Still, when the invitation comes, it's tempting to go.
“I did not know he was the one that drove you home from school,” Dad says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me like he’s severely disappointed. I tuck my bottom lip under my teeth and grimace. I never lie to my dad; I try to make it a habit not to lie at all. The thing is, I didn't exactly tell him either.
“Dad,” I start, glancing over at the brown paper bags full of groceries on the counter. I went shopping for everything we would need to have a huge Thanksgiving feast, but I’m just … tired, and Dad’s tired, and quite frankly it sounds kind of fun to hang out with Zack. Does that make me a crazy person? “Look, I'm not trying to minimize what Zack did to me. But I know you like to hang out with him, and I know he kept you company last year when I was gone. Going over to his house for dinner doesn't mean that he's been forgiven or that has sins have been forgotten.” I exhale and slide my palms down the front of my red skirt. “But don't you think he deserves a second chance? You gave one to Jennifer.”
Charlie purses his thin lips and tucks his hands into the pockets of his paint-covered overalls. He must believe in second chances, or he really wouldn’t be having an affair with Jennifer. We haven't talked about that yet; it seems so unimportant right now. Dad's health is the only thing that matters.
“I guess they'll probably have a full spread over there …” He starts, and I grin. I don't need to keep pressing: I’ve already won him over. Dad says I forgive too easily, but he also believes in the power of forgiveness. It’s a fine line to walk.
So on Thursday, we had over to the Brooks’ family home in Dad's rusted-out Ford. It rattles down the pristine white limestone driveway, coming to a stop near an impressive set of steps. The porch on this house is as big as the entire Train Car.
Zack is waiting outside, leaning casually against the wall near the front door with his big hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks. I surprised to see him dressed up in a white button-down and jacket. He seems so uncomfortable in it, like he'd rather be in sweats and a tank, working out in the gym. Even though he seems nonchalant, I can tell he’s nervous about our visit. Probably nervous about confronting my father. As he should be, anyway.
Charlie gets out of the car in his unflattering yellow and red plaid button-down (I tried to convince him not to wear it) and brown slacks. Pretty sure this is the same outfit he wore to his friend’s wedding two or three decades ago. He’s also wearing an extreme frown that looks carved into the slightly wrinkled planes of his face. As he makes his way around the front of the truck and heads up the stairs, Zack lifts his head and meets my eyes.
There's no doubt about it: my heart stumbles, trips, falls. I have a hard time breathing, and my palms are suddenly sweaty. I curse those damn teenage hormones out again, and roll my eyes as Charlie approaches Zack with a no-nonsense expression on his face.
“Zack.”
“Mr. Reed.”
The two men stare each other down, and I wait at the bottom of the steps to see who will break the tension first. Even though I can tell it pains him, Zack is the one to do it, glancing away from my father and toward the rocking chair covered pumpkins, bits of hay, and a smiling scarecrow. The entire porch is decorated in fall themes: orange, red, and yellow leaves, turkey silhouettes, horns of plenty. I wonder who did the decorating? Probably someone that was paid to do it. The Brooks don’t exactly strike me as a family who does their own decorating.
Zack looks back to my father again, and meets his stare dead-on.
“Sir, I apologized to your daughter once, but I'll do it again. I’d like to apologize to you, too.” Zack lifts his chin proudly. “For the things I've done, there are no words to make up for it. But I really am sorry. From now on, I'll try to be a better man. It wasn't Marnye’s job to teach me how to be one, but she already has anyway.” Zack turns his brown gaze over to me, and I feel a little thrill shoot through me. It takes everything I have in me not to fidget. “Thank you, Marnye.”
Before I can think of what to say, the front door opens, and Zack's mom, Robin, steps out. She’s dressed in a tasteful cream suit with low heels, her chocolate hair frothing around her face. When she sees me, she smiles.
“To be honest,” she says, as she tucks her hands in her pockets and steps onto the deck, “I didn't think you were going to accept our invitation. But I'm glad you did.” Robin glances over at Charlie, and they shake hands in a very businesslike manner. I know they had a long, long conversation at the football game, but I’m not entirely sure how it went down. “Come on in.”
