The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(25)

“You look great,” Zack supplies, his fingers tucked into the pockets of his slacks. He says that to her while his dark eyes are focused on me.

“We need to walk in there as a group,” Tristan says, addressing everyone like he truly believes he’s the king. Windsor leans his shoulder against the brick wall of the restroom, smirking. His expression says that for now, he’ll let Tristan lead, but only because it’s convenient. As soon as it’s not, there’s going to be a war between those two.

“Are we on ignore mode still?” Zayd asks, cocking his pierced brow. “Because that didn’t exactly go over well last time.”

Tristan makes a sound in the back of his throat and scowls while Creed moves up to stand beside me.

“No. We’re at war. When we walk the halls, they move. When we want the elevators, they get lost. We eat at the Blueblood table. We control the school.”

“And if they don’t accept that?” Andrew asks, his voice strained. “Then what? Don’t forget: Greg and John, Harper and Becky, they’re dangerous. This is bigger than just who sits where, or who gets to use the Gallery. I’m scared. Maybe you’re not, but me, and Marnye, and Miranda … we could be targets.”

“That’s why we stick together at all times, pairs at the very least.” Tristan straightens out the rich red Burberry jacket with the little crest on the pocket, and then takes up the lead, heading for one of the idling academy cars. The driver opens the door, and Tristan steps aside, letting me slide in before he does. Pretty sure I hear Zayd grumble about that, and I smile.

The leather sticks to the backs of my thighs, and I realize then that I’m sweating. I’m nervous. And not just about Harper and her cronies, but … about the boys, too. Are they going to betray me again? Because being here in this car with all of them feels kind of … good.

“Remember,” Tristan whispers as the car rolls down the gently sloping hills that surround the school. I look up at him as ambient conversation from the others fills the inside of the limo. “You’re an Idol now.” He reaches over and adjusts the necklace I’m wearing, making my cheeks flush.

“I’m not exactly Idol material,” I say, giving a slight smile. Tristan frowns and looks away, out the tinted windows towards the forest beyond the hills. Everything he does is so dramatic. I’m not even sure he means to be that way; it’s just his natural personality.

Tristan is silent for the remainder of the drive, but the rest of my new friends are pretty chatty. Their talk helps calm my nerves a bit.

“You got this,” Zayd reassures me, winking before he climbs out of the limo with his bookbag thrown casually over his shoulder. Miranda follows behind him, then Creed, Andrew, Zack, Lizzie, and Windsor. Tristan and I are last, and I’m happy to see that the courtyard with the stag is empty when we walk up the steps toward the fountains and the surrounding towers.

“Let’s do breakfast,” Tristan says casually, and we make our way into the chapel building and down the hall toward The Mess.

It’s strange, being back in these halls after everything that happened at Royal Pointe, and the Hamptons, and my birthday party. Surreal, almost. My palms are sweaty as I cling to my bookbag and follow the group inside the dining hall.

I breathe a sigh of relief as we walk in and find that special table, the one up on the dais, empty.

We all squeeze around it together and take up our menus while Miranda laments the lack of coffee, mumbling under her breath about Ms. Felton being a caffeine Nazi.

“Coventry Prep has catered buffets for every meal,” Lizzie explains, sitting on Tristan’s right. I’m on his left, next to Creed. He’s leaning back in his chair like he’s ready for a nap, but his eyes are intense, laser-focused on me as I pretend to peruse the menu.

“What?” I ask finally, turning to look at him and most definitely not thinking about the hot tub. I mean, why would I? What purpose would that serve? No, my cheeks are not red at all. “Why do you keep staring at me?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to ask you to be my girlfriend,” he drawls with all the confidence and nonchalance of the idle rich, and all the color drains from my face.

“What?!” Miranda shrieks from across the table. I feel faint and dizzy all of a sudden, like I may very well do a face-plant into the fancy white plate with the gold leafing that’s in front of me. Visible tension rises in the other boys—even Andrew. But that’s when I realize he’s the only one not looking at me and Creed. Instead, he’s staring at the door.

My attention swings that way, only to find Harper, Becky, and Ileana, a sea of Bluebloods behind them. They make straight for us, and the tension in our little group shifts.

“What do you want?” Tristan asks as they approach the table. Harper’s the only one to climb the few steps up to stand directly beside us. Without hesitation, she reaches out and shoves Windsor’s water glass over and into his lap. He lets it happen, and turns to her with this look that promises future pain.

“This is our table. Bluebloods eat on the dais. You should know: your great-grandfather invented the tradition of the Idols. Rules are rules, Vanderbilt. You’re not exempt from them because your name’s on half the buildings.”

“Idols have to possess a special je ne sais quoi, Harper. There has to be something about them that makes them stand out from the rest of the crowd. Money, good breeding, looks, connections, or some combination thereof.”