Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(66)
“What does swimming have to do with surviving in today's society?” she asks anyone that will listen, but it doesn't matter. On Friday, students dress down in batches and take turns swimming laps in the pool for Coach Hannah.
I'm in the last group of the day to go, clustered up with people like Harper, Becky, and Ilean. Talk about a raw deal.
We dress down, and I’m subject to an inordinate amount of strap-snapping from the other girls. By the time we actually get out the locker room and over to the pool, my back is pink and sore from having my bathing suit yanked and snapped against me. It's infuriating, but I've already broken my no violence rule once, and I won't stoop that low again. Let them pick on me: I have much better things planned.
We all climb in the pool for warm-ups, stretching, and following Coach Hannah as she runs through the routine on dry land. About halfway through, she gets a phone call from her daughter who's just days away from having a baby. She briefly excuses herself, and I sigh as I bob in the water, wishing this day would just end. I know I can swim, not only because of last year's PE classes, but also because I spent the summer practicing.
What I don't realize until it’s too late, is that the girls are slowly forming a circle around me. Harper smirks at me as I finally take notice of the fact that I'm surrounded by Bluebloods and Plebs alike.
Warily, I sigh, and run my palm over my wet hair. “What do you want, Harper?”
“What do I want?” she asks, eyes widening in shock, like I've just personally offended her or something. “I want my fucking hair back.”
“Yeah, we all do,” I retort snootily, tired and overworked and ready for bed. “So what?”
Harper sneers at me, an expression I am well-used to. I don't mind when she does it, because what she doesn't know is that she's no longer pretty when she’s scowling like that.
“I don't know what you did to get the prince on your side so fast, probably spread your legs or whatever, but I don't like it. You've turned him against us when he should be on our side; frankly, we should kick Zayd or Creed out and Windsor should be an Idol.” Harper swims closer to me, and I back up, but there's nowhere to go. “I'm going to teach you a little lesson about stirring shit up during my parties. Ladies.” She gestures with her chin, and the girls all swim closer, grabbing onto my shoulders, arms, even snatching clumps of my hair.
Before I can even register what's happening, they're pushing me under.
I'm so shocked, but accidentally take a breath, chlorinated water rushing into my lungs, stealing my breath away. I begin to choke, but that only makes things worse as I'm now inhaling huge mouthfuls of water. My arms and legs thrash, and my nails rake across the skin of the girls nearest me, but it doesn't do any good. There are so many of them that they keep me under with little effort.
Time seems to slow to a crawl, so that I'm seeing each second as a whole minute. I see their legs, dancing beneath the water, the curves of their dark blue academy-issued swimsuits across their thighs. My eyes seem to catch on the black number four on the pool wall, indicating the depth of the water.
Is this really happening? I think, the strength and speed of my struggle slowing dramatically. Am I really going to drown in four fucking feet of water?
My vision starts to darken at the edges, while the center flickers with little white stars. Once that starts happening, all I can think about is my dad and how much I'm going to miss him. My next thoughts … don't make a lot of sense.
I think about Zack, about Tristan, Creed and Zayd. Will any of them miss me? Will any of them care that I’m gone? I know Miranda will, and Andrew, too, probably.
But soon, those thoughts fade away, too, and I start to feel sleepy.
The next thing I know, there's a huge splash that rocks me and jostles the grips of the girls holding onto me. Strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me up and out of the water before hoisting me onto the edge and laying me flat on the cement.
Someone is leaning over me, but I can't see who it is. My vision is too unsure, and I feel like my consciousness is coming in and out. My mystery savior covers my mouth with his own and breathes life into me.
That's the last thing I remember before waking up in the nurse’s office.
The official story is that I got out of the pool to use the restroom, tripped, fell, and hit my head before tumbling into the pool.
It's tempting to rat the girls out, but there are fifteen conflicting stories to compete against mine, so I say nothing. Charlie is called, but the nurse insists there’s no reason for him to drive all the way out here, and he’s got work anyway … but I sure wish I could see him.
That was scary as hell. I almost died. Never did I believe the girls would actually push me that hard.
It turns out that Windsor York is the one who saved me.
Zack looks sick with guilt, and stays by my side the entire day until the nurse discharges me. Miranda, Jessie, and Andrew also come to visit, but it isn’t until I get back to my dorm that I find Windsor waiting for me. Zack stiffens up slightly, but the two men are at least polite to each other as we approach and Windsor pushes up from the wall.
“Ah, milady,” he says, taking my hand and putting my knuckles to his lips. “She lives.”
“Thanks to you,” I say, feeling this cold, scared sickness roll over me. Revenge was sweet … until it wasn’t. Now I’m terrified. I had no idea this was turning into a life or death situation. Creed’s words echo in my head: “The girls want to kill you. Watch out for them.”