Robin gestures for us to head inside, and we do, moving down a long, marble hallway and into a formal dining room that’s laid out like a magazine spread.
“My parents love to put on a show,” Zack whispers, leaning over my shoulder and putting his lips near my ear. My entire body goes white-hot in an instant and goose bumps spring up along my arms. Luckily, Dad is too busy being introduced to Zack’s sister, Kelsey, and some family friends of theirs. Zack’s dad is nowhere to be seen. “Just … don’t praise my mom for her home cooking,” he adds with a slight quirk of his mouth. “It’s all catered.”
Zack pulls out a chair for me, and I tuck my fluffy red skirt under my thighs before sitting. He rests his hands briefly on my shoulders before pushing me in and sitting beside me. Charlie’s definitely watching us now, and I flush.
“I have to admit, I didn’t want to come over here,” Dad says as he sits across from me, and Robin takes up her spot at the head of the table. Zack’s sister sits across from him, and the couple—I didn’t catch either of their names—is at the end of the table. “But my daughter is a very forgiving soul. It’s a trait I can’t bear to discourage.”
I smile tightly, and Zack raises both of his dark brows. If Charlie only knew … Would he be proud of me? Or disappointed? I try not to think too hard about it.
“Well, my son is quite the opposite, unfortunately,” Robin says, and Zack narrows his eyes. He looks at his mother, and they exchange one of those quiet, personal conversations that requires no words. “He seems to take after his father, sadly enough.”
“Why do you say things like that?” Zack whispers, his voice low and dark, menacing. “You know that’s a bunch of bullshit. I’m nothing like him.”
“What you did to this girl,” Robin says, as she stands up with a pair of carving knives in hand. She’s a bit scary like that. “That was something your father would’ve done at your age. If you’re ashamed, then good: you should be.”
Zack scowls, but I smile. Robin reminds me of Kathleen a little, just a bit … softer? After a moment, she sighs and forces a smile of her own.
“I love you, son. Don’t mess this up. Pulling a girl’s pigtails because you like her isn’t cute.”
“Like her?” Dad echoes, looking between me and Zack like he’s just now figured something out.
Oh god.
Robin chuckles as Charlie narrows his eyes on her son. Meanwhile, Zack just sits there like he always does, a chiseled bunch of muscles and a narrowed dark gaze. When he glances over at me, I suddenly decide we’re sitting too close. But would scooting my chair away a few inches be too obvious? Probably.
“The boy has a crush,” Robin says, and her friends both laugh while Dad sits there with his brow all scrunched up. Zack’s sister, Kelsey, isn’t shy about voicing her opinions either. She doesn’t look like Zack or her mother, so I figure her pale orange hair and light green eyes are a product of their father’s genetics.
“He pined after her all last year. It was absolutely intoxicating.”
Zack growls at his sister, but Robin just tsk-tsks at them and starts to carve the turkey, passing out slices to me and Dad first, then her friends, her daughter, and lastly, her son. She winks at him when she finally passes over the plate.
“I’m just glad they’re both going to the academy,” Kelsey says, smiling prettily at me. She seems nice enough, but I’m so wary of beautiful girls
now. I shouldn’t be—that’s some stupid internalized misogyny right there—but it’s true. I’m scared of beautiful boys, too, so at least nobody could call me sexist. “Zack’s basically obsessed.”
“Okay, Kelsey, you can shut the fuck up now,” Zack says, but I’m holding back laughter, and Dad is terrified out of his mind.
“The f-word at the dinner table? Come on, Zack Marcus Brooks, have some class.” Robin takes her seat, and we all serve ourselves from the side dishes. Everything looks so pretty, like it’s from a cooking show or something. It’s prettier than last year, when Zack and I sat at a big, lonely table all by ourselves. This is much better.
I’m overwhelmed briefly by déjà vu, like I’m playing out the same story out, just with a different outcome. Creed with the notebook, Zack at Thanksgiving. But this time, when the bet is won, and hearts are being shattered like fragile glass baubles, it won’t be mine that’s on the ground in bloodied pieces.
No, this time, it’s the Idols who are going to get a taste of their own medicine.
