In the Arms of the Elite

by Stunich, C. M.

  “Huh, right,” Tristan scoffs, pushing away from me just before the door opens and one of the chemistry teachers walks in—I can’t remember her name, but she waves and smiles at me anyway. Clearly, she can’t see how worked-up I am right now, how hard my nipples are under my black button-up, how wet my panties are. Thank God that lady boners are invisible, right? “At my service. You only heel to one leash, Marnye, and that’s your own. Get the fuck out of here, and let me finish my work.”

  Tristan reaches around me to snatch the pencil, spins it around and carefully erases the erroneous four on his paper. I smirk as I straighten my skirt out, turning around and walking backwards for a moment, like a total badass.

  “Have fun writing up that physics report with a massive boner,” I say, and then I slam right into the chemistry teacher—that’s right, her name is Miss Terrenova—making her grunt.

  “Massive boner?” she asks, and my face flames with heat. “Miss Reed, is that really appropriate conversation to be having in a place of learning?”

  “Actually Miss Terrenova, I feel uncomfortable with her in here, like she’s trying to fuck me with her eyes.”

  “Mr. Vanderbilt,” Miss Terrenova scolds, but she shoos me out the door anyway, my face flaming. Lizzie’s still there, waiting to escort me back to my room, but she looks confused, like she expected one thing to happen between me and Tristan … and got another.

  “Let’s go,” I choke out, before I embarrass myself any further.

  I can only take so much humiliation for one day.

  Somehow, I figured when I turned eighteen, I’d magically become an adult and seem cool somehow.

  Far from it: I feel more awkward than I ever have in my life, like a queen with a plastic crown.

  Now, if someone would just reach out and help me fix it …

  When Dad shows up for Parents’ Week, I excuse myself to the bathroom and hyperventilate.

  He looks so bad … like, really, really bad.

  “He’s going to die,” I whisper when Zack comes in and curves his arms around me, holding me from behind in the ladies’ restroom while fat tears drip down my face, and my body shakes with a sudden rush of adrenaline. Find a cure, save him, it screams, but how can I? What can I do? “Zack, he’s going to die.”

  “Nothing is for certain, Marnye,” he tells me, his strong voice pulling me back from the edge just enough that I manage to turn around in his arms. He’s got his jersey on again, and I’m back in my uniform for one of the most important games of the year.

  Tonight, there are going to be scouts in the audience.

  And one of them’s from Bornstead.

  So far as I know, it’s possible each one of these five assholes is considering going to the same college as me. Somehow, that makes things even harder. If they all applied to my school, and I don’t pick them … is that a betrayal somehow?

  I swipe my arm across my face, but I feel tired. Sort of like Windsor looks nowadays. I’m still worried about him.

  “You saw him Zack, you know him.” He narrows his eyes and tightens that full, lush mouth of his into a thin line. Even his sporty grapefruit smell can’t rouse me from the dark depths I’m swimming in. “He looks like a skeleton. He shouldn’t even be here, he should be resting, he—”

  “He wants to see his daughter perform, Marnye,” Zack says, lifting my chin up and looking into my eyes. “Your dad is here, regardless of his health, because you are the most important thing in his life.”

  “Zack, he’s—”

  “Marnye.” His voice is hard, firm. He forces my panic into retreat, and for the first time in nearly a half an hour, I’m able to get control of myself. “Your dad is here to see you dance, not cry.” Zack smiles to soften his words and then cups the side of my face in a huge palm. He’s got those black lines on his cheeks that football players always smudge on, and I smile. I’d be checking him out if I weren’t still stopping myself from crying. “Let’s go out there together, and put on brave faces, okay?”

  “Thank you,” I tell him, and I mean it. He sees my vulnerability, and it doesn’t scare him away. We take hands and head into the hall, meeting Charlie at the row of cars outside.

  Surprisingly enough, Isabella is standing there with Jennifer and the baby.

  “We waited for you,” Jenn says, smiling, and I can’t decide if she’s full of shit or if she just feels sorry for me because Charlie is clearly dying. She left me with just one parent, and he became my whole world, my whole heart … and he’s not going to be around as long as I need him to be.

