Bad, Bad Bluebloods(Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,48
drag? I was going to go as Russell Brand, a la Aldous Snow in Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but this sounds better.” I glance up at him through the feather gold bangs that fall across my forehead. He looks back at me, and I have to hold back a sigh.
I might’ve gotten him good, but that doesn’t mean I forgive him. My revenge on Zack Brooks is satisfied for now, but that’s not going to magically clear the air between us. Not by a long shot.
He was this close to being expelled. This freaking close. Because the video was from middle school, the academy didn’t feel it had the grounds to take things quite so far, but Zack Brooks is on thin ice. Any grade less than a C or a scrap of proof that he’s bullying this year, and he’s out. As things stand, they took his letterman jacket away, kicked him off the varsity team, and gave him in-school suspension. He has no off-campus privileges, and Burberry Prep lost the game to Grenadine Heights. The entire football team hates Zack now, and my dad … Well, that was a tough one to deal with. I came too close to breaking those rules again. Scary close. I explained to my father that Zack and I had patched things up, but I’m not sure if they’ll be friends again. The way he looked at Zack after, that was almost punishment enough. I could see the pain in Zack’s eyes.
To distract myself from the hunky ex-football player beside me, I pull out my journal, unlock it, and start writing. The others have learned not to bother me when I’m penning my thoughts.
Zack and Andrew pull up chairs, and the others talk about their costumes as I write.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Creed shows up.
He’s alone, but that doesn’t matter.
As soon as he sees Miranda with us, his ice-blue eyes narrow to slits. He saunters over to us with that lazy, rolling gait of his, like at any moment he might just lie down on the floor and take an angry nap. Yeah, I know, that doesn’t really make sense, but I swear, that’s what Creed looks like: a pissed-off narcoleptic.
“Miranda,” he says, and his sister stiffens up under his stare. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
“No, you may not, Creed,” she snaps back, lifting angry eyes to her twin’s face. They’re so similar in appearance, it’s eerie. If I’d never seen them in the same room, I might believe that they were one person, a shapeshifter who could swap genders. I once read a book called He & She where a woman would change genders every time she had an orgasm. That could be Creed and Miranda, two sides of the same coin.
“I need you to get something off-campus for me tonight. It’s for my costume.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you displayed such barbaric and despicable behavior?” Miranda quips, turning back to her tea and sipping it slowly. The metaphor in her actions isn’t lost on me. Sip that tea, Miranda, I think with a grin.
Creed notices my expression and turns to face me. I stare him down, curling my arm protectively around my journal, so he can’t see the words written in it. Bet he’d love that, to read it aloud to the academy the way he did with my essay.
“What’s so damn amusing to you?” he drawls, as insouciant and dismissive as always.
“You, waltzing around the school like you think you’re the prince. Maybe you are, but you’ll never be king.” My grin rachets up a notch, as wide and maniacal as the Cheshire Cat’s. “Tristan will always rule this school. At best, you’re second in command. At best. Then again, your grades are trash, and you don’t bother to apply yourself. At least Tristan can boast that much.”
If only I could describe the way his body stiffens up, like he’s suddenly carved of stone. Every wrinkle in his shirt, every crease in his slacks, it all looks chiseled from limestone. When he opens his mouth, Miranda lunges up from her chair and gets in his face.
“Don’t. Just don’t. Leave her alone, Creed. Mom’s already disgusted with you. And now, after the incident with the Bentley, so is Dad. Don’t dig yourself an even deeper hole.” Creed’s blue eyes go wide, but he manages to school his expression quickly, and his gaze narrows back to that heavy-lidded bedroom look that he enjoys so much.