I smile as I scoop up a bit of sweet potato and catch Zack watching me.
Underneath the table, his long leg bumps into mine, and I feel my throat get suddenly tight. Butterflies take over, and it takes all I’ve got to focus on the conversation at hand. Apparently Robin’s friends own a vineyard and they’re looking for someone to create some custom ironwork arches, benches, and beds for their B&B. Dad ends up with a job and a glass of scotch that costs more than his car, while Zack and I retreat to the backyard and dip our legs in the heated pool.
We’re sitting close enough that our thighs line up. It’s funny, looking at them like that. Mine is so much smaller than his.
“You pined for me all last year, huh?” I ask, and Zack’s mouth purses tight. He has such a full lower lip. As I stare at it, I can’t help but remember that kiss at the football stadium, and it’s just … like, all of the feels. All of them.
“Maybe.” He turns to look at me, moonlight catching on his masculine features, that straight Greek nose of his, that full mouth. Goodness. I exhale sharply and turn away, looking out across the water. “Would it make any difference?”
“Not really.” But maybe. I keep that thought to myself, knocking my heels against the side of the pool. “How did you and Lizzie come to make that bet anyway?”
Zack goes still beside me, but after a moment, he exhales, like he’s given up.
“Lizzie was a senior member of the Infinity Club; she was sponsoring me. A sponsor always has to challenge their new recruit to a game with high stakes. She was goaded by the other girls. Don’t let Harper or Becky or anyone else pretend to be innocent in all of that.”
“And you? Who were you goaded by? Are you going to blame Tristan, Creed, and Zayd for what you did?” Zack shakes his head, reaching up to run his palm over his hair. His shirt is unbuttoned now, and he’s rolled his slacks up to his knees. Seeing his interactions with his mother, it’s clear he wore the outfit to please her. It’s kind of cute actually, to get this little snippet of his life that shows he cares. It makes this very clear distinction in my mind between Zack and Creed.
Creed doesn’t care if he upsets his family or not. Well, I mean he cares, but yet he does it anyway. It’s so frustrating to watch.
“No. I take full responsibility for my actions.” Zack sighs again, like he’s suddenly so tired. “But you’ve seen them: they’re monsters. All three of them. Honestly, Marnye, take your revenge and then run. You won’t see any remorse from them.”
“I’m not expecting any,” I admit, looking at the curving maze of gardens that makes up Zack’s backyard. Well, one of his backyards I guess, considering I’ve already seen three of his family’s houses: this one, the lake house from last year, and the place he used to live when he attended LBMS. I wonder why his grandfather chose to cut his family off in the first place … and what spurred him to give it all back? “That’s not the point of all of this. Their whole lives, they’ve gotten away with whatever they wanted. The rest of their lives, they probably will, too. For this one, tiny blip on their timeline, I want them to know what it feels like. If it stops them from victimizing one person, then it’s worth it.”
“And that’s it?” Zack asks, voice gently probing, but not pushing. “It has nothing to do with the fact that they broke your heart?”
I purse my lips tight and dig my nails into the cement edge of the pool.
“If it does, it’s none of your business,” I tell him, my voice rough. He turns away sharply, and we sit there in silence for several minutes, the water lapping at our bare legs.
“We don’t deserve you,” Zack growls finally, pushing away from the edge of the pool. “Not a single one of us. Remember that, Marnye.” He turns and pads away with wet feet.
I sit there staring at my reflection until Charlie comes to get me, wondering about my own motivations.
Wondering if my broken glass heart isn’t still making me bleed.
After break, school starts off at a run and doesn’t slow down. I have so little downtime that my revenge plans come to a brief halt while I catch up on my studies, cheer team practices, and orchestra rehearsals. Zack has started training for track and field in February, and Miranda is off in la-la land with Jessie. They are now officially dating. I’m excited for them, but sometimes I catch Miranda gazing off into the distance like she’s daydreaming about someone else.
Uh-oh.
My tutoring activities with Creed continue, and the school’s so impressed with my ‘resilience’ (as they’ve called it), that I’ve been drafted into being a student mentor. Basically, I’m there to help students who are having issues with bullying, or help guide first-years who are struggling. Of course, nobody ever signs up to work with me. I still get credit for it though, so that’s fine.
