Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(41)
Zayd’s face is now tight and white, and he’s looking at me like I’m a monster.
Here’s the thing: if they hadn’t stolen my journal and read it, none of this would be happening. None of it. The Bluebloods have brought this on themselves.
Miranda is standing there shaking with rage. I feel bad for what she’s going through, but I didn’t make her brother do any of this. No, he broke into my room all on his own. I bet the guys made copies of my room and locker keys before they handed that bundle over to Vice Principal Castor. How they got keys for my new dorm locks, I’m not sure. It’s horrifying to see how far their treachery went.
“If I were you,” I say, and as soon as I speak, the entire cemetery goes quiet. The only sound is the eerie whisper of the wind through the graves, the song of ghosts. “I would stop reading now. Keep going, and you really won’t like what else I have to say in there.”
Harper snatches the journal from John’s hand and tucks it under her arm, standing up and lifting her chin in defiance. The way she looks at me, I can tell I’ve struck a nerve. Tristan is supposed to be this piece of American royalty, his family’s fortune built on shipping and railroads in the country’s infancy. The Vanderbilt name will give her a prestige that the du Pont name will never have. She’s got all the money in the world, so there’s not much left to strive for but this.
Only, she’ll never have it.
I’ll make certain of that.
“This party is officially over,” Harper snaps, and the crowd groans and grumbles in displeasure. It’s disturbing though, to see how quickly they all scramble to comply with her orders. Where Tristan is the king of the academy, she is most certainly the queen. She’ll be a hard one to take down. “Tristan, let’s go.” He sneers at her, spitting blood and glaring at Jalen before he turns and storms along the path after her. When he passes me, he spits more blood at my feet, but I don’t move, just stand there and stare him down.
He tears away from me with a string of curses and disappears into the fog. Jalen just collapses to the gravel and sobs while Ebony drifts away with Valentina and Abigail. The way she looks at me as she passes says all I need to know.
She’s a lightweight, and I’ve already shoved her out of the ring.
Creed doesn’t move from his place on top of the mausoleum. Zayd, too, is frozen in place.
“Be careful, boys,” I warn them, this strange little purr in my voice that I hardly recognize. “I’m coming for you.”
I turn away and grab Zack’s hand, dragging him with me.
On Sunday evening, I make a video compilation of Creed going through my stuff, stealing my journal, and reading it aloud, and then I email it to Kathleen Cabot with the following message: I really liked your son once, and he hurt me so bad I couldn’t breathe. He seems determined to destroy me, but I don’t want to report him to the administration. Mrs. Cabot, I trust your judgment implicitly.
And all of that, is pure unadulterated truth.
Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep
A list by Miranda Cabot Marnye Reed
The Idols (guys): Tristan Vanderbilt (year one two), Zayd Kaiser (year one two), and Creed Cabot (year one two)
The Idols (girls): Harper du Pont (year one two), Becky Platter (year one two), and Gena Whitley (year four) (graduated), Ileana Taittinger (year one)
The Inner Circle: Andrew Payson, Anna Kirkpatrick, Myron Talbot, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner … and, I guess, me! Kiara Xiao, Ben Thresher
Plebs: everyone else, sorry. XOXO
Zack Brooks
I only have to survive one more week until fall break. Then I can go home and see Dad. Then I can take a break from all of this. To be quite honest, it’s exhausting. Not only am I studying my ass off, working out for the cheer team, and playing the harp in every spare second of my time, but I’m always on high-alert at. One wrong move, and I’m dead.
On the plus side, these last few weeks have been almost … fun? Miranda has stopped talking to her twin completely. I mean, like complete and utter silence. Even I can see that it’s killing him. He looks almost pale and sad when he thinks nobody’s looking. If he’s even remotely aware that there are eyes on him, he puts up his arrogant, haughty front like a shield.
Kathleen Cabot appeared the Monday after the Halloween party in her white stretch limo, marched down the stone halls in her Louboutins and grabbed her son by the ear. According to Miranda, she’s this close to pulling him out of Burberry Prep and enrolling him in an all-boys military academy. She’s beyond disappointed him in, beyond fawning over me (in front of Creed), and basically begged me to keep tutoring him.
It’s a chore, but I do it. We sit side by side in the library every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for two hours, and speak in low, clipped, studious tones. I get credits for it, at least, and I don’t try to sabotage his work. It’s enough for me to do my job.
After we finish up on that last Monday, I start to pack up my things and Creed leans back in his chair. With his angelic white-blond hair and ice-blue eyes, the white of the second-year uniform looks like it was made for him. The way he lounges, too, is quite incredible, like he’s boneless and deserves to be carried about on a golden litter.