Bad, Bad Bluebloods(Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,35
My mom says no way.” She glances up and lets a soft smile fall across her lips. “You know, she’s excited to see you tomorrow.”
I grimace and turn away. I will never forget Kathleen Cabot’s face on that awful day, the way she looked at her son, like he was the scum of the earth, the way she fell on her knees in the principal’s office and cried while apologizing to me. According to Kathleen, I was her student, her responsibility, so how could she let this happen? I don’t blame her at all, but I know she blames herself.
“Yeah, I’m excited to see her, too …” I trail off and check my phone, tapping my thumb against the side. A whole year ago, Zack appeared from the back of that academy car, climbing out behind my dad. He helped him when he was drunk, and he told me … “Your dad got some news last night.” An entire year later, and I still don’t know what that news is, and Dad’s acting weirder than ever. He’s still trying to force a relationship with Jennifer, and he gave me Grandma’s bracelet with his wedding band on it … I don’t like it, not any of it.
I tap out a quick message to Zack: Meet me in The Mess.
He responds almost instantly: Already there. Join me?
“Hey,” I say suddenly, lifting my gaze up to meet Miranda’s blue one. “I’m going to go talk to Zack in The Mess for a while. Are you okay in here?”
“I’ll hang out and wait for you,” she says, leaning back into my pillows and making herself comfy. I grab a sweater and leave her there, knowing that the cameras will catch any suspicious activity. I want with all my heart to believe Miranda’s innocent in everything that’s gone on here at Burberry Prep, but I don’t think I can know that for sure, not just yet. If she does nothing while I’m gone, that’ll help go a long way towards easing my distrust.
I make my way through the halls as quick as I can. As much as I’m ready to stand up to the Bluebloods, I can’t fight off a dozen people by myself. Fortunately, I manage to slip into the dining hall without anyone seeing me.
Zack’s the only one there, sitting by himself at a table near the window. I make my way over and flop down in the seat across from him. His dark eyes lift up from his plate, but only briefly before he refocuses on his food. He’s a huge guy, and he works out constantly, so that means he also eats like a horse. He’s polite about it, but it’s almost fascinating to see how quickly he can make food disappear.
“This is unusual,” he says finally, after we’ve sat in silence for several minutes, and I’ve placed my order with the waiter. Tonight I’m having steak with chimichurri butter, asparagus, and garlic cheddar biscuits. Fancy.
“What is?” I ask, my heart beating as he sits up and slips out of his letterman jacket, revealing a tight white wifebeater underneath. It looks like it’s about to rip in half it’s so tight. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking? Why does Zack have to have such rock-hard biceps and broad shoulders? It’s infuriating.
“You, coming to see me.” He sets his fork down and then signals the waiter over with a dessert menu. Have I mentioned how amazing the desserts are here? They serve things like crème brûlée and tiramisu and bread pudding. All so very fancy. Back home in the Train Car with Dad, dessert is about as eclectic as dinner: pudding cups from the fridge, brownies from the bakery section of the supermarket, or if we’re feeling adventurous then ice cream from the shop down the road. “What’s up?”
I consider thanking him for helping me get on the team, but then I remember the cruel darkness in his eyes when he laid into Ileana, and I’m just not sure I have it in me. Leaning forward, I put my palms on the table and school my face into the most serious expression I can manage.
“Last year, when Dad got drunk during Parents’ Week, what did he tell you?” Zack goes completely still, his dark eyes lifting up to mine. There’s something strange about the way he’s looking at me that makes my stomach flip over with nausea. It’s bad. Whatever it is, it’s so, so bad.