Bluebloods, I have to act the part. If I’ve got control of the school, I can put a stop to the bullying. “I’m going to crown you Queen of the Elite tonight, my darling. Mark my fucking words!”
“Zayd!” I scream as he lets himself fall back and then lands in the crowd, surfing along raised arms toward the entrance to the living room. My heart is pounding like crazy, and it’s not helped when Lizzie comes up the steps with a dress in a garment bag tucked over her arm.
“Thought we could make an Idol entrance? You can bet that even if the Harpies aren’t here, they’ll see videos and pics; they’ll know all about it. United front?” She puts her hand out, and Miranda grudgingly puts hers over the top. I personally can’t believe my boyfriend just threw himself off a second story balcony, but I grab on and hold tight anyway.
The Idol girls of Burberry Prep, just the way Tristan set us up.
Let’s see how well this works.
I’ve packed Zayd’s red dress for the occasion, the short, tight little number crawling up my thighs as I fidget and let Miranda put the finishing touches on my hair. I had it cut fresh just before we left, but it was mostly a trimming and a shaping. I’m adding on just a little length.
“There,” Miranda declares, spinning a big ringlet around her finger and letting it bounce against my head. “We’ll fix your lipstick, and get you some hairspray.”
“Didn’t you just hairspray me to death?” I ask with a smile, but Miranda steps back and gives me this look. It’s a fierce look, too, paired with the dramatic smoky eye, the waves of shining blond hair, and the short sapphire dress she’s got on. If I were into girls, I would marry Miranda tonight in that dress.
“For your thighs, not your head,” she says, reaching down and lifting my dress just enough that my black lace panties show. She sprays my thighs while I choke in surprise, and then tugs the dress back down. “Keeps it from riding up.” Miranda shakes the can and then passes it over to Lizzie who’s got a gold party dress on with loose sleeves covered in tiny glass beads. “I read online that gymnasts use the same technique to keep their leotards in place. Not sure if it’s true or not though.”
“You learn something new every day,” I say as Miranda makes me pout my lips so she can freshen my lipstick up.
“Now close your eyes.” I do as she says, and then flinch when she hairsprays my face.
“You’re like the dad on My Big Fat Greek Wedding who sprays Windex on everything. Stop that.” I wave her away and open my eyes, blinking at myself in the giant mirror on the wall opposite the vanity. We’re in one of the upstairs guest wings. Yeah, not rooms but wings again. It’s crazy. My entire house could fit in this one guest suite.
I run my hand down the front of the red dress, and hope like hell that it doesn’t piss Creed off too much. I’m planning on wearing his to the next party. I wore Tristan’s to that nightclub a few weeks ago, but I’d like to wear it to an event with him, too. Even though the guys were pricks, I don’t think I should’ve picked between them during first year.
“You look like a fucking model,” Miranda says as Lizzie comes to stand beside me, smiling softly. We still haven’t talked yet about her confession. I’m not even sure how to bring it up. In any case, tonight is not that night. “Don’t you think, Lizzie? It’s no wonder she’s got five guys drooling after her.” Miranda drapes herself over my shoulders and gives me a sweet-scented kiss on the cheek. “Now, let’s go slay some Burberry Prep assholes.”
“How many of our fellow students do you think are going to be here tonight?” I ask and Miranda gives me a strong look.
“As many as can make it—or are allowed in the door.” She smiles and grabs my arm and then encourages me to take Lizzie’s on the other side. Guess presenting a solid front is more important than her hatred for Lizzie. A hatred I’m still not entirely sure I understand. Either it’s just solidarity for my sake or … maybe something else.
“Let’s do this,” I whisper, feeling a nervous flutter in my belly.
I’m a fourth year at Burberry Preparatory Academy.
I’m dating the