During the end of our first week back, I strike gold by pure accident.
I’m on my way from my dorm—somebody’s scratched the word Brothel into the door yet again—to the mixed media room to practice some songs for the winter concert. When I get there, however, the room is occupied by Zayd and his cronies.
His howling laughter echoes out into the hall as I pause and glance in. Becky is all over him, making my stomach turn as she nuzzles up against him. She’s changed out of her uniform into a pink tank with no bra, and she’s pressing her chest against his. I wonder if they’ve had sex? I figure they probably have, and my stomach twists in disgusts.
I end up clutching a fist against my chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of my heart.
Did I … get my heart broken by Zayd?
It certainly feels that way, watching him laugh and joke with his friends. When he presses a flat kiss to Becky’s mouth, a sour taste rises in the back of my throat. His hair is now dyed a pale blue with dark roots, and his makeup is stage-dark, like he’s getting ready for a concert. All that eyeliner highlights how beautiful his green eyes are, how long his lashes.
“Like, my new album sucks, but it’s going to sell, you know that I mean?” Zayd asks, his husky rockstar voice giving me the chills. Without a second’s hesitation, I pull out my phone and start recording. There’s nothing like letting these Idol idiots hang themselves.
“You mean because Plebs are so fucking stupid, they’ll buy it regardless?” Becky asks, her laugh this grating sound that makes my skin crawl. She enjoys torture and pain like nobody but Harper du Pont.
“Yeah, like,” Zayd starts, and then he gets out a cigarette and lights up. Smoking inside the chapel building is a strict taboo, but he doesn’t seem to care, blowing gray smoke out from between his sexy lips. Watching his tattooed fingers clutch the cigarette shouldn’t turn me on—I hate smoking, as a rule—but some random rebellious part of me is turned one. “I write this profound shit, and it does well, but not good enough. The record label is breathing down my neck for another hit. So they have some ghost writers drum up this drivel, and tell me it’s going to make me famous. Maybe there’s a reason some people are poor
? They’re stupid enough to spend what little money they have on this crap album.”
The whole crowd laughs, and my gut turns to ice. Wow. How fucking dare he insult his fans like that? Raking in their hard-earned money and mocking them for it.
“Anyway, you guys want to hear the new single? The peons are going to absolutely lap it up.” Becky climbs Zayd like a koala, and I swear, there’s this flash of annoyance on his face as he gets out his phone and presses play on a pop-rock song that’s a bit catchier than I’d like to admit.
Guess there’s a reason I’m a peon, right? Dick.
“Once this is over, let’s go back to my room and I’ll suck you off,” Becky purrs, rubbing herself all over Zayd and licking along the length of his ear. He pushes her back a step and she stumbles.
“Can we, like listen to this damn song?” he snaps, and her blue eyes go wide. She reaches out and pinches Zayd’s tattooed arm with her long nails, and he sneers at her.
“You were all down for fucking until you started playing around with the Working Girl. Guess I can’t compete with a prostitute’s skillset, huh?”
“Becky, shut the hell up,” Zayd groans, letting his head fall back, ink crawling up from underneath his wrinkled academy shirt.
“No, I will not shut up,” she continues, and Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Greg, and John all exchange looks with each other. “You have been so freaking weird. All summer you were weird. What is it about that low-class bitch that you’re so obsessed with?”
Zayd drops his head and narrows his green eyes. I sense vitriol in the air.
“Low-class? Marnye might be trailer trash”—ouch, Zayd—“but she’s a hundred times classier than you. I’m so done with your shit, Becky. You want me to be your boyfriend or something? Newsflash: I’m not interested anymore. Fuck, I was never interested. It was a game to see if I could get you, and guess what? You were a hundred times easier to dupe than Charity ever was.”
Becky reaches out and slaps Zayd as hard as she can before turning and storming up the steps toward me. I scramble out of the way and duck into The Mess before she gets out the door. There’s no one inside, fortunately, and once I think she’s had enough time to leave, I creep back out.
Bad, Bad Blu Bloods Page 14
