Bad, Bad Blu Bloods

by Stunich, C. M.

  Zack thinks for a moment, letting his chin fall down and his eyes close. After a moment, he looks back up at me and gives me a sexy sideways smirk.

  “I could. It's risky though, with the bodyguard guy patrolling the halls, and all those new cameras. But if we had a cover story, some reason to be over there that didn't involve … whatever it is that you're up to, it might work.” His smirk turns into a grin, and I shift uncomfortably. “I'm assuming this has to do with the revenge plot?”

  “Maybe …” I hedge, and Zack's grin gets a little wider.

  “Let me put a shirt on then.” He pauses and takes a few steps closer to me, his chocolate brown eyes staring at me through his thick lashes. “Unless … you'd rather I wasn't wearing one?”

  “Shirt is fine,” I blurt, holding my ground. “But if you have an extra sweater, I'll take it. It's freezing outside.” Zack laughs at me, and snatches his hoodie from the back of the couch, tossing it over to me. I slip it on and quickly realize that drowning in a big, soft, Zack-scented hoodie is both a blessing and a curse. If I were his girlfriend, I'd wear his hoodie all the time.

  “Right,” Zack says, taking in my much smaller form as I burrow in his hoodie, and running his tongue over his lower lip. “Sure, and lock picking kit.”

  “You brought a lock picking kit to the academy?”

  Zack glances over his shoulder and grins, this dark sensual expression that gives me goose bumps.

  “I guess you can take the boy out of the bad school, but you can't take the bad out of the boy.” He winks theatrically at me, and I can't decide if what he's just said is sexy or hilarious.

  I choose the safer option and laugh, but that doesn't mean that my heart doesn't race or that I don't bundle the hoodie close around me.

  Zack and I head outside together, moving through the winter-dead gardens toward a cluster of admin buildings. There are a few students here and there, but because of the cold front we got last week, most people are still inside. It really is chilly out here.

  Campus security patrols the area regularly, and I know there are cameras, too. I also know that the footage isn't regularly checked, not unless there's a problem.

  Besides, Zack says he has a plan.

  As we approach the door to Miss Peregrine’s office, Zack grabs me by the shoulders and turns me around, looking straight into my face with a very serious expression.

  “Will you trust me with this?” he asks, voice sober. “I’m not asking you to trust me all the time, just right now.”

  I nod my head, and before I know it, Zack is backing me up against the door. He wraps his right arm around my waist, pressing our bodies together. His mouth drops to mine, warm breath fluttering across my lips.

  “Can I kiss you again?” he whispers, and then he smiles softly. We're so close, I can feel the emotion against my own mouth. “It's all part of the plan, of course. Although, I can't deny that seeing you in my hoodie isn't exciting as fuck.”

  With his left hand, Zack pulls a small metal tool from inside his pocket, and inserts it into the lock on the door. There's not much in these offices but papers, framed certificates, and desks, so the locks aren’t exactly high-tech. I imagine Zack will have us in in no time.

  I also suddenly understand what he meant by having a plan. If we're caught, all the security guard will see are two students making out. They won't see the lockpick, and they won't need to ask what we're doing out here. Even if we get in trouble, we can claim we were trying to get into the office to … have some private time together.

  The logical part of me wants to admit that this is a brilliant plan; the nonlogical part of me has a racing heart, sweating palms, and a sudden heat flaring between her thighs.

  “Kiss me,” I choke out, before I can lose my nerve and take off running. Not only is what I'm about to do important for my revenge against Tristan, but it's also important so that I don't lose what I've worked so hard for. If that plagiarized essay comes out, I could very well be expelled.

  Honestly, some part of me, buried in the deep dark shadows of my chest, has her feelings hurt. I knew Tristan wasn't a good guy, but I always thought that at least when it came to academics, we are willing to fight clean. Looks like I was wrong. And that kills me. “Do it—” I start, and Zack cuts me off with a punishing kiss that's all heat and passion and desire.

