Bad, Bad Bluebloods(Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,32
at his side. She’s spitting mad, but nowhere near the level that Becky’s at. The way she glares at me … looks might not be able to kill, but I can feel the hatred on my skin like the searing heat of a scorching sun. My flesh feels like it’s liable to peel off under her gaze.
She’s got her long, blond hair tucked up in a bun, but it’s impossible to miss the naked patch on the left side of her scalp. Harper might not know it, but she’s next. I don’t know how or when, but it’s totally happening.
Zayd follows in behind Becky, his jaw so tight it looks like he might crack his teeth. His tattoos are bright and colorful, tracing their way up his muscular arms and disappearing briefly under the thin sleeve of his black wife beater. He’s got on baggy jeans with zippers stitched across them, and Doc Martens. Basically, he’s the opposite of Tristan with his freshly pressed white academy slacks, flawless jacket, and super straight tie.
Creed is somewhere in the middle, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, a pair of jeans and Barker Blacks paired with it. They might not technically be doing in-school suspension anymore, but they’re also not allowed off-campus until after Halloween. If they’re caught breaking that rule, it’s an automatic expulsion.
I smile.
I’ve really fucked their party schedule up.
The Idols take a seat on the bleachers, a cadre of Bluebloods behind them. I recognize the usual suspects: Myron Talbot, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, and Jalen Donner.
The remaining girls: Anna, Abigail, and Mayleen are all here trying out for the team.
Looks like they have yet to find a replacement for Andrew, and I already know Ileana is Miranda’s replacement. Great. So … the party’s all here then?
It’s impossible not to feel their eyes on me as I take my place in the center of the group. There’s a visible amount of extra space around me, like I’m some sort of leper. I ignore it and focus on the dance moves instead. Well … the dance moves … and Zack’s eyes.
There’s something about his dark gaze that draws me in, focuses me. At first, it bothers me so much that I stumble and mess up the steps. Laughter bubbles up from the bleachers, but I ignore it. My attention becomes laser focused on the way Zack’s watching me, his lips parting slightly, his lids getting heavier and heavier. At one point, he even runs his tongue across his lower lip, catches himself doing it, and curses. Amy Plumber, a fourth year seated next to him, jumps a whole foot in her seat, and I feel a grin split my lips.
We go over the dance several times before coach calls for another break. After this, we’ll come out in groups of three and perform it in a row. Scores will be passed out, and after, members will be chosen for the team. I have to get on it. I have to invade their spaces. By lifting myself up, I put them down. And that’s their own problem. My success should have nothing to do with them, but it pisses the Bluebloods off. Infuriates them. When I succeed, they feel like they’ve failed. If that’s how they want to live their lives, I’m okay with that.
During the next water break, the entire crew heads over to worship at the Idols’ feet, leaving me alone with the bottles, duffel bags, and an entire span of time where nobody is looking.
Kiara’s orange bag, and Ileana’s black one are right next to me. Bending down, I move my own bag, so that it looks like I’m digging through it. Instead, I search through theirs. Kiara’s is empty save for her clothes and some condoms. But in Ileana’s … there’s a half-empty bottle of ex-lax.
I knew she was up to something over here.
That bitch.
A shadow moves over me, and I jump, but it’s just Zack.
“Do it, quick,” he tells me, using his huge body to block me from the view of the Idols. While I’ve got a chance, I quickly dump Ileana’s water into my own duffel bag, hoping the moisture resistant material will hide what I’ve done. It’s worth the sacrifice. I pour the remainder of my own water into her bottle, and let fate take its course. If she hasn’t messed with my water, she’ll be fine.
If she has, she’s screwed, and it’s her own damn fault.