In the Arms of the Elite

by Stunich, C. M.

  “Yep. I mean, I was young, so I didn’t have to care for her, but my grandma did.” Zayd pauses and looks over at me as he rolls up to a stop sign. Our neighborhood is so quiet, it’s more of a formality than anything else. Nobody’s coming. “Not my rich grandma though, my other one. I think caring for her dying daughter is what killed her, too. Or maybe she died of a broken heart or something. I’d pretend to be a tough guy and say I don’t believe in that shit, but I do.”

  I smile at him and then reach out to take his right hand. He squeezes mine and pulls it to his lips for a kiss.

  “How did you get here so fast, by the way? I thought your house was, like way down the beach.”

  “Yeah, uh …” He looks up at the stars and then shrugs again. “I’m on my way to deliver a present to Becky’s house. It’s just, you know, revenge stuff.”

  “Is it now?” I ask, leaning back against the door. “I feel like I’ve really fucked it up this year. I was so on point during second.”

  “You didn’t fuck it up, you just learned that you don’t have to do everything by yourself all the time. Come on.” Zayd rolls us quietly out of the little suburban corner of Grenadine Heights, and then guns the engine, giving me this wild, little thrill, like a rollercoaster.

  We take off and head into the hills, toward the super-rich neighborhoods that line some of the most exquisite beaches in the state.

  When we get to one with a giant ironwork gate, I realize that ironically, Becky Platter’s family has my dad’s artwork gracing their fence. Part of me is proud … but the other part of me wonders if I couldn’t come back here later with a blowtorch and burn it off, maybe take it with me as a souvenir?

  Zayd gets out and collects a box from the trunk, coming around the side of the car and pausing next to me.

  “During first year, Becky was dating the basketball coach. I have all their stupid ass love letters in here.”

  “Where did you get those?” I ask as Zayd cracks the lid and shows the huge pile to me. He grins.

  “The coach quit like six months into their relationship, but his son is a huge Billy Kaiser fan. I may have bribed him with backstage passes. I know don’t you like to shame people or whatever, but it’s not the sexy stuff in here that’s the main focus. She gave the coach insider trading info. He made a ton of money off that shit. Her parents are going to ship her ass to one of those military academies Tristan was so afraid of.”

  Zayd presses the buzzer on the intercom, and an employee comes out to take the box. The two of them seem to know each other, exchanging a brief moment of chitchat before the guy takes it, and we leave with a squeal of tires.

  Zayd takes us up a hill, parks, and then gets out a pre-rolled joint and a lighter.

  “I know you want to get back to your dad, but you also look like you’re about to have a stress heart attack. Here.” He hands both things over to me. I stare at them for a while, considering, and then realize that if I don’t take care of myself, too, I really am going to pass out from the stress.

  We smoke the joint for a few—mostly I just cough and hack—and then Zayd slips his hand into my pocket, pulling out the list as I gape at him.

  “How did you know that was in there?” I ask, and he shrugs.

  “You carry it around all the time, and to be honest, I grope your ass too much to miss it.” He gives it back to me along with the lighter. “I know you’ve still got to get Harper, but when you say you have a plan, I believe it. Burn that damn thing and let’s be done with it. It’s got bad juju or something.”

  I unfold the list and stare at the names, and then I lift the lighter up and catch the edge, watching it burn.

  When there’s nothing left but a small corner, I shake it out until there are no live embers left, and then I watch the ashes of what’s left float away on a breeze that comes straight off the bay.

  “Good,” Zayd says, pulling me close and tucking me in against his side. “Now we can bang.”

  “You’re as crude as Creed Cabot,” I grumble, but we hang out in his car for a while anyway, and when we’re done, he takes me home, and I spend the rest of spring break holding my dad’s hand during every waking moment.

  Going back to Burberry Prep isn’t easy.

  I almost stay home.

  But Dad refuses to let me, helping me pack my suitcase and giving my wrist a squeeze as he looks me in the face with those stubborn brown eyes of his.

