In the Arms of the Elite

by Stunich, C. M.

  “This is from all of us. We each picked a type of flower to add to the bouquet. It was agreed that five giant floral bunches was simply not going to do.” I smile and give him a hug, knowing they’re all waiting for the after-party tonight so we can talk about our plans.

  My plans, specifically.

  They’re all waiting for me to choose.

  “Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. I glance back at the door to my room, the old janitor’s closet turned mini-palace, and I think about all the amazing times we had in there, the movies we watched, the tea we drank, the sex … Oh, God, the sex.

  How can this really be it? The end of four, long years. The end of bullying and bets and romance.

  “Goodbye Brothel,” I whisper, feeling tears sting my eyes. I push forward and out the doors, taking my friends with me. The Idols, the Bluebloods, the filthy rich boys, the elite of the school. That’s us now, here, together on our last and final day as students of Burberry Preparatory Academy.

  “Keep your guard up,” Windsor whispers as we make our way to the waiting limos and pile in.

  “We’re in the home stretch now, but we haven’t won the game,” Zack agrees, looking out the window.

  I check my phone: we still have about twelve hours until that horrible Infinity Club bet goes by the wayside.

  Twelve more hours to survive the worst bullies I’ve ever encountered, or will ever encounter.

  Twelve. Fucking. Hours.

  We climb out of the limo near the football field where the graduation ceremony is taking place, and I thank whatever gods or deities will listen that it’s not happening in the amphitheater where I spent the end of my first year being humiliated.

  Harper is breezing across the field with her parents in tow, laughing, smiling. They look so normal, but I won’t let myself forget that her parents are senior Infinity Club members. They could very well be some of the ones pushing their own child to commit murder.

  “I can’t believe we never got that bitch,” Zayd grumbles, and Zack grunts in agreement.

  “Never say never,” I whisper as we find our chairs, and then mill around waiting for the ceremony to start. I don’t see Dad in the audience just yet, but he warned me he might be late. I shoot off a quick text to see where he is, and he sends back ETA 20 mins.

  Twenty minutes, huh?

  It’s gonna be tight; he might miss the beginning of my speech. I can’t delay though, not with what I have planned. It all comes down to timing. Harper du Pont, you are going down tonight.

  “He’ll be here,” Zack says, reaching out to adjust my black cap, the tassel swinging back and forth in front of my face. I blow it out of the way and try to tamp down on my nerves.

  Today is a big day. Huge. I’ve been planning it all year without telling a single soul about it.

  Pretty damn proud of myself for that one.

  “I know,” I say, letting Zack fold me in another hug. He’s so damn good at them, I can’t resist. “I know he will. I’m just worried about him.”

  “I’m more worried about you,” Zack says, glancing over his shoulder as Mrs. Amberton moves over to stand beside us, holding out a red and white sash with a black word scrawled in cursive down the length of it.

  “Congratulations, Marnye,” she says as I take my valedictorian sash and watch as she moves over to hand Tristan his salutatorian one. “And to you, too, Mr. Vanderbilt.” Mrs. Amberton steps back, her orange curls tamed into some semblance of an up-do, and she smiles fondly at me. She’s always been nice, one of my favorite teachers by far, but she was too weak to protect me from the bullies. I’ll always remember that, how I had to be strong enough to protect myself. It’s a good life lesson to learn, isn’t it?

  “Thank you,” I tell her, and we share a small hug as the audience files into the bleachers, rows upon rows of society’s finest and most elite. Princess Alexandra is there along with Kathleen Cabot and her husband (Kathleen waves at me, and I can tell she’s proud as hell). Fuck, even Billy Kaiser shows up, and Zayd’s surprise registers all over his face.

  Robin Brooks is sitting on the far side with her daughter, Kelsey, and I can only assume the two gruff looking men with them are Zack’s dad and grandfather.

  Fortunately, I don’t see William Vanderbilt anywhere.

  “He’s not here,” Tristan says, sighing with relief. “Thank fuck for that.”

  “There’s not even a small, little part of you that wants him here?” I ask, and Tristan looks over at me with a severe sort of expression, like he’s never been more serious in all his life.