  His right arm flexes, and it's a joy to feel those rock-hard muscles pulling me against him, tucking my body against his. His smell, that grapefruit and nutmeg musk of his, surrounds me like a cloud. Not only does he smell glorious, but his hoodie's not half-bad either.

  His tongue slides across my lower lip, dives into my mouth, and draws an embarrassing groan from me. My hands fist in the front of the hoodie that he's wearing, and within seconds, there's the clicking sound of a lock, and the pair of us are stumbling into the empty office.

  Zack heels the door shut behind him, but he doesn't stop kissing me. In fact, I somehow end up sitting on the edge of Miss Peregrine’s desk with his huge body between my thighs. He pushes up against me, and I can feel a hardness in his sweats that wasn't there before.

  This is such a bad idea, I think to myself, but that doesn't stop me from wrapping my legs around him and kissing harder. Zack is moaning now, too, and after he slips the little metal lockpick back into his pocket, he uses both hands to cup my ass. His fingers knead my flesh as I arch into him. Heat blossoms so wild and hot between us, that I almost forget what I'm doing and why I’m there … that I almost forget what he did to me.

  Then the realization of where we are and how dangerous this is hits me.

  My palms come up to push against Zack's chest, and he pauses, lifting his mouth just slightly away from mine. I can still feel the hardness between his legs, and the answering heat between mine.

  “Will you keep watch at the door?” I whisper, and Zack closes his eyes like he's in pain. He exhales sharply, closes his eyes and nods before stepping away. When he turns around, and thinks I'm not looking, he reaches into his sweats and … adjusts himself.

  Even with my body flushed and hot, and a warm liquid feeling between my thighs, I manage to get up and find a stack of papers next to a scanner and a shredder. There are instructions on the wall, laminated, and impossible to miss.

  Scan both sides of the assignment.

  Check to make sure the images are readable.

  Shred the pages.

  Make sure each assignment file is labeled with the student's name and ID number.

  Shit.

  Frantically, I search the stack of papers in the wire basket next to the scanner, and breathe a huge sigh of relief when I find the ones with my name on them. Next, I search out Tristan's assignments.

  For a moment, I get lost in the words of this essay. He's a brilliant writer, maybe better than me even. I tell myself I'm reading the assignment to make sure this plan will actually work, if there's anything in Tristan's essay that will give the fake one I wrote away. But no, even though he's a good writer, he's like me: he only writes academically, not with his heart or soul.

  The only time I wrote that way… No. I refuse to think about Creed reading my essay aloud. I got him back, and I got him back good.

  I take Tristan's essay, fold it up, and slip it into the front pocket of the hoodie. Then I take out two more essays from inside that giant pocket, one that's a reprint of the essay I originally turned in, and one that's a plausible but pretty terrible essay. I thought about writing Tristan an F-worthy paper, but I thought that might be too obvious. I even considered putting his name on Gena Whitley's plagiarized essay, but that's not my style either.

  I slip the two new essays back into the pile, making sure I put them in the same spots that the others were before. The plagiarized essay with my name on it also goes in my pocket, and then I do the same for the tests. Only this time, since the names can be easily erased, all I do is put my name on Tristan's paper, and his on the one that was planted by Becky.

  “One of the
campus security guards just walked by,” Zack whispers. “This might be a good time to slip out.”

  I double and triple check to make sure that we have everything we came with, and that everything is left exactly as is.

  When I move to stand beside Zack, he glances over at me, his gaze still lust-darkened, his lips still swollen from our kisses.

  He opens the door and we step outside, making sure it's locked before we close it. We head back to the chapel building; I disappear into my dorm and close the door quickly behind me while Zack pads off down the hallway.

  We don't talk about what happened in Miss Peregrine’s office for a long, long time.

  Next week, just before winter break, when grades are posted again, Tristan’s drops substantially and I am now clearly in the lead again.

  Take that, asshole.

  “Tristan is furious,” Creed says, as he drapes himself over the chair next to mine in preparation for our tutoring session. I glance over at him, but I have this rule about having personal or private conversations with the Idol guys. It's just a no-go at this point.

