Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(7)

“You look beautiful,” Zack says, holding out a package wrapped in opalescent paper. It’s very pretty, but I’m loath to take it. Dad is watching though, and I don’t want him to know anything about the Zack situation. It’d just stress him out on top of everything else, and I can tell he’s already pushed to the limit. He looks thinner, paler, and he sleeps a lot more than usual. I’m honestly worried about him, but he seems to like Zack; they’re sort of buddies now. I may as well let Dad keep that relationship. “Just something small. You can open it later, if you want.”

“Later is good,” I tell him, putting the package on the stove. Zack nods and steps back, leaving room for Charlie and me to step out of the train car. The sky is gray, but the rain hasn’t started yet. Zack has his orange McLaren, but it’s only a two-seater, so we take Dad’s Ford instead.

Charlie does his best to make conversation on the drive, but it’s not easy, not with the tangible tension between me and Zack.

When we get to the Railroad Station restaurant—this funky little twenty-four hour diner that’s been here forever—Dad excuses himself to the restroom, and I’m left alone with Zack.

“You’re crashing my daddy-daughter time,” I whisper, and his narrowed eyes soften slightly.

“You want me to leave?” he asks, and I nod.

A long silence follows.

“Only you’re not going to because your wants and needs are more important than mine,” I whisper, and Zack stiffens up, like I’ve slapped him.

“Marnye, I want to help,” he says, but I’m already shaking my head.

“You’ve helped enough, Zack.” I look him straight in the face, and memories flicker across my vision: the bathroom door opening, Zack pulling me into his arms, putting his fingers down my throat. He saved me, but he also pushed me to that point for a bet. How can I ever forgive that? One time, he cornered me outside my math classroom and told me he knew all about my mother, how she didn’t love me enough, how she doted on her other daughter in way she’d never dote on me. My mouth flattens into a thin line. “I don’t know what you’re seeking from me, but if it’s forgiveness, I’m not ready yet.”

Zack’s mouth tightens, and he looks away for a moment before rising to his feet. I glance back at him, my arms crossed over my chest, and I wait. I don’t actually expect him to leave. He pushes in the chair, tosses down a wad of cash on the table, and then holds up his hand when I try to give it back.

“Enjoy breakfast with your dad on me,” he says, moving away from the table towards the door. But he stops when he’s behind me, leaning over and putting his cheek so close to mine that I can feel his stubble. His right hand curves over my shoulder and squeezes, sending a swarm of butterflies winging through me. “But … whether you want to deal with me or not, I’m going to destroy those preppy academy pricks for you.”

“Hypocrite,” I mumble, because it’s the only thing I can think to say. Zack’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and I suck in a sharp breath. “You’re just as bad as they are—maybe worse. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Zack presses a sudden kiss to my cheek and my body goes white-hot before my emotions freeze over, and I’m ice-cold on the inside. “Happy birthday, Marnye.” He rises to his feet just as Dad is making his way back from the bathroom. Zack gives him a little wave and then slips out the door, leaving me to answer awkward questions.

“What happened to Zack?” Charlie asks, taking his seat and then pausing to look at the heaping pile of cash on the table. He whistles and reaches up to adjust his gray fedora. “I think he left a hundred on accident,” he says, and I smile, but I don’t think it was an accident at all.

But maybe what Zack doesn’t get, and Tristan doesn’t get, Creed, Zayd … money isn’t that important to me. Now, only a truly privileged person will tell you it doesn’t matter: it does. Food, clothing, shelter, security, medical care … Those things require money, but I don’t worship the green. It doesn’t impress me. It doesn’t buy my friendship or my love.

My throat gets tight.

“Zack had a thing he forgot about,” I say with a shrug, and while Dad raises an eyebrow, he doesn’t say anything. When our orders come out, I glance at Zack’s plate of pancakes, his empty chair, and I think about his statement: I’m going to destroy those preppy academy pricks for you.

Only … he’s not. Because that’s my job.

It’s my job to destroy the Bluebloods of Burberry Prep. Those bad, bad Bluebloods.





The end of the year prank that left me reeling, it did not go unnoticed by the staff. As Dad grabs some snacks for the drive back to Burberry Preparatory Academy, I head online and look at all the beginning of the year emails with information about classes, school policies … and bullying.

Burberry Prep is now a zero tolerance campus. Students involved in bullying incidents will be subject to suspension or expulsion depending on the severity of the offense. Respect towards peers and staff is not just encouraged, it is mandatory. If you have any questions regarding this policy, please see Ms. Felton or Principal Collins during their office hours.

My lips feel suddenly dry, so I push my laptop aside and head over to the printer to grab my class schedule. The no electronics rule will go into effect as soon as I set foot on campus. No, before. Actually, the drivers of the academy-issued cars that travel between the visitors’ lot and the school, they’re the ones that take the phones.