  “The only person I care about being here is you. That’s it. I don’t need anything else.” He storms over to his seat, like he’s in a bad mood or something, but I know it’s just nerves. He’s worried about me. All the boys are. For an entire year, they’ve worked to protect me from a very real threat. For an entire year, it’s worked.

  Today is the last day, the final showdown.

  Just twelve fucking hours …

  My harp is wheeled onstage, and we’re all ushered to our seats, so Ms. Felton can begin her speech, thanking the alumni, the schoolboard, and so on and so forth. Once she’s finished, I’m announced and the crowd cheers properly for me in a way they never did during first year.

  I take the stage and play a special arrangement I wrote based on the standard graduation song, Pomp and Circumstance. My fingers pluck the strings, and my eyes close as the rest of the orchestra backs me up from the field, situated just in front of the dais.

  The music surges through me, and I open my eyes, meeting Tristan’s, getting that special little surge of confidence that always hits me when he’s around while I play. Windsor is the next boy I make eye contact with, playing my instrument with confidence, knowing that at least for the moment, at least right here, everything is going to be okay.

  My gaze lifts up and scans the crowd, and I find Charlie there in the front row, situated in a wheelchair with a hat on and a heavy coat, even though it’s sunny out. Jennifer is on his right, and his health aide stands just to the side on his left. He waves a Burberry Prep pennant flag at me when he sees me looking, and I smile.

  Don’t think about how skinny he looks, I tell myself, because it was so important for Dad to see this moment that he came all the way down here, sick as he is. I won’t fuck that up for him.

  My eyes drift back to the rest of my boys, and I wonder how much longer they’re going to be my boys for, after I tell them my final decision.

  Zayd pumps his fist and then curves his hands around his mouth to shout encouragement. Creed lounges back in his chair, but he’s got on the smile of a cat who’s got the cream. Only, I’m pretty sure that I’m the cream in this scenario. Zack is last, but not because I’ve got any sort of ranking for the guys in my mind. How could I? It’s like apples to oranges comparison with them. Each one fills a different niche in my heart. And Zack Brooks, he’s like a snuggly teddy bear/bodyguard. Just … don’t tell him I think of him that way.

  I finish my piece and accept the applause of the crowd before I move up to the podium to take the mic. It’s time to give my valedictorian speech. Good thing I’ve been practicing for this moment since I was twelve.

  “Welcome, friends, family, and loved ones. On behalf of the students of Burberry Preparatory Academy, I want to welcome you here today to celebrate the end of an era.” I take a deep breath and lift my chin. I’m not reading from a card; I’ve practiced enough that I don’t need to. “For four years, the students of this school have fought tooth-and-nail to get where they are today. And now, on this gorgeous sunny California afternoon, we will all get what we deserve.” The students go nuts, but I’m pretty sure only my guys, Miranda, and Andrew get the hidden references in my speech.

  I take up my allotted ten minute time slot with flowery words for the future, and then move down to take my place in the audience. Tristan is next, and I’m not surprised to see that he’s as talented a public speaker as he is everything else. His words a
re actually uplifting, and I find myself clapping like crazy along with everyone else.

  While the junior orchestra takes up Pomp and Circumstance for the second time that day, Ms. Felton and a horde of academy staff including Mr. Castor, Mrs. Amberton, and Ms. Highland take up the stage and start calling students to collect their diplomas.

  The order is entirely based on class ranking, just one last little barb to shame us all into doing our best. But I’ve fixed things so that Harper du Pont who, shockingly enough, got into the top ten percent of our class, is dead-last.

  Dead. Last.

  She’s fighting back a frown as she takes her diploma from Ms. Felton, shakes her hand, and starts off across the stage, pausing briefly in front of the massive Burberry Prep Academy crest background, so she can have her picture taken by the professional photographer that was hired for the occasion.

  As soon as she stops there, smile white, red hair shining against the black of her gown, I pull my phone from my pocket, and I press a button.

  The video screen that was used against me during first year comes down ahead of schedule on the makeshift stage, and then my masterpiece begins to play.

