Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Are you okay?” I ask, even though I know I shouldn’t bother. He was horrible to me, the worst of all the Idols. And yet … I can’t control that small surge of empathy. Tristan turns on me in an instant, storming across the hall. I end up backing up, even though I don’t mean to.

He gets right up in my face, jaw clenched, anger surging through him in waves.

Without a word, he reaches up and snatches the necklace from my throat, breaking the chain in the process. My heart is racing so hard and fast that I can barely breathe. When he turns and storms over to the trash can, I’m left

gaping as he yanks the Rolex off his wrist and shoves both pieces of jewelry as deep into the bin as he can get them, staining the sleeve of his perfect white jacket with something red that I think is ketchup. But then he sniffles and I realize that blood is actually running from his nose. It drips onto his chest and sleeve as he turns back to face me.

“Do not talk to me, Charity,” he snaps, practically grinding his teeth. “Do not look at me. Don’t even think about me. If you do, I’ll break you worse than Zack did. And I won’t be there to make you throw up the pills when I’m done.” He spins on his heel and storms down the hallway, leaving me gaping behind him.

What the hell was that all about?!

I flip him off behind his back … and then I dig through the garbage again.

I know things are going to get bad for me this week when I step into the courtyard with the stag statue and the fountain, and find Harper du Pont deep in conversation with my father. Shit, I took too long.

Moving as fast as I can, I close the distance between us and step up beside Charlie with a huge smile on my face.

“Dad.”

“Marnye-bear!” he says, giving me a huge hug. It feels so good to be in his arms that for a split-second, I forget that the queen bitch of Burberry Prep Academy is standing right next to us, her glorious brunette hair blowing in the wind. My jaw clenches, but I manage to maintain a grimace, if not an actual smile. “I was just talking to your friend, Harper.”

“Well, friend wouldn’t quite be the right word.” It takes physical effort, but I resist the urge to tell Charlie that Harper is one of the ones who beat me, and that it was on her orders that it happened at all. I had that chance, last year, when I was questioned by the staff. They all saw what the boys did, how they threw the panties, but hardly anything came of it. Ratting the girls out would likely do little to nothing. No, I’ll take my own revenge, thank you very much.

As things stand, the only punishment the boys received was a slap on the freaking wrist. They had their honors and letters from first year rescinded, and I’m pretty sure the academy squeezed some fat donations from their parents. Once again, their money saved them from facing any consequences for their actions.

“Oh?” Charlie asks, looking between Harper and me with a confused expression on his gently wrinkled face. Harper smirks at me, but I could give a shit less. Instead, I reach under my shirt and pull out the necklace. When Tristan ripped it from my neck, the clasp snapped, but I simply tied the chain into a knot. Crafty, right?

When her blue eyes land on the pair of roses dangling on the end, I see her face light up with fury.

“Dad, among other ventures, Harper’s family runs Myler Medical Technologies,” I begin as Harper glares at me. “Her sister took over as CEO about ten years ago, and slowly raised the price of the epinephrine injector pen from fifty dollars per injector to six hundred for a two-pack. It raised the company’s profits to a record-level two billion dollars per year, and her own salary to nineteen million.” I look from Harper to Charlie. “You know how our neighbor was allergic to bees? And how her insurance wouldn’t cover the price difference, so they went without? And then Erica ended up dying from

-”

Harper steps so close to me that I actually have to move back a space to keep her from touching me.

“Did your daddy tell you yet how he’s got late-stage colon and lung cancer? My family has kindly offered up medical care, free of charge, to help see him through it. Good luck, sweetie.” Harper leans in and kisses me on the cheek as my head spins, and I end up sitting on the bricks without even realizing that I’ve fallen.

My knees are bloody and Dad’s trying to talk to me, but I can’t hear anything but a ringing in my ears.

Zack is there suddenly, his mother by his side, and they’re both trying to help Charlie get me to my feet. I sag in their arms as they lift me up, my head spinning, my stomach twisted with nausea.NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

“It’s not true,” I whisper, looking up and into my dad’s brown eyes, so like mine that it’s as if I’m staring into a mirror. His hair is tousled by the wind, his smile so sweet and genuine that it feels impossible. It’s impossible. My dad is not dying. He’s not. I refuse to believe it. “Please say it’s not true.”

I’m sobbing now, and Zack’s trying to put an arm around me. I jerk away from him and stumble.

“Honey, please sit down,” Dad says softly, but I need a minute. I just need one minute. I turn and run across the courtyard, passing a smirking Harper as I go.

“Please say it’s not true,” she chortles as I sprint past.

My feet skid on the bricks, and I whirl around, tears streaming down my face.

“What did you just say?” I grind out, and Harper tosses her hair.

“You heard me: your dad’s dead without my family’s charity. Try to be a little grateful, bitch.” Red flashes across my vision, and before I can think better of it, I launch myself at Harper. My right fist flies forward and hits her in her pretty face. There’s a satisfying crack of cartilage before blood begins to pour from her nose.

I’ve just broken Rule #1: No ViolenFe.

But … my dad …

“Charity!” a familiar voice calls out seconds before Zayd’s arms wrap around me from behind. I flail and struggle against him, throwing an elbow back that nails him right in the ribs. He grunts, but his tattooed arms stay tight around me. I hit him again and manage to break free before I’m launching myself at Harper and knocking her to the brick walkway.

“Marnye, stop!” Miranda and Kathleen Cabot appear with Creed close behind. He watches with that bored, lazy look of his as the two women yank me off and haul me back several feet. Harper pushes up to her feet, smirking, blood running over her lips. She looks happy about what’s just happened.

And then I realize the mistake I’ve made, and a small, sad sound slips past my lips.

“You are so done, Working Girl,” Harper crows, using the post near her to stay upright. I notice that nobody offers a hand out to her. My eyes dart around the gathered crowd, from Dad, Zack, and his mom, Robin, running up to us, and then over to Miranda, Kathleen, and Creed. Zayd is behind me, panting, his uniform as disheveled and wrinkled as always, his tie hanging loose and crooked. “I’m reporting you.”