Stuck With The Four Hotties

We just stare at each other, and my cheeks go pink. I feel awful about what I did to Miranda and Andrew, but … I’m not entirely sure I was the only one who made mistakes. I’m willing to hear him out, but for now, his name is still on my list. Miranda … I don’t think I could retaliate against her if I wanted to. Besides, unlike every other Blueblood at Burberry Prep, she is not a member of the infamous Infinity Club.

“Are you in trouble?” I ask, trying to wrap my mind around the concept. What sort of parent would punish their kid for being gay? It’s beyond my scope of understanding. My dad might be dirt poor, but he loves me no matter what. Something as inconsequential as sexual preference could never take that away from me.

“I’m …” Andrew sighs and slumps back into the seat, closing his eyes. I remember meeting him last year, the things he said. ‘I’m not quite that luFky, and I’m definitely not that gay-unfortunately. Between you and me, most of the girls here are already engaged.’ Mm. Poor Andrew. He was already in hiding. “I’m engaged.”

“You’re … what?!” I choke out, and start coughing so badly that Andrew ends up grabbing me a cold can of soda from the fridge. I crack the top and take a huge drink as he grimaces.

“My parents chose a fiancee for me. I either marry her, or I’m cut off and disowned.” He stares at me across the limo like this is the most normal, average thing ever, parents threatening to disown their kids.

“I’m …” I take a deep breath and set my drink aside. “I’m really sorry.” Andrew shrugs his shoulders, but I can see it’s weighing heavily on him. “Is it so bad, being …” He trails off, and his eyes widen slightly, like he

thinks he might’ve pissed me off.

“Being poor?” I ask, and he shrugs again. Maybe he’s thinking of following his heart and telling his parents to kiss his ass? Maybe not. But with his education from Burberry Prep, he could go to any college, get a good job … and then he could make his own fortune. “Depends.” Our eyes meet and something passes between us, a flicker of nervous energy. “Did you drug me?”

Andrew’s mouth opens, and then snaps closed. He looks away sharply. When I was making the list, I almost crossed his name out. I did. But then

I started thinking about the day my hair was cut. It was hard to remember exactly what happened because every time I try to access those memories, I think about Tristan having sex with Kiara Xiao over the sink in the girls’ bathroom.

“We had breakfast together that morning,” I say, exhaling and closing my eyes. I don’t really want to know the answer to this question. When I open them again, Andrew’s staring at me. “And I don’t think Miranda did it.”

“Would you believe I’m sorry about it?” he whispers, and I can feel it, that anger inside of me, like lines of fire ants crawling through my veins, biting

me, spurring me to action. “If it makes it any better, I stayed around to make sure they only messed with your hair …”

“As opposed to what?” I snap, my voice coming out in a growl. This is good practice for me, confronting Andrew. Compared to the Idol boys, he’s a kitten. “I’d been growing my hair out my whole life. I liked my hair.” I reach a hand up to touch the short locks on my head. “I’ve embraced the change, but that doesn’t make it right.” I’m panting now, my heart thundering wildly in my chest. “Was it for a bet?”

“What do you think?” he asks me, and we stare at each other again. “You know how the Infinity Club works now.” My mouth purses, and I look away for a moment, staring out at the yellow-brown grass on the side of the road. It’s been a hot, hot summer.

“Who was it?” I whisper, wondering if any of the guys were in on this one.

“Becky, Harper, Abigail, and Valentina,” Andrew says, and then sighs, like it feels good to get that off of his chest. “The other girls call them the fucked-up foursome behind their backs.” I look back at him, slumped in a white tee and expensive jeans. He looks defeated. There’s no sense of victory or justice in this.

“Did you know about …” I can’t even force my lips to form the words. Did you know about the beating I got baFkstage? How about the video? The paint? The panties? Anything at all? Because if he did …

“Miranda and I knew nothing,” he says, sighing again. “I’m not in the Inner Circle anymore.”

My mouth pops open, and my eyes go wide.

“How do you even know that? Do the Idols send out secret emails or something?”

“When you’re no longer a Blueblood, you know it.” Andrew sits up straight and looks me dead in the eye, reaching up to run his palm over his hair. I hate to stereotype, but no wonder he smells so good, like coconuts and sunshine; I should’ve known he was gay. All those vibes I was getting off of him, all those appreciative looks … they were bestie vibes, not boyfriend vibes. “I knew about the, uh, to make you fall in love, the …”

“The bet.” I say it for him, thinking about that awful, awful trophy. “Go on.”

“Just that. It’s why I wanted to take you to the winter formal, why I encouraged you away from them.” He leans forward and puts his face in his

hands. Taking revenge on Andrew would be like kicking a sad puppy. I can’t do it. Because no matter what, I am not like them. I don’t want to be like them. I used to think becoming my mother was the worst possible fate, but now I’ve decided that becoming like the Idols is a fate worse than death.

I’ll take my revenge, but I have rules.

I pull out the notebook from my bag and open to the first page, penning a new line on the bottom.

Marnye’s Rules for Revenge

No physiFal violenFe

No friendly fire

No innoFent bystanders

No sexism, raFism, homophobia et al

Let them hang themselves with their

own rope

Know when enough is enough