Stuck With The Four Hotties

Drama and gossip. That’s what makes up the entirety of my first day back. I’ve never been the subject of so much hate and so much awe at the same time. Pair that with Lizzie’s arrival on campus-she’s practically a legend here already-and the disruption in the usual social hierarchy, and it’s virtual chaos.

We have another small stand-off at the Gallery, but this time, Harper and her people get there first and quite literally barricade the door, so we can’t get in. After the confrontation in The Mess, the staff is watching us, so we end up sitting in the front row of the chapel instead, colored light filtering in the stained-glass windows and bathing the crowd in brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges.

By the time it’s all over, I’m collapsing on my bed and covering my head with a pillow. I’m so tired that I fall right asleep and don’t wake up until it’s time for class the next morning, bolting out of bed with a start to run a brush through my hair, fix my makeup, and take off down the hall to homeroom.

Miranda and Tristan are waiting to escort me, and we meet up with Zayd and Windsor on the way. Creed and Zack are in a different homeroom together, while Lizzie and Andrew are in another.

“Have you given much thought to what my brother said yesterday?” Miranda whispers as we leave Tower One and head toward our statistics classroom, the boys trailing slightly behind us. She sounds half eager and half nervous to hear my answer.

My cheeks flush, but I shrug my shoulders. Between my new schedule yesterday, and all of this drama with the Plebs and the, uh, ex-Bluebloods, I didn’t have a ton of time to think about what Creed did or didn’t ask. He said he was thinking about how to ask me to be his girlfriend. He didn’t actually ask.

“Not particularly,” I hedge, but then we’re slipping into Doctora Meisch’s classroom, and we both go silent. Doctora Meish seems really cool so far, but also a little bit scary. We’ve only had one class together and already we know that she used to work for, like, the Brazilian FBI or something. Also, she has several doctorates, so instead of calling her Mrs. Meisch, she’s DoFtora, the Spanish word for doctor.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Tristan’s the only one who shares this class with me and Miranda, and we all take seats together right in the front. None of the ex-Bluebloods are in statistics with us. Why bother? When it comes to college, they’ll all either have legacy bonuses (extra points on their application for having family members who attended) or money to get them into the alma mater of their choice.

Me, I have to work my ass off to get into my chosen university, so if it means taking one of the most difficult math classes at Burberry Prep then I’ll do it.

Right after this, Tristan and I have calculus. No rest for the wicked.

We don’t talk much, but at least I have a study buddy this year that cares as much about schoolwork as I do. Why, exactly, he cares as much as he does is a mystery to me. Clearly, his father’s putting pressure on him to be the best, but there’s something more. Maybe … Tristan actually likes to learn, to succeed on his own merit?

My tongue itches to ask him why: why did you try to sabotage me last year? I was so disappointed in him, even when I hated him. So why? Eventually I’ll get up the courage to ask. For now, I just work through the first two classes of the day, thank the heavens that we get through lunch without confrontation, and enjoy the relative ease of my English class in the afternoon with Lizzie.

As soon as I get to my locker however, Zack is there, putting his palm against the metal and leaning down to look at me with the most intense brown eyes known to man.

“Marnye,” he says, as Creed comes jogging up to stand beside us. And when I say it’s weird to see Creed Cabot jog, I mean it’s really weird. He can

barely walk most of the time, lazing his way along the halls with an entitled air of superiority. Right now, he just looks pissed and red-faced, like he ran all the way over here.

“You son of a bitch,” he spits as Zack leans down and kisses me hot and fast on the lips. He pulls back and leaves me breathless, reaching up with his left hand to cup the side of my face.

“I know I said I don’t deserve you, and I don’t, but …” He sucks in a sharp breath, closes his eyes, and then exhales before he opens them again. “I can’t watch him make his move, and not say anything.” My heart gives this big, triumphant little thump, and I bite my lower lip. “He wants you to be his girlfriend. Well, so do I.”

“Zack Brooks, you are a grade-A piece of shit.” Creed’s mouth is thinned into a flat line, and his hands are curled into fists. He shakes them out, and then exhales, reaching up to undo the top two buttons on his shirt. He’s not wearing his jacket-unsurprising-and his clothes are all gently wrinkled, this very purposeful disheveled dishabille that’s part of his charm.

“I …” I start, but then I just lean my back against my locker and squeeze my bookbag against my chest. “Holy shit.”

“What’s going on?” Miranda asks, appearing from around the corner with Andrew by her side. Lizzie steps up beside them, eyes flicking between Creed, Zack, and me.

“What’s going on,” Creed drawls, sauntering forward and putting his own palm on my locker, so that both Zack and him are standing in much the same position. Both of them too close, both of them with their own, unique but tantalizing scents. “Is that Zack here has decided he wants to move in on my girl.”

“Your girl?” I choke out with a small laugh. “Since when?”

Creed’s face hardens, but he’s focusing all of that intensity and cruelty of his on Zack.

“You saw us in the hot tub together. You know the chemistry we have.

Back off, Brooks.”

I groan and cover my face with my hands, but Zack just snarls right back at Creed.

“Marnye could do so much better than you,” he says, and I glance up from between my fingers to see that he’s shaking. “Better than me, too, but I at least have to tell her how I feel and throw my hat in the ring. I’ve already

told her that I’m in love with her, but now I’m extending an invitation. Marnye, be my girlfriend.”

“You told her you love her?” Creed asks, sounding perplexed. “When?” “Guys.” My voice comes out clear and authoritative, and both boys glance

down at me, their gazes burning. “It’s only the second day o

f school, and I can’t breathe.”