack matured faster than the rest of the boys, shooting up to an impressive six foot three, with big hands and muscles from football and track. But over the summer, he’s just gotten … ripped. My mouth goes dry, and my palms start to sweat.

“What …” I start to ask my ex-boyfriend what he’s doing here, but Dad answers for me.

“The school gave me two tickets for today, and your mother …” He doesn’t have to finish that thought; we both know what Mom’s up to, taking care of her replacement husband and daughter and leaving the two of us to rot. “Well, I called and asked, and they said it was okay if I wanted to bring a family friend.”

“A family friend,” I whisper, tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind one ear. It’s basically down to my ass now, and difficult to control in a strong wind. “That’s one way to put it.” My eyes sweep Zack’s large, muscular form, wondering when his chest and stomach got so flat, his arm muscles so big that the sleeves of his leather jacket look strained. His dark hair is gelled up on the top, and as I stare at him, he reaches up and smooths it flat with his palm.

“Zack’s been helping out around the house,” Dad says as I glance back and find that Zayd’s disappeared. Good. The last thing I need is him eavesdropping on our conversation. God knows what sort of crap the Idols would pull out after hearing his. “He’s been helping me stay sober, too.”This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Biting my lower lip, I nod, looking Dad’s outfit over. He didn’t pick those black slacks and white button-up on his own. Zack’s family owns a series of shops catering to wedding attire, a few bridal shops, some tailors, a tuxedo rental place. I used to think the Brooks family was rich. Compared to the students here, he’s as poor as I am.

“Well, I’m glad you’re both here,” I say hesitantly, trying to ignore the way Zack’s brown eyes take in my uniform. He’s clearly appreciative, and I don’t know how to feel about that. We dated for six months, but that was in middle school. That means less than nothing in the scheme of things. “Come on, we can make the morning tour.”

I take my dad’s arm and lead him up the steps, Zack trailing behind us. He whistles as we walk past the fountain and down the path toward the chapel.

“Nice place you got here,” Zack says, his voice sending ripples of goose bumps across my skin. Dad holds open the stained glass doors for us both and our arms brush, making me swallow hard.

“Nice to look at,” I mumble, and while Dad misses that statement, Zack definitely hears. The way he looks at me, I know he’s thinking about the pranks, the fights, the constant torture. At first, he was the one that started it all, but the

n we started dating and …