  I won’t lie to you: it takes effort for me to sit there in that car with her.

  “I can’t wait to see you dance tonight,” Dad tells me, smiling, the skin on his face crinkling in unfamiliar ways. It’s like he has too much; he just looks gaunt. I should drop out of school and take care of him. The thing is, I know Windsor isn’t skimping on his care. He recently sent me a bunch of profiles for home health aides, so I could pick one to send home to help Charlie with everyday chores.

  But … time spent at home with him would be worth more than time at school, right? In the grand scheme of life, quality time with loved ones far supersedes academic endeavors.

  “You know I’ve always been clumsy as hell,” I say, forcing a grin as Zack squeezes my hand. “It took me a lot to get to this point. Just don’t make fun of me when I’m the worst one on the team.” Charlie laughs and pulls me close, smiling at me … and then letting his eyes linger on Jennifer and the baby in her arms, on Isabella …

  “I bet you’re the best dancer, Marnye. You’ve always been good at everything you do.”

  The limo rumbles down the hill, but Isabella never looks at me. Jennifer makes small talk, but only Zack returns her constant chatter.

  It’s a huge relief when we get to the field and climb out, separating to head to our various activities: Charlie, Jennifer, the baby—whose name is actually Marley, too much like a mixture of mine and Charlie’s for comfort—and Isabella head into the bleachers to watch while Zack trots onto the field, and I join the cheerleading squad.

  The scouts aren’t hard to spot in the audience. By the time half-time rolls around, I know exactly which ones they are. They rarely smile, but they get excited when Zack does something just right. Jalen, too, for that matter which sucks. Jalen doesn’t deserve to be quarterback, doesn’t deserve to be scouted. I learned from Miranda during one of our slumber party chats that he used to lie to Ebony and tell her he was wearing a condom when he wasn’t.

  That’s sexual assault, in my book.

  Now I don’t feel nearly as bad for revealing that she was planning on cheating on him.

  Just before our half-time show starts, I notice Zack slipping money into a player’s hand from the other team. It’s such a weird thing to notice, this subtle clasping of palms. But I don’t miss the wad of green that passes between him and Corb Lambert, the star player for Grenadine Heights.

  Huh.

  Is Zack paying him to throw the game or something? He wouldn’t though. I mean, I don’t think Zack would do that and I don’t believe that Corb would risk his chance of getting scouted for some chump change.

  I don’t have time to worry about it before the show, getting in formation with the group, and executing our dance. We’ve been using these games as practices for our own competitions, rather than anything more than that. Cheerleading isn’t what it used to be, just some throw away sport to support the boys. It’s a full-blown athletic endeavor now.

  We move from the dancing portion to the stunt segment of the routine—the part where we throw girls into the air—and I end opposite Kiara, lifting Ileana’s tiny form into the air. Everything goes as planned until it comes time to have her dismount. Normally, Kiara and I would bend our knees and then lift up with both our legs and arms at the same time, throw Ileana up, and then catch her with linked arms. Our spotter is some random third year that I hardly recognize, and she’s supposed to support Ileana’s ankles, and catc
h her under the armpits when she comes down.

  This isn’t how things go during that session. Instead, both Kiara and the third year girl let go of Ileana, and she turns in mid-air and quite literally kicks me in the face.

  Pain rackets through me as I stumble back and end up on my ass in the grass, blood pouring down my face and into my mouth. Kiara and the other girl manage to catch Ileana anyway, and I’m the only one left hurting.

  Coach Hannah runs over to help me up, but I’m too dizzy to stand.

  I just got nailed hard—and not in a good way.

  The music keeps on pounding through the stadium, and the other girls finish their dance to cheers and clapping from both sides. Pretty sure everyone thinks that was accidental. Except for me. And Zack.

  He storms over in a rush, panting hard and soaked in sweat, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. I manage finally to find my feet and push past Coach Hannah to intercept him on his way over.

  “Don’t,” I murmur through the blood. I’m starting to wonder if my nose might be broken. It hurt too much, and now it doesn’t hurt at all … Not a good sign. My body’s trying to protect me from the agony. “Zack, don’t.”