  Still, I can't help myself from teasing him.

  “Whatever for?” I ask innocently, using my academy-issued iPad to pull up the assignment that we’re supposed to be working on.

  Creed laughs, and his laugh is just as lazy as everything else about him. Insouciant. Cavalier. Disregardful.

  “Oh, don't act like such an innocent little lamb,” he purrs, leaning in toward me, his eyes half-lidded, a wry smile on his lips. We haven't talked about what happened on Halloween. I imagine we’re never going to. “We all knew what Tristan, Harper and Becky had planned. So who told you?” I ignore him and focus on the assignment. Not only am I helping him with his, but I also have to complete mine. “Was it Zayd?”

  “Why don't you focus more on your work and less on what everybody else is doing? Maybe then you could stop being second-best to Tristan.” I make myself smile as Creed frowns. In the back of my mind, I’m still dreaming up ways to mess with Tristan Vanderbilt. All I did this time was avert disaster for myself. Knocking him back to the second place spot he would've been in anyway if he’d left my essay and test alone, is not enough.

  I think my only option at this point is Lizzie. I’m going to have to give her a call after this.

  Creed reaches over suddenly, grabbing the arms of my chair and turning me to face him. One of his knees goes between my legs, and his hands keep my wrists pinned to the armrests. He leans in so close that our cheeks almost touch.

  “If we wanted to,” he starts, putting his mouth to my ear and giving it a little lick, “we could destroy you and have you begging for more within the span of a week. We could make your entire life a living hell, not just the one you have at the school.”

  Since Creed’s knee is between my thighs, that puts my own knee up close and personal with his crotch. I knee him hard in the junk, and he releases me, rearing back like I've … well, just kicked him in the balls. His eyes narrow to slits.

  “If that's the case, then why haven't you done it already?” He stares back at me and says nothing, does nothing. “I know your personal reasons, but what about Tristan? What about Zayd?” I stand up from the table, shoving my supplies into my bookbag and turning a full-force glare on Creed. “Here's some dirt to deliver back to the King.” Creed’s face twists in disgust at the word. “Tell him that I'm nowhere near done with him. If he wants to mess with the bull, he's going to get the horns.” I lift my chin up, spinning in a swirl of skirts, and take off through the quiet darkness of the library.

  Creed doesn't bother to follow or call after me. But that place where he licked my ear … it still burns.

  There's a party the Thursday before winter formal, and the day before the second year’s leave for their ski trip. The only reason I know about it is because the Idols paid one of the Plebs to use their off-campus privileges to go and buy them new dresses. The girl, that very same Clarissa that badmouthed me and was banned from the swim team by Zayd last year, is the one talking about it in the hall as I walk by.

  After classes let out for the day, I dress up, head over to Zack's room, and pray that he is not shirtless and wearing shorts again before I knock.

  When he answers, he’s still dressed in his academy uniform, and he raises his brows at the pink jumpsuit and heels I’ve got on.

  “You look nice,” he says, and the way the word nice comes out of his mouth … I know he means a whole hell of a lot more than just that. My cheeks flush, but I manage to hold his gaze without stuttering.

  “Thanks. I'm on a mission tonight. Would you mind accompanying me?” Zack looks pretty shocked, but I know I can't go to an Infinity Club party without an Infinity Club member. I thought about asking Andrew, but despite Creed’s warnings, Greg and John are stalking him in the hallways, trying to find him alone in a dark corner, if you know what I mean. Last time it happened, it was a Saturday night, and Andrew videoed the entire encounter. He just barely managed to make it back to his dorm in time. So I don't want to put Andrew in danger, and the only Infinity Club member I know that I don't have an ongoing feud with is Zack.

  “Where are we going?”

  I smile, and with my left hand, I play with the necklace hanging around my throat.

  “To the Infinity Club party.”

  Zack's smile falls away, but mine stays right where it is.

  This time, the Idols have commandeered the use of the amphitheater, the same one that I was beat up in, doused with paint, and humiliated beyond belief.

