Stuck With The Four Hotties

He takes it in his tattooed fingers, and then meets my eyes. There’s nothing there, none of the fun-loving, playful asshole I hung out with on spring break or danced with last night. He’s just … blank.

Kind of like my emotions.

Inside my head, it’s all white noise. Marnye Reed isn’t even here anymore; she’s checked out completely.

“Do you want to know what it’s for?” Creed drawls, tucking his fingers into his pockets. His blue eyes are half-lidded and focused on me as I stand there, dripping and shaking.

Zack’s words echo in my mind: You might not have been here for that bet, but you’ve been around for worse. This is not out of line with something you’d do.

Something they’d do. Make a bet.

“We wanted to see who could make you fall in love first,” Zayd supplies, hefting the trophy in his hand. He looks up at me and then drops it by his side. “Whoever got you to the graduation gala was the winner. Honestly, I thought it’d be a bit harder than that.”

I open my mouth to speak, but no words will come out. There’s nothing to say, is there?

“And you know what?” Tristan continues, cocking his head to one side. “The only prize … was that trophy. We did it for fun.”

My uniform-and my dignity-are in tatters.

I can still taste blood in my mouth, this hot copper tang that makes me want to gag.

Tristan’s silver gaze is narrowed on me, and his mouth is just beginning to curve up into a smirk. He thinks he’s won, that he’s beaten me. Every single person in this crowd wholeheartedly believes that; I can read it on every single face here. They tricked me, lulled me into complacency, and then set out to destroy me.

But they’re dead-wrong. Dead-fucking-wrong. I’m not the same girl I was when I first started at the academy.

I lift an arm up and wipe some of the blood from my mouth, still smarting from the beating the Idol girls and their goons gave me. My lacy red bra, the one I picked out just for Zayd, is showing through the torn fabric of my white blouse. He won that bet, fair and square. He made me think he cared about me. I did care about him. The look on his face now is almost alien, foreign, like looking at a stranger. For once, he isn’t smiling, but the message in his face is clear: you don’t belong here.

“Had enough yet?” Harper du Pont asks, her dark presence like a cloud behind me. There’s no point in turning to look at her, not when she matters so little to me. She’s nothing. It’s the guys, the Idols, the three people at this school that made my heart hurt, brought the sleeping emotions inside of me to roaring, vibrant life. Creed is frowning, but he has a very matter-of-fact expression on his handsome face, like this was all in the cards from the beginning.

A breeze tears through the courtyard, blowing the ragged pleats of my skirt around my thighs. Beyond the walls of Burberry Prep, the sea sings its melancholy song, the same song picked up in the irregular beat of my damaged heart.

Tristan moves toward me, slow and cool, with the hint of violence tainting the air around him. I try not to think of that first day, when he presented me with this challenge: how long do you think you’ll last? Joke’s on him: I made it the whole damn year. But based on his expression, I can see he doesn’t expect me back for a second round.

My heart stutters as he reaches out and tangles some of my paint- splattered hair around his long fingers, giving the short rose gold locks a tug. The paint smears across his skin like blood as we stare each other down.

“I take it you won’t be coming back next year, will you, Marnye?” Even after everything I’ve just been through, I can’t stop a shiver from racing through me at the sound of his voice. He thinks he’s the king here, but so does Zayd, so does Creed. One day, they’re going to have it out and it’s not going to be pretty. They’ll destroy each other.

Their money can’t buy them true friendship, and it won’t buy them love. It definitely won’t buy them me.

My gaze moves past Tristan, to Zayd and Creed, but Tristan’s standing so close that I can’t help but look back at him. Has he enjoyed it this whole time, tormenting me? It’s clear in his face that he has. He loves it. They all do.

“Just go home, Marnye, and it’ll all be over,” Tristan says, and even though his voice is soft, it’s a deception. There’s a razor’s edge to his words, one that promises to cut if I don’t heed its warning. On the inside, I’m breaking apart, but there’s some stubborn bit of steel inside of me that won’t let me crumble. “You don’t belong here.”

Zayd slides one of his inked arms around Becky Platter, and my stomach twists into a knot. I feel so sick I could throw up, but I won’t, not here in front of them. Maybe when I get home, I’ll let myself cry, let myself mourn, but not here. Never here. My hands curl into fists, and I grit my teeth.