  “I don’t care if they are girls, I’m going to break their faces.”

  “No, you aren’t.” I put my palms on his chest as he stands there, huge and muscular and panting, trying to come to my rescue in the only way he knows how. Just like with Tristan, I try to get ahold of that dark streak inside of him by drawing his attention away from them and over to me. “The scouts are here. I know you love football; I know you want to play for the NFL, even if you won’t admit it.”

  “I can have my grandfather buy a team and put me on it,” Zack whispers, but he sounds almost sick when he says it. Sure, he could do that. But he’s like me: he wants to earn his own way. He doesn’t just want to play; he wants to deserve to play.

  “They will get theirs. I promise you that. I promise you.” Because this first month at Burberry Prep, I haven’t been doing nothing. I have my notebook. I have my rules. And last year, I let the guys do a lot of the revenge-getting for me.

  This year is going to be different.

  I’m graduating Burberry Prep, and I’m going out with a bang.

  “You fucking trolls,” Zack growls, but the girls behind me just laugh, and this time, it’s my turn to reach up and grab his face in my much smaller hands. He turns his bittersweet chocolate eyes down to me. They’re narrowed and dark, and I know he’d destroy them if I asked him to—even if it meant losing his spot on both this team and his future college career. “You best watch your backs.”

  “We’re terrified,” Ileana purrs, laughing as Zack looks back down at me, positively shaking with rage. I look around for Charlie, and see him disappearing around the corner, probably heading for the steps to come over here. He doesn’t know I’m dating Zack yet, so … I only have a second.

  “Don’t pay attention to them; kiss your girlfriend and walk away. That’s it.” Zack cups my chin and kisses me deeply in front of both schools, causing several of his teammates to catcall and whistle. I don’t even care that it hurts when he presses his mouth to mine. Even though I’m sure I must taste like blood, I run my tongue over the thickness of his lower lip.

  He seriously has the prettiest freaking mouth.

  With his kiss, Zack claims me, making a low, satisfied male sound in his throat as his tongue sweeps mine, and his big hands clamp over my shoulders, squeezing hard. When he finally releases me, I feel like I’ve been marked somehow, branded to the entire stadium as his mate.

  “I’ve got a few minutes. Let’s get you cleaned up,” he growls, and then he picks me up and carries me over to the bench. The field medic examines me, and decides that it’d be best if I go get checked out at the hospital afterward, just in case. Dad is there, trying to hover over me, Jennifer, too. I wave them both off and manage to talk all the adults involved into letting me sit there with ice on my face, so I can finish watching the game.

  The other boys come down to stand beside me, and Windsor, unsurprisingly, is the one who takes over, pulling me into his lap. He doesn’t say a thing, none of them do, but I can tell they’re all quietly fuming.

  Just as we’re nearing the end of the game, I see Zack give Corb a look.

  Jalen readies himself to throw a forward pass, the sun shining off the black surface of his helmet.

  He pulls his arm back, and Corb goes right for him. Since he’s the defensive lineman for Grenadine Heights, that makes sense. That’s his job. He tackles Jalen hard, and all I hear as he goes down near me is this awful crunching sound.

  The ref calls a timeout as Jalen screams, and I see all this blood. Like way, way too much blood. I bend down next to him since I’m the nearest person there, and find a shard of glass in his leg.

  “What the …”

  I’m pushed aside for the field medic, but not before I palm the glass in my hand and take it with me, stumbling back and slipping it into a cup of water. I pretend to take a drink to calm my nerves, and then chuck it in the trash.

  Zack looks at me from across the field, and our eyes meet.

  Jalen is taken away with a severed artery and a broken femur. His chances of playing for a college team next year … virtually none. And his dad is some super famous NFL player, too. It’s all he ever talks about.

  When I get back to my room, I’ll cross his name off my list.

  The game finishes up shortly thereafter, with the victory going to Burberry Prep. It’s a nice change of pace from second year when I fucked-up Zack’s chances at glory.