  “I will be there for graduation, Marnye. That’s a promise.”

  “I feel so guilty though,” I tell Creed as we sit in The Mess, and I stab a bit of egg, yellow goo flooding my plate. I can’t even eat it, though, not right now. Instead, I push the plate aside and give Isabella a small wave when she walks in. She doesn’t return it, but at least I get a small half-smile.

  We have a long way to go, but we’ll get there.

  After all, here I am sitting across from the pissed-off narcoleptic aristocrat, and he’s looking at me with a bit of something in his gaze that wasn’t there before. He says it’s love, and how can I deny that it could be? Four years we’ve struggled together, through all sorts of bullshit.

  And in June, it’ll all come to an end.

  Graduation, my having to choose between the boys, the revenge on the old Bluebloods, my reign as queen of the school … hopefully not my life.

  We just have to make it a few more weeks, I promise my tired body, and then I shake out my hands.

  “You can’t feel guilty about living your life, Marnye.” He studies me from under half-lidded eyes, his gaze that droopy bedroom look that I’ve always loved. Watching him as he leans forward and puts his chair legs flat on the floor, dropping his boots to the wood of the dais, I know that I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t let him go.

  I’m starting to get that realization with all the guys.

  I’m starting to realize that my choice … is more complicated than I ever imagined it would be. I’m going to have to trust myself, and let the dice fall where they may.

  “I know that, but I can’t stop wondering if my time would be better spent at home.”

  “After everything you’ve worked for, you can’t give it up. Isn’t that why your dad worked his ass off all his life, to get you here?” He’s right of course, but being reprimanded by a lazy sloth makes me feel salty, so I poke him in the arm with a fork. Creed smiles, this devil-may-care sort of expression that makes him look impossibly unattainable.

  Only … I obtained him, didn’t I?

  “You’re right. I know he wants to see me graduate more than anything else. It might be his …” I can’t make myself say it. His dying wish. On the inside, I know it’s true. But my lips just refuse to form the word.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Creed says, and then he stands up and takes my hand. We stroll around the campus for a bit, and then hit up my room. Now that Harper’s been cut off from the blood supply of her favorite minions, she storms around campus with this look of determination in her eyes that I feel reflected back in mine.

  One of us is going down before the end of the year, and it’s not going to be me.

  “I’ve been reading all your manga, you know,” Creed says, trailing his lazy fingers down the row of spines on my bookshelf. “And I swear, your favorite character archetypes show a strong resemblance to me and Tristan.”

  “Did you think I was joking when I said I wanted to see you get topped by him?” I ask, and Creed scowls at me.

  “Never. If anything, it’d be me fucking him.”

  I lean back on the bedspread, and Creed comes over to lay beside me, an angel with white-blond hair and the palest eyes.

  “I’d be okay with that, too. Only, I want to watch. Does that make me a perv?”

  “Only in certain circles,” Creed drawls, turning onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. “I hate Tristan, but I have wondered how he got so many girls to sleep with him. Are his kisses like magic or something?”

  There’s a knock at the door, and we both pause
as I get off the bed to check the peephole, and then open it carefully. Tristan is waiting there, leaning against the wall next to the door and then swinging in like he owns the place. He studies Creed, all lounged out on the bed.

  “What are you two up to in here?” he asks, voice smooth and dark.

  “Just discussing what a little male-male action might look like on you two.”

  Tristan pauses for a moment, and then he walks over to the bed, crawls up between Creed’s legs and touches the side of his face.

  “The fuck are you doing?!” Creed manages to get out before Tristan leans down and captures his lips. It’s a long kiss, too, much longer than you’d expect from two assholes who hate each other. Creed puts his boot between them and pushes Tristan off with a shove. “What the hell …” He slides his arm across his lips as Tristan smirks and stands back up, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Does that suffice?” he asks, and Creed flips him the finger.

  “You only wish it would go further than that,” he snaps, and Tristan shrugs, like he’s not entirely opposed to it. I try not to hold out too much hope.