Tristan meets my gaze one, last time, and then reaches out to pluck a tear from my cheek, bringing it to his lips for a lick, reveling in the taste of my pain. The knife of his betrayal cut close, but it didn’t hit its target. I might be bleeding, but I’m not dead, not yet.

“I’ve already enrolled in my classes.”

The courtyard is silent, watching this moment unfold in all its horrible glory.

There’s not a person there that expects me to stand up for myself, to raise my chin in defiance. No, they thought I would crumble. Maybe they hoped that, like the girl in my essay, I’d run away and internalize my pain.

Not anymore.

All of this pain has changed me. Right now, it feels like it’s changed me for the worst, cracked me in half and spit out broken pieces. But really, I’ve changed for the better. Their cruelty has shaped me into an immovable mountain, a force to stand against howling winds.

“Come September, I’ll be the first in line for orientation.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Tristan is furious with me, but he’s triumphant, too. He still believes he’s won, his dark hair fluttering in the wind. He’s gorgeous, but only on the outside. On the inside, he’s a monster. They all are. “I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“You can try.” My shaking hand reaches into my pocket and pulls out the registration form. I printed it out at the library last week after I filled out the online form to sign up for classes. If it kills me, I’ll be back at Burberry Prep next year. This is my life, not theirs. I won’t let them ruin it. “Because what you don’t know …” Sucking in a sharp breath, I bend down and grab the handle on my ratty, old duffle bag. Tristan is scowling at me, but he’s already done his worst, wormed his way into my heart and tried to break me. What else is there? “Is that my life outside of these walls was already a living hell.

This is just another level of Dante’s inferno, and I’m not afraid-not of any of you.”

My eyes meet Creed’s, and then Zayd’s, and then my feet start to move, taking me around Tristan and down the steps, toward the school gates and three months of freedom.

At the last minute, his hand curls around my arm and jerks me back. I look down at it, and then up at him. His smile … it’s painfully wicked.

“Challenge accepted.” Tristan releases me with a small shove, but I don’t stumble or fall. Instead, I head down the path toward the waiting line of academy cars, still dressed in my torn uniform, but with my chin up and my fears pushed back.

Challenge accepted is right.

I’m going to come back, and I’m going to give these assholes a taste of their own medicine. The girl these boys met on day one is not the same girl leaving now.

No matter what it takes, I’ll make sure they know that.

I’ll stay one step ahead, and I’ll show them what happens when someone plays them at their own gam

e.

The first few weeks of summer are hot and uncomfortable. The Train Car doesn’t have air conditioning, and even though I have money in that account Tristan set up for me, the last thing I feel like doing is using it.

He betrayed me. Creed betrayed me. Zayd did

They systematically cut me off from Lizzie, from Miranda and Andrew, from Zack.

They humiliated me in front of my parents, and destroyed me in front of the entire school.

They made a bet … and it worked. I was falling for them. Now I’ve fallen so hard that I’m not sure I can get up. For several days, all I do is lie facedown on my bed and cry, huge wracking sobs that drum up old memories of feeling lost and unwanted. But this time, the darkness doesn’t call to me. I don’t even consider it.

This time, when the tears dry up and my emotions have fizzled out, only one thing remains.

Revenge.

It burns like a distant star inside of me, white-hot and far away, but when I reach for it, it glows brighter.

Grabbing Miranda’s list from the beginning of the year and a red Sharpie from inside my nightstand, I sit on the edge of my bed, and I make some changes to it.

Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep A list by Miranda Cabot Marnye Reed

The Idols (guys): Tristan Vanderbilt (year one two), Zayd Kaiser (year one

two), and Creed Cabot (year one two)Upstodatee from Novel(D)ra/m/a.O(r)g

The Idols (girls): Harper du Pont (year one two), BeFky Platter (year one

two), and Gena Whitley (year four) (graduated)

The Inner CirFle: Andrew Payson, Anna KirkpatriFk, Myron Talbot, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner … and, I guess, me!

Plebs: everyone else, sorry. XOXO

Zack Brooks

I put the cap on the pen and set it aside, exhaling as I stare down at my list. I’m not going to be chased away from a bright future by a bunch of bullies, not even by bullies I was starting to fall for. No way. So I dry my tears, fold the list up, and put it inside my bookbag for next year.

As soon as the summer is over, I’m going to go back to Burberry Prep, stronger than ever.

The hardest hearts are forged in fire; the weakest bend under their will. And revenge … is wicked sweet.

To Be Continued …