  Every mean thing Harper has ever done that I’ve been able to catch on film, record in sound, or take a picture of is there. I had no trouble collecting even more damning pieces of evidence from the other students. Hey, I’m the queen of the school and Harper du Pont is just a bully.

  “What the hell?” she asks, turning around as the awful footage begins to play. There’s her, in the woods berating girls at a party, slapping her supposed best friend Becky, screaming at John and Greg, and finally … there she is, trying to brand me with a hot iron in my dorm room.

  God bless security cameras.

  “Daddy, make it stop!” Harper screams as the footage just keeps rolling and rolling and rolling. There was so much choice stuff, I had to pick and choose what bits to use. Those were tough decisions to make. The crowd murmurs and gasps, whispers passing behind raised hands. The entire Infinity Club gets to see the du Pont princess at her worst. I’m sure her parents’ business associates don’t appreciate seeing their own children beaten and abused by a spoiled rotten little brat. “Daddy!”

  Mr. du Pont is coming down the steps as fast as he can, huffing and puffing as the staff tries to get control of the video screen. The thing is, while Harper was busy bullying people all year, I was busy making friends with as many students as I could—including the AV club.

  She’s openly weeping now as my montage continues to play.

  “Good God, you’re brilliant,” Windsor whispers in awe as the red, black, and white balloons up above, held in a net to celebrate the end of the ceremony, are dropped. Only … they’re not balloons anymore. I had the students on the event planning team fill condoms with horse manure, courtesy of the equestrian club. They splatter all over Harper as she screams, covering the school’s most beautiful tyrant in literal shit.

  “Now, how exactly is this hanging her with her own rope?” Creed whispers, eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “Well, you attract more flies with honey … and more horse shit by being a bullying asshole. Harper du Pont has pissed off almost every student in this school. I asked for help, and I got it. The other students were more than eager.” I shrug my shoulders because maybe, if I crossed my own lines just a little bit, it was worth it.

  “Start the music!” Ms. Felton screams, and Pomp and Circumstance comes on for a third time, drowning out the recordings of Harper’s screaming voice as the staff pull her out of the sea of poop, a loose condom stuck to one ear, and drag her down the steps.

  This is going to hurt, but it’s so worth it, I tell myself as I stand up and race over to her sobbing form.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” I ask, putting my hands over my mouth and trying not to laugh at the shit-covered condom earring she’s wearing. Harper pulls back her fist and punches me hard, right in the face. There’s an uproar from the audience as she’s wrangled back into submission, and I resist the urge to lick the blood from my lip. Her hand was relatively clean, but you know, horse crap and all.

  The boys rush up to surround me, and I take a handkerchief from Tristan to clean my face with.

  “Fucking Working Girl piece of trash! Whore! Slut!” Harper continues to dig her own grave as she’s dragged away, and I take the stage again, lifting the mic to my lips.

  “Once again, on behalf of the students of Burberry Prep—” I start, trying to keep the sheer pleasure from my voice. But then I notice Dad, slumping forward in his wheelchair and falling to the pavement as Jennifer and the aide try to help him.

  A scream tears from my throat as that stupid music just keeps on playing, and I jump down from the platform, hurting my wrist in the process, my knees digging into the grass and smearing my gown with dirt. I race forward, snagging the fabric yet again on the edge of one of the chairs as I race for the steps and up them, my hand skimming across the bannister.

  “Dad, no,” I sob as people rush around us, a doctor announcing herself before she pushes me aside. I’m weeping now and shaking, trying to get to Charlie but being pushed aside. The boys are there in an instant, along with Miranda and Andrew.

  “I’ve already called an ambulance,” Zack says panting and holding me back, so the doctor and the health aide can work on Dad. He’s dying, isn’t it? I think as shock rolls over me in a wave, and this disturbing sort of numbness creeps over me.

  If we had to wait for an ambulance from town, it’d be over an hour before they’d get here. Because of the size of the event, the academy was required to have a fire engine, ambulance, and two squad cars on site. One of them is already driving onto the field and Harper is being put into the back of it. In just a few minutes, the other emergency vehicles arrive and Charlie is loaded onto a stretcher and put in the back of the ambulance.

