Stuck With The Four Hotties

The boys and I get to spend most of the break together, eating breakfast in The Mess, or downing those tiny snack-sized boxes of cereal in my dorm. But then Wednesday hits, and they disappear to their parties. I’m not sure what sort of bets they’re making, but I have a feeling it all goes back to my list.

Something big is coming.

The Company or the Harpies, or whatever you want to call them, are going to pay dearly. I can feel it.

I try not to worry about it and enjoy some time off from studying, relaxing in my room and reading, playing the harp-but only when Mr. Carter is around for protection-or texting Miranda, Andrew, and Dad.

On Saturday, the boys surprise me by showing up at my door.

“Come on, Marnye,” Zack says, reaching out his hand for mine. Lizzie and Myron aren’t with them, and I raise an eyebrow as I glance down at my tank top and sweats.

“I’m not really dressed to go out-” I start, but Zack just grins and grabs my wrist anyway, tugging me out of the room and pulling me into his arms.Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

“It’s a pajama party,” Zayd says, and I notice then that he’s barefoot and wearing shorts, and a loose tank that shows off all of his tattoos. He’s also smoking a clove cigarette that I deftly pluck from his lips, tap out against the stone floor, and chuck into the nearest trash can.

“You all really are wearing pajamas,” I say as I study Tristan’s crisp black satin pajama set with the subtle white pinstripe, and the stuffy slippers that look like suede loafers. Creed’s got on white linen pj pants, and nothing else

-no shirt, no shoes. Zack’s in loose-fitting boxers and an old football jersey, and Windsor’s seriously dressed up in flannel pj’s with penguins on them.

Penguins.

Cartoon freaking penguins.

“Are you sure you’re a prince?” I ask him, and he pauses, reaching into the bag on his shoulder and pulling out two plastic gold crowns. He puts one on my head, and then places the other atop his flaming red hair.

“I wasn’t until just now,” he says, hazel eyes glittering with mischief. “But with my princess by my side, and the royal jewels safely ensconced”-he grabs his crotch and I roll my eyes while the other boys scowl-“in these gorgeous robes of state, I’m now positive: I am absolutely not king material. Prince, I can do. Princes get to frolic and fuck and crash yachts into harbors.” I almost stop walking at the frank way he’s just blurted his truth. But then I look a little closer, and I see darkness and shadows dancing behind his mask of cheerful, carefree wonder. Windsor York is hurting on the inside. What’s wrong, exactly, I don’t know, but I want to find out. “Anyway,” he continues, blowing past the emotions, “I’m perfectly suited to be a prince, but never a king. Perhaps that’s why I enjoy scandals so much? All the attention makes me giddy.”

He hooks his arm with mine, and our little group makes its way to the library.

The cavernous ceilings, the towering columns of books, and the cozy glow from the lamps invites us in, but when I look around, I notice that all the librarians are missing.

“Skeleton staff on-campus right now,” Zayd says, swinging around a huge ring full of keys. “And I pilfered the master key, so we’re golden. We’ve got this place all to ourselves.” He holds his inked arms out to indicate the massive library. “Beauty, your library awaits.”

I grin as I follow Tristan and Creed deeper into the rows of novels, the fresh scent of ink and paper surrounding us.

A thought occurs to me.

“Were you the one who stole the keys to my locker, and my dorm room during first year?” I ask, and Zayd cringes. He glances back at me with an apology in his emerald eyes.

“What can I say? I’m a fucking prick.” He pauses and waits for me to catch up to him, reaching down and taking one of my hands in his. Zayd gives it a little squeeze and then lifts my knuckles to his lips for a kiss, his lip rings teasing my skin with a little tickle. “I’m sorry, Charity, I really am.” “I’ve forgiven you, Zayd,” I tell him, looking into his eyes and getting lost there. “Just don’t disappoint me again, okay?” He pulls me toward him, and

lifts me in his arms as I laugh, carrying me over to a ring of white candles.

The boys have pushed aside one of the study tables, and set up a circle with candles and pillows. There are several bottles of alcohol gathered there, the liquid glowing a deep amber brown in the candlelight. Tristan takes a seat beside it, and I notice there are exactly six cushions laid out for us.

“We skipped the rest of the Club party,” he says, voice smooth, a Lucullan feast for the ears. “We’ve accomplished what we needed to.”

“And it was oh-so fun,” Creed adds, sprawling onto his own pillow. He looks boneless, the way he lounges.

“If the Company didn’t want to deal with a firestorm, they shouldn’t have shot the first bullet,” Zack growls, and that darkness I remember from junior high comes rushing back in. His brown eyes are heavy-lidded, and as I watch, he rakes his fingers through his brunette hair. There’s something going on between him, his dad, and his grandfather. That much is obvious. I mean, the family was completely cut-off from funds and Zack was sent to Lower Banks High with me. It doesn’t get much worse than that. What kind of man would force his grandson into a school that breeds gang members, dropouts, and assholes?

Okay, so I guess Burberry Prep is a breeding ground for assholes, too, but still.

This time, though, when I see Zack’s darkness rush to the surface, I don’t cringe away from it the way I did when he started to tear Ileana down in the gym. No, this time I watch it happen and I wonder what I can do to help

“From now on, I’ll try to be a better man. It wasn’t Marnye’s job to teaFh me how to be one,

but she already has anyway.”