Windsor shrugs and washes the dishes, stacking them neatly in the box he used to carry them over. It’s kind of cool to see a billionaire prince doing domestic work. I shift and accidentally end up pressing against Zack. More specifically, pressing between his legs. My back is to his front, and when I wiggle again, I hear him exhale sharply.

“Don’t like to be followed around all the time. Bloody annoying. I figure if I get shot, I probably deserve it.” He uses his wet palm to push red hair from his forehead, and it stays right where it is: sticking straight up.

Zack’s arms slide around me, and I shiver, putting my hands over his as he clasps them over my stomach. I’m totally aware that Jessie, Miranda, and Andrew are all staring at us, but I can barely hear anything over the pounding of my heart.

“I should’ve been there to help,” he whispers, sounding pained. I close my eyes, but I have no idea what to say. This whole day’s just been … fucked. I don’t curse much, but there’s not many other words in the English language that could encompass what I just went through. “I’m sorry, Marnye.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Windsor starts rinsing out the teapot.

My friends start making their way off my bed, stretching and yawning. Soon, I’ll be in here all alone, staring at the wall and reimagining that scenario over and over again. Oh god. No, thank you. I wet my lips, desperate to ask someone to stay with me.

The obvious choice is Zack, but … I lean back into him, and I like the way he feels so much that it’s scary. If he stayed in here tonight, then I—

A knock sounds at the door, and we all jump.

Miranda and I exchange a look, but Windsor’s already swept over to answer it, flinging the door wide and giving us yet another taste of his eccentric personality. I think that’s a real world metaphor right there: he isn’t afraid, isn’t tentative, and so unashamed that he’s willing to open the door on everything without a second thought.

My mouth drops open when I see who’s waiting outside.

The Idol boys are on my doorstep.

Tristan Vanderbilt. Zayd Kaiser. Creed Cabot.

The three of them are standing there, dressed in their matching but oh-so-differently-worn uniforms. Tristan’s is spic and span, creased to the heavens; Zayd’s is wrinkled, mussy, and unbuttoned from neck to navel; Creed’s is clean and fresh, but gently tousled like he’s just woken from a nap.

My throat goes dry as Tristan crosses his arms over his chest.

“What happened today? We can’t get a straight answer from the girls. I want it from the horse’s mouth.”

“This horse was almost killed by your fiancée and her besties today,” I snap, starting to shake. Something about seeing all three of them together like that … I feel both rage and melancholy. Rage because I feel like no amount of revenge will ever be enough. I want more. I want to tear them down and break them until they come to me on their hands and knees, begging for release. And yet … I miss them, too. Terribly.

Life is confusing, and it sucks.

Tristan strides forward, but Windsor puts out his boot, blocking him. That’s another thing I’ve noticed: Windsor York is the only guy at this school who wears boots instead of loafers with his uniform.

“You can’t come in without the lady’s permission,” Windsor says, his voice coloring with a threat. “This is her space, not yours.”

The King of the School bristles, and sneers, but there’s something else going on with him that I can’t place. He’s practically shaking.

“We want to talk to Marnye—alone.” Tristan stares Windsor down, but instead of buckling like most people do, the prince just smiles.

“That’s up to her. Ask nicely and maybe she’ll say yes.”

“Like, bro, who the fuck are you?” Zayd snaps, pushing Tristan out of the way and pausing in the door. He glances over at me, and to be honest, he looks like shit. He actually looks like he might puke all over the expensive rugs Kathleen Cabot bought for my dorm room floor. I’m walking on more money in here than my dad has in my college fund. “You just moved in here, and you think you know shit about what goes on?”

“I know the Infinity Club owns this school,” Windsor begins, ticking things off on his hand. “I know they’re desperate to have me as a member, but I’ve refused over a dozen times. I know that you’re all part of the Club, and that you used poor Marnye here as a pawn in one of your asinine bets.” He shrugs his shoulders as pretty much every person in the room gapes at him.

I mean … of course a rich, handsome prince knows about the Infinity Club. But also, wow. Wow.

“Marnye, can we come in?” Creed deadpans, leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, his blue eyes focused on me. With Miranda here, he’ll be on his best behavior, so at least there’s that.

I sigh and rake my fingers through my hair.

“Yeah, why not?” I say, and Zack bristles behind me. The three sets of matching glares the Idols throw him when they walk in don’t help. Swear to god, he even growls at them.