  I don’t get a chance to talk to him though because we go straight to the hospital after (my nose isn’t broken, thankfully), only to learn I have a possible concussion. Charlie stays up all night with me playing board games in one of the visitor’s cabins, and I spend every moment soaking up my time with him.

  Once he leaves, I can confront Zack.

  He broke one of my rules, and I am not happy about it.

  I storm up to Zack in The Mess and grab one of his big, muscular arms, dragging him away from the other boys and out into the hallway.

  It’s Monday now, and Charlie’s just left. We have about two weeks until Halloween, and no idea what to do for costumes. No idea what we’re doing to celebrate either. As the Bluebloods of Burberry Prep, we have to throw a party to hold our title. Period. That’s how things work, but where? Windsor’s mom—who, if you think about it, is a freaking princess, right?—is staying at the house we used last year. Tristan’s been disowned, the Cabots and the Kaisers don’t have a place close enough, and Zack’s mother is having their vacation home renovated.

  We’re going to have to think up something creative.

  “You’ve been ignoring my texts all weekend,” I whisper, but Zack shakes his head, holding up his palms.

  “Never, Marnye. Never. You don’t understand: my grandfather and my dad were here this weekend.” I raise my brows; I’ve never met Zack’s dad, but I hear he’s a prick. He frowns hard and looks away from me briefly. “It didn’t go well.”

  “They’re mad about the game?” I ask, and Zack shakes his head, looking back at me with his mouth in a tight, flat line. He exhales, closing his eyes and reaching up to ruffle his short, dark hair with his fingers.

  “Not exactly.”

  I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. I decide to address my issue first then.

  “I said no violence, Zack,” I whisper, because I don’t want to win this thing by resorting to their tactics.

  He looks back at me, and at least I can tell that his face is etched with shame.

  “I didn’t know about the glass,” he says, shaking his head. “But none of the staff knows Corb actually stabbed him; they all think there was some debris in the grass.”

  “I saw you pay Corb to hurt Jalen,” I tell him, crossing my arms under my breasts. Zack studies my face and sighs, like he has no excuse for what he’s done. He looks down at the floor b
etween us, and closes his eyes for a moment.

  “I’d do anything to protect you,” he says, lifting his head up and opening his eyes. “Jalen was dangerous, Marnye. You don’t hear the locker room talk that I hear.” He looks right at me, lifting his head up. “Yes, I paid Corb to take Jalen down harder than necessary, but I didn’t know about the glass. If it makes you feel better, Jalen broke a glass bottle against Corb’s brother’s face at a Hamptons party this summer. A piece of glass cut his carotid artery; he almost died.”

  We stand there, facing each other, but I don’t know what to say.

  I’m conflicted.

  “Sometimes you can’t fight darkness with words, Marnye.” Zack tucks his big hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket. “There’s … a lot going on that you don’t know about.”

  “Then tell me,” I plead, “because I literally just read a manga with a plot like this. The guys kept the information away from the heroine until it was too late, and then …”

  “Infinity Club rules,” Zack growls out, like he’s in serious pain. He pulls his hands from his jacket pockets and braces my shoulders with them. “If we tell you, we lose a serious advantage. And we can’t lose this, Marnye.”

  “Zack …” I start, as he slides his palms down the arms of my black blazer.

  “My grandfather doesn’t want me to date you,” he whispers, and my heart seriously chokes. It breaks and stutters in my chest, and I look up at him with my lips parted in surprise.

  “Why not?”

  “My mom loves you, Marnye. She loves you. My sister likes you, too. It’s just … my dad and my grandpa …” he trails off, this aching desperation etched into his face. “The only thing they’ve ever agreed on is this.”

  “Why …” I start, and Zack steps back, releasing me suddenly.

  “I shouldn’t have broken your rules without talking to you first,” he says softly, his voice surprisingly rough with emotion. “That was my fuck-up. But, Marnye, I would do it again if I had to. I’ll do anything to protect you, even break your rules.” He looks back up at me, and I suck in a sharp breath. He’s too freaking beautiful for words. Too goddamn beautiful. “But I understand if you’re pissed at me.”