  “I want to go with him!” I shout, but there are already too many medical professionals in there for me to fit.

  “I’ll get the car,” Windsor says, putting his hand on my shoulder. He looks to the other boys, and I vaguely realize that Tristan is somehow missing. “Be right back.” He takes off as I start to collapse to the ground, caught by Creed on one side and Zayd on the other, my eyes tracking the movement of the ambulance as it rumbles off, siren blaring.

  My graduation gown—and my heart—are in tatters.

  I feel like I’m drowning in sorrow as the uniformed officer nearest me grabs my elbow. Zack gives him a dirty look, but I hardly notice. All I can think is no, no, no, not my daddy, please don’t take my daddy away.

  “Miss?” The policeman shakes me, and I blink stupidly in his direction, the cold waves of shock chasing away what little adrenaline I got from my stunt with Harper. Where is Tristan? My addled brain wonders as I look around, briefly confused. Where is Windsor? Oh. Oh, yes. He … he went to get the car. My hands are shaking so badly, my teeth chattering. I reach up anyway and grab my cap, smearing blood everywhere. Somehow, I think I cut the back of my hand when I raced past Ms. Felton’s chair.

  “She’s in shock.” One of my boyfriends is talking, but I’m not sure who. All I can think is: will Dad live? I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to that question, but I refuse to believe it. I can’t. I just can’t. Hands haul me to my feet, and I can hear people gossiping and chattering around me.

  Fuck them though. Fuck all of them. My only concern now is how to get to the hospital as fast as I possibly can.

  “Can we ride with her?” Creed asks. At least … I think it’s Creed. My vision has narrowed to a tunnel of focus, and my head is spinning.

  “That’s her father, correct? In that case, we’re able to transport just her, I’m afraid, but we’ll take good care of her,” the officer explains, and then I’m being guided over to a police cruiser. Before I climb in, I shake my head to clear away some of the cobwebs and glance back at the boys, the ones who are still by my side. Tristan is gone. Windsor seems to be missing, too. I remind
myself yet again that he just went to get the car. But where the fuck is Tristan?

  I’m sorry, I’m sure I make no sense. I just … I’m in shock right now.

  “Where are we going?” One of the officers opens the back door for me, and I pause.

  “We can get you to the hospital with the sirens,” he tells me, and I nod because that makes perfect sense, even in the confused state of panic I’m in right now.

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Zayd reassures me, his grip tight but firm. “Right behind you.”

  My last great act of revenge is over, and I didn’t even get to enjoy it. That, and I had plans to talk with the guys tonight, let them know my final decision. Things were starting to come together, and now … I’ve never been so miserable. I’ve never hurt so much. How could this happen to Charlie? It’s so much worse than what I suffered during first year. So, so, so much worse.

  A cosmic joke.

  A middle finger from the universe.

  “You’ll be right behind me …” I repeat, and then I climb into the police car. The red and blue of the sirens bathes the onlookers in color, including the boys I just left behind. I’d give anything for at least one of them to come with me, but Dad has to be my first priority. However I can get to him the fastest, that’s the route I’m taking.

  As we back out of the stadium and head down the hill, I reach into my pocket for my phone and realize that in my scrambling to get to Charlie, I tore the gown and lost it somehow.

  Figures.

  Fuck.

  The nearest hospital is … God, it’s like an hour from here, isn’t it? Since I feel like I’m about to puke, I lean over and put my head between my knees. Taking slow breaths, I manage to get my frantic pulse under control. The officers certainly have phones of their own. I’ll wait awhile, and then I’ll ask them to call the hospital for me.

  The glass of the window is cool as I lean my head against it, shutting my eyes against the dark green of the trees as they pass by in a watercolor blur. The shock of seeing my dad, the man who raised me, the greatest love in my heart collapse must’ve really gotten to me. Either I fall asleep or I just lose time, I’m not sure, but when I open my eyes and sit up, I realize that we’re heading in the wrong direction.