  “Did you come over here for a reason?” I ask, and Tristan glances my way with a small tilt of his head, raven-dark hair sliding across his forehead.

  “Do you still have that recording you made of William?” he asks, and I nod. I managed to get a recording of Mr. Vanderbilt treating his son like trash, calling him a bastard, threatening him. Although there’s no video, the sound of him slapping his kid is pretty damning. “Why?”

  “I don’t want him to show up at graduation and make a thing out of it. He tried to come here and convince me to go with him for fall break. But I’m not meeting his demands, and I’m tired of being hit. Send me the file, would you? I’m going to email it to his new wife.”

  I nod again, and Tristan smiles tightly, giving Creed a saucy little wink before he leaves the way he came and closes the door behind him. Damn. And here I thought those two might get down and dirty. Maybe later, at Bornstead U or something.

  Not that I’m counting on it.

  Once I tell them my choice, one or all of them might change their minds on what they want to do for college.

  I sit back down on the bed, and Creed teases his fingers up my thigh again, the way he did in the library that one day. Only this time, we’re in my room together, and there’s nobody around to see. I take his hand and guide his fingers to the clasp of one of the garters, making him snap it open so the sock bunches around my calf and leaves my leg bare.

  “You know, I was thinking … since we had our first time together …”

  “How could I possibly forget?” he purrs, pulling me into his arms and kissing me with this lazy air of importance, like he has all the time in the world to do it. Maybe he does? Who knows? “What about it? You need to go over the basics again?”

  “I was actually thinking we might tackle something new.” I stand up, pull out the blue dress he sent me during first year, and get naked, so I can dress myself in it. Creed watches me hungrily, running his tongue over his lower lip as I turn toward him, reach down and unbutton his black slacks. When I slide lower and put my mouth over his hard shaft, he definitely doesn’t protest.

  Finals for fourth year Burberry Prep students are considered some of the most difficult in the country, on par with the academic standards of most universities. I’m sure I’ve bombed everything when Creed and Miranda knock on Zack’s door, waking us both up from a seriously important nap. We’re all so overworked, like we always are at this time of year, that sleep is essential.

  “You did it,” the twins say at the same time as they step into the apartment together, and then glare at one another. They don’t often speak in unison like that.

  “Did what?” I ask on the tail-end of a yawn, feeling a little like Creed in that moment. Too bad my tired, boneless ass can’t elegantly drape itself across furniture like the arrogant blond brat in front of me.

  “You beat Tristan,” he tells me, a sort of malicious glee coloring his voice at seeing his rival brought down a notch.

  “What?!”

  I shout so loud that Zack comes running, his sweats low-slung, his eyes narrowed to slits.

  “This better be life or death,” he murmurs, but I’m already grabbing his hoodie and slipping it on over my tank. On our way down to the first floor, we grab Zayd, Tristan, and Windsor and then head down the chapel hall to look at class rankings for the last time.

  Harper is there, but I ignore her. She can’t hurt me in a crowd this size. Besides, we only have a few days left until graduation, and I’m starting to wonder if she hasn’t finally given up.

  I should’ve known better.

  The crowd parts to let the Bluebloods through, and we all gather around to stare at the list.

  There I am.

  Valedictorian.

  I glance over at Tristan to see if he’s pissed, but he’s actually … smiling?! Like, it’s a real smile, true and genuine.

  “I’ve never been so happy to lose in all my life,” he says, and then I throw my arms around him and kiss him. Not just him either, but all of them. Windsor, Zayd, Creed, Zack.

  “I feel like I should make us a round of—”

  “Don’t say it,” Creed interrupts, putting two fingers to his temple. “Nobody wants your boiled plant water.”

  “I was going to say cocktails, but since you just insulted the national beverage of my homeland, I should kick your ass before I serve them.” Windsor glances over at me, and flashes a blinding grin. “A mocktail for you, Milady, since I can’t exactly serve you a virgin drink anymore.”