  Does not feel like a coincidence to me.

  Zack leads the way, dressed casually in jeans, sneakers, and an old football hoodie from his last school. He peels down his waistband and shows his infinity tattoo to the guy at the door before we head inside. The last few Club parties I’ve been to didn't seem this official. They must be amping up security.

  “You could've taken him,” I whisper, smiling, “even though he is a fourth year, and I'm pretty sure he's on the varsity team based on the way he glared at you.”

  Zack gives me a little grin and shrugs his massive shoulders.

  “Yeah, he's on the team, so by default he hates my guts.” His mouth twitches a little. “But yeah, you're right: I could've taken him. Thing is, I'm guessing you have some special shit to stir up tonight. I didn't want to steal all of your thunder.” Zack keeps my arm tucked in his as we weave through rows of seats filled with students making out, drinking, or playing cards. On the stage at the front of the room, that very same stage I sat on with my harp, the Bluebloods are situated around tables covered in what look like … knuckle bones? Gross.

  “You remember the plan right?” I ask Zack, as I feel all of those judging eyes swing over to me. He nods briefly, and we make our way up the steps towards the table where Tristan, Zayd, and Creed are sitting with Becky, Harper, and Ileana.

  Tristan sneers at me, and tosses the bones on the table. I mean, he can't exactly complain about what I did to him considering it was a lot less bad than what he wanted to do to me. I didn't give him the plagiarized essay, even though I could have.

  “You must be stupid, if you came here willingly,” he snaps, losing that practiced self-control that I both hated and admired from last year. I can see the faintest outline of a bruise on his face, and my hand clenches into a small fist at my side. As much as I dislike the guy, I think his dad might be beating him. That's never okay.

  “Are those bones?” I ask, looking skeptically at the little white and cream-colored bits on the table. Harper flips her brunette waves over her shoulder and smirks at me. Her right hand comes to rest on Tristan's, and she weaves their fingers together before giving his a squeeze. Much as I hate to admit it, the sight makes me feel sick to my stomach.

  “My dad has a private museum in his New York penthouse. He's a bit of the Civil War nut.” The way Harper’s smiling at me reminds me of the Grinch, like the expression is crawling across her face like a disease. “He has a whole storage
room full of useless artifacts he’s forgotten about. These bones were never going to see the light of day anyway, so I borrowed them.” She shrugs her shoulders, her shimmery black dress catching the light. “And they only cost him, what, four or five hundred K?”

  “You're playing jacks with real human knuckle bones?” Zack snarls, stepping up so close to the table that it rattles. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have any respect? These aren’t just game pieces, these are parts of actual human beings.”

  I speak up before anyone else can, letting my history buff side show.

  “In France, in the 1800s, when the church moved bones from a crowded cemetery to the now famous catacombs, there were big holes left in the ground filled with human fat. Merchants gathered the stuff and made candles and soap. They then labeled them as the Innocents, and sold them to the wealthy who knowingly used them despite being aware of where they came from. They actually liked that, thinking of human beings as worth so little they could burn them simply to light a room.” I turn to look at Zack, even as Becky sneers and starts bitching.

  “Like we give a crap about some stupid history lesson. They’re long dead, and nobody gives a shit but you what happens to the bones of some dumb ass soldiers. If they mattered, they'd have been generals or presidents or politicians, and their bones wouldn’t have been rotting in some storage unit.” Becky reaches up to touch her hair, which is twisted, coiffed, and covered with so much hairspray that it's hard to see the chunk that I cut off. Knowing it’s there is enough for me though.

  I ignore her and focus on that, fully aware that Creed and Zayd are watching me.

  “Certain individuals see other humans as lesser than them, like they think they’re gods or something. But tell me: how does a god get an ugly, bald patch shaved off the side of their head?”

  Becky stands up, like she's going to launch yourself at me. I just stand there and stare at her as Harper grabs her arm and digs her fingernails into her best friend’s skin. The two of them exchange a look that I can't quite read.