The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(39)

"Everything's A-OK," Zayd says, swinging an arm around my neck. He presses a kiss to my cheek, and I raise a brow. "We're all friends now."

Ms. Felton doesn't look convinced.

In fact, even Mrs. Amberton pulled me aside the other day to check with me. Because I work so hard to block the bad memories, sometimes it's hard to remember that the entire academy staff saw me humiliated so badly. Nobody missed the Idols throwing my panties onto the stage. Nobody.

"I'm okay, Ms. Felton," I reassure her. Every day I hang out with these guys, I wonder though. What would happen if they betrayed me again? What would I do? But what I've realized now is that I'm so much stronger than I was before. No matter what they do to me, I can survive it. I can thrive.

And they better not because the second time around, my vengeance would be a hundredfold.

"Well, if you ever need privacy to discuss anything, you can see me in my office." She gives Zayd a very stern look and then heads for the doors of Tower One. The Towers are so beautiful, so medieval looking, their white stone sides stretching up into the sky. Twelve floors each, and the home of every single student in the school but me.

"That was awkward," Zayd says, as he takes his arm from my shoulders, and I glance between him and Creed.

"So … what were the stakes this time?" I ask dryly. The crossed out infinity tattoo on my hip seems to burn with hatred. I haven't even begun to work on Harper and Co. but when I do, they'll know it. I'm just trying to get situated. Third year is hugely important when it comes to applying for colleges. In fact, I'm already preparing for that whole event, all the financial aid forms, the scholarship applications (I have no problem being known as the scholarship girl in college if it means I get to go), and the essays.

By the end of this year, I need to have my schools selected, and my applications in before summer's over. It seems so strange that my entire fate rests on the decisions I make now. It could literally alter the entire course of my life. Seems like a heavy burden to place on a teenager, but what do I know?

"I now owe him back the signed Gibson SG John Lennon and George Harrison guitar that I won from him in a previous bet," Creed says with a sigh, and Zayd grins.

"Don't bet a trickster," he says, and then lifts his phone to show me that riding the stag was not the only thing he had to do. No, he was most definitely humping it.

I roll my eyes, and then feel a little thrill as a big, warm body sidles up next to me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I find Zack in jeans, a t-shirt, and his varsity jacket. Actually, I was just given one myself for cheerleading. That's what I should've worn to beat the cold.

Zack's dark eyes take me in, and I shiver as a cold breeze sweeps dry leaves into the courtyard, swirling them around my feet. He notices, too, and it only takes him a split-second to shed his jacket and put it over my shoulders.

"Zack," I start, but he shakes his head at me.

"Take it."

"It's cold out," I protest, but he's clearly already made up his mind, crossing his arms over his broad chest and staring at me until I sigh and slip my arms back into the sleeves.

"Shall we?" Tristan asks, as Windsor steps out of Tower Three's door and gives a little wave.

"I thought Miranda was coming?" I ask, but Creed shakes his head.

"Check your phone." He points at me, and I struggle to push back memories from that day in the library last week. Ugh. I pull my phone from the little harp-shaped purse that Lizzie got me for my birthday, and take a quick glance at my texts.

Volleyball thing came up! I'm so sorry! She's added a bunch of crying, heart, and praying hand emojis, and I smile. Andrew already had to bow out to work on an essay he's struggling with, and Lizzie ended up paired with Myron on a science project they have to finish.

So … it's just me and the guys.

We're off to the town of Lujo again to collect parts for our Halloween costumes, have some lunch, and maybe visit the bookstore there. It's one of the oldest in California, and Zack teased me by telling me about the building it's housed in: I guess it's both an architect's dream and a history buff's greatest fantasy.

"Are we driving?" I ask, feeling this little hiccup of excitement and nervousness. Students aren't technically allowed to keep or use personal cars without special permission, but we all do it anyway. Doesn't mean we can blatantly speed off down the road. We actually applied for off-campus permits for today, so we could spend the night at the little bed and breakfast in town.

I had no idea I was going with just the guys.

My heart thunders, and I clutch my tiny rolling suitcase that Andrew bought me.

"I ordered a car," Tristan says, fixing the cuffs on his rolled-up shirt. "Parking in Lujo's a nightmare, and the hotel doesn't have its own lot."

"It's a bed and breakfast," I remind him with a smile. "Big difference." He gives me a look, but we're interrupted by a huge white limousine pulling up curbside. The driver gets out and opens the door, and the boys let me get in first.

I end up sitting on the far side, next to a bucket with ice and some chilling champagne.

“That's for us,” Tristan says with a shrug, and even though I’ve seen them drink plenty, it’s always surprising to me how casual they are about it. Most teenagers are content with a six pack of beer, but not the Burberry Prep brats. No, they’re only content with hard liquor, champagne, and good wine. Beer is a last resort. “That is, for those of us who drink. There are sodas, juice, and iced teas in the fridge.”