  “Hilarious,” I drawl with a roll of my eyes, but I let him take my hand anyway and pull me through the crowd. In typical Burberry Prep fashion, there’s a party tonight, but it’s not one of ours. Actually, it’s being thrown by some very promising first years.

  We attend as a group: me, my boys, Miranda, and Andrew.

  I’m so pleased with the party itself, and the general camaraderie of the students, I give one of the girls my light-up star scepter.

  “Have fun being an Idol,” I whisper as I turn and walk away, the entire crowd pausing in their reverie to watch my little group as we make our way out of the party, wearing our all-black fourth year uniforms for the very last time.

  I’ve just passed the crown, and it feels damn good, like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.

  Tomorrow, I’ll get to see Charlie.

  Tomorrow, I can give my speech, exact my revenge, and once midnight hits, I’ll be like Cinderella at the ball. Instead of losing my magic however, I’ll walk away from the clutches of the Infinity Club with my life.

  I put my hand over my slashed-out infinity tattoo, climb behind the wheel of the Maserati, and head back to campus.

  All five guys spend the night in my room, and we aren’t exactly wearing clothes.

  They don’t touch each other, but they let me touch them, one by one, working my way through until I’m sweaty and exhausted and falling asleep in a pile I never want to leave.

  Never.

  The last day of school comes much quicker than I anticipated, leaving me in this whirlwind where I’m always in a rush from one thing to another, whether it’s project or an orchestra performance or a scholarship deadline. It feels like I might never breathe again.

  Until … I do.

  Everything comes to a stop, but not like the storm has passed, more like I’m in the eye of it.

  “You look way hotter in your graduation gown than I do,” Miranda whines, adjusting her glorious blond hair around her face and proving that that is most definitely not true. She looks beautiful, like she always does. In another time or another place, we’d probably be soulmates.

  Yep.

  I’d definitely add her to my harem.

  Speaking of harems … My heart beats wildly in my chest as I sit down on the edge of my bed and think about the decision I made last week. It’s been haunting me ever since
, but I know in my heart it’s the right one. During first year, when I got those three boxes filled with glittering dresses, I chose one. And I wished I hadn’t. Not because Zayd was the wrong choice, but because Creed and Tristan were just as right.

  My choice now remains the same: I either pick all of them … or I pick none of them.

  That’s what I’ve decided, although both avenues might lead me to the same place. They might say hell to it, and walk away, but at least that’d be their choice.

  “Are you okay?” Miranda asks as Andrew comes out of the bathroom, putting his cap on and examining himself in the mirror. He’s too excited about his trip to Connecticut tomorrow to be thinking much about anything else. He’s off to meet his email pen pal which I’m still not sure is a good idea. I did stalk the dude, some guy named Ross from Adamson All-Boys Academy. Seems legit, although I did read online that a girl died on campus once, when they tried to integrate the students. Scary.

  “I’m fine,” I say, blinking myself out of my stupor and glancing over at her. I’ve got fresh rose-gold in my hair, a new very short and very edgy ‘do, and an Idol’s Eye necklace hanging between my breasts. Dad’s charm bracelet is on my arm, and I’ve tucked a little something from each boy into the pockets of the jeans I’m wearing underneath the black gown. “Really.”

  “You like you’re about to attend a funeral, not a graduation,” Andrew says, and then Miranda gives him a hard, sharp look to shut him up.

  Charlie is … not doing well. So not well, in fact, that I still don’t know if he should even be coming today. I told him I’d take my cap, gown, and diploma home and we could have our own ceremony in the backyard but he wasn’t having it.

  Jennifer agreed to go with him, along with his health aide. Dad told me in his most recent text that seeing his little girl graduate was the culmination of his life goals. I didn’t like that. But how could I deny him after?

  “Let’s go,” I say, standing up and heading out the door. The boys are all waiting, lounging in their various ways in the hallway. Creed slouches against the wall while Tristan stands straight and tall; Zayd bobs his head in time to the single earbud in his ear and grins at me while Zack smiles, but keeps his big arms crossed over his chest. Windsor hands me a bouquet of flowers.