“Should we go?” Andrew asks, glancing over at Miranda and Jessie. He turns back to me and lifts his chin, like he’s determined to be here if I need him to, but also willing to leave if that’s what I want.

“Everyone can stay,” I say loudly, as Windsor shuts the door and locks it. Smart man.

Jessie, however, looks intimidated as hell and politely excuses herself. Nobody else makes any move to leave, and Windsor re-locks it behind her.

The Idols fan out near the end of my bed. Zayd looks ashamed to even be standing in here, his eyes wandering the room. I wonder if he’s remembering how he hid a camera in here to film us making out, and then shared it in front of the entire freaking school? I hope so.

We all just stare at each other, and it’s awkward as hell. If I have to watch these videos later, I’m going to get secondhand embarrassment. At least I know my cameras are still running. If the Idols say or do anything incriminating, I’ll have it on film.

“I told you to watch out for the girls,” Creed says with a sigh, like he’s so tired he might just flop onto my bed and cuddle up with me and Zack. There’s something about that thought that excites me, but it’s an impossibility from a distant galaxy that will never happen, so I push it aside. “I told you they were out to get you.”

Tristan glances irritably in his direction before turning his silver eyes on me. His attention makes me want to shift uncomfortably which just makes me rub against Zack, and then it makes Zack … Well, he’s hard again. Pressed right up against my back. Help me, RuPaul, I pray, because I’m really not all that religious, and I’m not sure who to ask for advice.

“What happened today?” Tristan says, his voice cold and authoritative. Everyone in that room perks up to listen … except Windsor. He yawns and flops down in the chair again, swinging one leg over the arm to watch.

Sucking in a deep breath—air never tasted so good—I quickly relive the story. Only Zack’s warm, muscular arms keep me grounded as I talk about those horrific few moments. They felt like freaking hours, though I know based on my level of consciousness at the end there that it was probably only two or three minutes max.

The Idols listen and then exchange glances.

Zayd’s the first one to speak up.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Marnye.” He sits down on the edge of my bed, refusing to acknowledge any sort of social grace or any boundary between us. He looks at me with those emerald green eyes of his. “Why the hell did you come back here?”

“You guys keep asking me that damn question!” I shout, and the words come out much stronger and harsher than I intend them to. I’m panting as I close my eyes and force myself to breathe. “Why do you think I came back here? I earned a scholarship to the best prep school in the country. Why wouldn’t I come back?” I open my eyes to glare at them. “Despite what your rich idiot asses might think, poor people do not want to be poor. Everyone dreams of being able to feed and clothe their family, to live without having to worry that the electricity is going to be shut off, or that their debit card won’t work when they’re trying to buy groceries. Why did I come back here? Because I want to graduate, go to college, and get a good job. I want to take care of my father, and I want to have a life where I can have kids and take care of them, too.” I pause in my rant and notice that the entire room has gone silent. Even Miranda is staring at me with a new sense of understanding.

It’s shocking, the level of privilege these people have, and they don’t even know it.

“I came back here, so I could get back at you for what you did to me,” I add, and then I just give in and relax against Zack. Even if his dick is digging into my back, I don’t care. He’s clearly not doing it on purpose. “So please stop asking me that question. It’s ignorant and asinine, and it’s not going to get you anywhere.”

“Marnye,” Zayd says, ruffling up his pale blue hair with inked fingers. He glances up at Creed and Tristan before turning back to me. “There’s so … fucking much. I don’t even know where to start or how to tell you without breaking all sorts of Club rules, but …”

“The girls have a bet,” Tristan says, very matter-of-factly. He tucks his fingers into the pockets of his slacks, and gives a tight, unhappy little smile. “They want to see if they can do what Zack and Lizzie couldn’t.” My heart stops beating for a whole minute there, I swear. It’s like it’s been replaced with a cube of ice.

“They didn’t act like they were trying to get me to kill myself: they acted like they wanted to kill me with their bare hands.” Tristan exhales, but it’s Creed who answers, his eyes sliding from me to Miranda and back to me again.

“Well, that’s definitely the bet. The Infinity Club is all about those with power changing the world with the flick of a single finger. If the girls can’t get you—an average commoner—to kill yourself or leave the school, then clearly they aren’t ready to step into the shoes of their respective family businesses.” Creed sounds like he’s discussing the weather, not a disgustingly corrupt and secret billionaire Club with no morals, and an even dumber name. “That’s the gist of it, anyway.”