Stuck With The Four Hotties

Is it terrible that I just want her to go away?

The boys get themselves drinks, either cans, bottles, or Solo cups with fancy cocktails like Windsor enjoys. I let them have fun with that, and even though I really liked the pot I tried at Zayd’s party, I decline the joint when he passes it to me.

I have other things to do here tonight.

There are students from every year, almost exclusively from Burberry Prep. The first and second years don’t remember what it was like when Harper and the boys ruled over the school with iron fists of cruelty, but they look at me like a member of the elite, all the same. I bet most of them went to the Burberry elementary and middle school campuses which aren’t far from ours; they probably know all the goings on at the high school from older siblings and online gossip.

The guys don’t ask where I’m going, but they do sort of trail behind me in a procession. I don’t admit to them how much I like that.

Instead, I wait for the Harpies and their Company thugs (Jalen was the last original male Blueblood left, and now he’s gone, too, so it’s all new guys) to settle into one corner of the lounge with their drinks, some cards, and those awful, awful knuckle bones.

“Deal a hand, du Pont,” I tell her, sweeping my dress under my thighs and taking a seat at the table. Harper narrows her eyes on me, sitting on some fourth year’s lap in her pink tights and furry kitty paws. “Because I’m going to wipe the floor with you.”

She laughs at me and sits up, still perched on the company asshole’s lap.

“Really, Working Girl? You want to make a bet with me?”

“If I win, you’re to stop associating with Isabella Carmichael, and you’re not to tell a soul about her father.”

“Which one: the real or the fake?” Harper quips, and Becky giggles, that horrible hyena laugh I hated from moment one. I ignore her. I started with a big list. It’s much, much smaller now. It’s just a matter of time before every name is crossed off of it.

“You think you’re helping me?” Isabella scoffs, dressed up like a … sorry, here it goes again: slutty mouse. Even Miranda uses the word slutty on Halloween, and she’s the biggest anti slut-shaming advocate I know. I don’t even mean it as an insult, just a descriptor. “Leave me alone, Marnye. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Her words hurt, but I brush them aside.

“What do I get if I win?” Harper asks me, smiling prettily. She has a nice mouth. If she used it for something other than smirking, sneering, or scowling then maybe more people would notice? “There’s nothing you have, Working Girl, that I can’t get for myself.”

“You mean besides real friends, a dad that love me unconditionally, and

your ex-fiance?” I quip, and Harper stands up, slamming her palms flat on the table. Becky stops laughing, and Ileana pauses to fix her boobs in her too-tight corset.

“If I win, you stop all this Blueblood nonsense.” She chucks a crumpled orange flyer at me, and I unfold it to find our Halloween party information printed on the front. Denounce the false royals, dance with the Bluebloods it says. Miranda and I designed them in Photoshop, and Zack made copies for us in the staff copy room by picking the lock. “You publicly denounce your role as Idol, splash it on social media, and crawl back into your hole where you belong.”

“Done.”

“Marnye,” Zack warns, but it’s too late. I’m reaching out and grabbing Harper’s hand.

Isabella scoffs, but she doesn’t go anywhere as we set up a game.

We recruit six random students from the crowd, and set up a regular round of Texas Hold ‘Em. First person to a hundred thousand dollars wins. I’m not sure if it’s real or fake money we’re playing with, but knowing the Club … it’s gotta be real, right?

“We’ve got your buy-in,” Creed whispers, leaning down to speak against my ear. I shiver and glance up at him, dressed in a royal blue jacket with gold buttons, a frilly white cravat, and tight, tight white pants with black boots. He’s got a crown perched on his white-blond hair, and the lazy air of a nineteenth century aristocrat. “Take her to the cleaners, Marnye.” He nods, and chips are passed out. It’s a twenty-grand buy-in. No surprise since the Infinity Club doesn’t like to do anything in small measures.

Harper’s a lot harder to read than I thought, mostly because she spends the entire game smirking and scowling. We play several hands, and very quickly, the other students realize they’re outmatched, folding and then collecting what’s left of their money before they bail.

There’s always someone else to take their place.NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

“Even if you win,” Isabella says, standing up after a few rounds. The boys are all fanned behind me like a protective unit, Lizzie hovering nearby. They tense when Isabella moves up to stand beside me. I glance up and find her eyes like flint, her smile as sharp as a knife. She really does look like a mini- Harper, all privilege and spoilt ruin. “It doesn’t matter. Separating me from my friends won’t make you my sister. You’re nothing. You’re so unimportant that Mom dumped you and left you at a public bathroom.” Well, a rest stop technically, but … I exhale and stare her down, pretending her words don’t hurt even when they do. “She told me that, years ago. She even asked me if I wanted to meet you, and you know what I said?” Isabella’s smile sours even further. “I told her no. Why would I want to meet some girl that Mom dumped so long ago? If she’d cared about you, or thought you were worthwhile, why wouldn’t she have kept you?” Isabella shrugs, tosses her hair, and then turns to grab a mask from one of the bins near the door to the massive dance hall.

Ghosts and ghouls spin with sparkling masquerade masks to a classical music playlist I set up last week. It’s all dark, spooky stuff. My favorite song is the Masquerade Suite: Waltz. I’d like to dance to it tonight, if I could.

“Fuck,” I whisper, but Creed puts his hand on one of my shoulders while Zack squeezes the other. I look back to see Tristan, Windsor, and Zayd all there in support, too. They’re all looking at me like maybe I am worthwhile. After all, if I weren’t … then why are they all still here? All five of them. It’d be much easier to dump me and date another girl, right? And based on who they are, t

hey could have any really.