“Fantastic,” I say, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. But then suspicion starts to creep in. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Despite what you might think,” Tristan snaps at me, “we never wanted you to die.” He turns on his heel and heads for the door, slamming it behind him.

“You should just leave before you get hurt,” Zayd says, pauses, and then adds, “again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I snap, glancing over and catching Windsor’s gaze. He winks at me with his pretty hazel eyes.

“There’s not a single club member who doesn’t have the resources to bury you, Marnye,” Creed drawls, leaning back against my wardrobe. “Face it: you’re outnumbered, outranked, and can be out bought at any moment.”

“Not necessarily,” Windsor purrs, standing up and heading for the door. He opens it wide and holds out a hand, indicating to the two remaining Idol boys that it’s time to leave. Reluctantly, they both do. I watch them go, feeling my heart pound like crazy in my chest. This is nuts; this is absolute insanity, I think. I’d heard high school was hell … but I didn’t expect this. “With me by her side, Marnye won’t have to worry about silly things like money.”

Zayd and Creed both glance back in surprise, but Windsor’s already slamming the door in their faces.

Guess they’re surprised I bagged a prince as a friend.

Guess I’m lucky he’s a revenge-crazed bully of bullies.

Lucky freaking me.

There’s a definite shift in dynamics after the drowning. Creed has stopped flirting with Ileana, and I rarely see Tristan and Harper in the same room. She is, however, still wearing her ring, and I can’t stop myself from thinking about William Vanderbilt and the crack of his palm against his son’s face. No matter what, Tristan won’t dump Harper. Not unless … I get Lizzie involved.

I put that plan aside for now. I can’t pair Tristan up with Lizzie until after I win my end of the year bet with Harper. There’s no way I can compete with Lizzie Walton for Tristan’s affections, so I’m not even going to try. Instead, I focus on casually working myself into situations where I know the boys will be present. They’re as standoffish and weird as they’ve been all year … at first.

But the more I try, the easier things get.

We’re nowhere near the level of ease and companionship that we had before, but I’m making progress. Of course, from my end, we’ll never have that sort of connection again. Zack, on the other hand, is truly remorseful. Or at least, he’s convinced me that he is. I’m pretty sure the Idol boys are still not sorry about what they did to me.

“I still don’t get why they told me,” I tell Miranda as she flips through a yaoi manga—a boy on boy Japanese comic book. The drawings are, um, very explicit, and the funny thing is, she’s even more into it than Andrew is. When she showed it to him, he wrinkled his nose, shrugged and said, “I think those are more … aimed at women?” And then disappeared into the depths of the library.

“Because they’re manipulative sociopaths,” she says, closing the cover of the book and glancing up at me. She’s lounging on bean bags in the ‘Quiet Nook’ which is actually where everyone used to go to make out before the librarians moved the shelf with the new release hardcovers and exposed the corner to the side door. It’s not quite so private anymore. “I’m sorry, I know Creed is my twin, but I don’t trust him for shit. I told him as much last night.” She pushes up from her position on her stomach and nestles into a glittery white bean bag. “He swore up and down and all over hell that they’re telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The thing is, Marnye,” she continues, tucking some of that shimmering blonde hair behind her ear, “they’re all a part of that damn Club. It’s so strict that people get hurt when they don’t follow the rules. So maybe Creed’s lying to you or me or both of us to protect himself. It wouldn’t be the first time things had gone down like that.”

She crosses her legs at the knee, leaning back so far that I can see her garters. Last year, I just assumed she was wearing them to impress a crush. Now, I’m pretty sure she just wears them because they’re hot. They’re even in the school dress code: Academy-issued thigh-high socks can be worn with garters. Of course, it also says: Garters may not be visible at any time, not even when the arms are raised, but that doesn’t stop us all from rolling the waistbands of our skirts.

“I have my reasons for trying to get close to them again,” I murmur, but clearly I’m being cryptic as hell, and Miranda sighs.

“So I figured. Just … be careful, okay? Your revenge thing is fine, but don’t let it take away your natural sweetness.” She leans over to brush loose hair from my forehead, and smiles.

“I am not naturally sweet,” I reply with a roll of my eyes, and she laughs.

“Are you kidding? You’re so sweet you’re practically syrup.” Miranda pauses suddenly and glances away, biting her lower lip. I raise my brows because I can tell something important is about to come up. “Hey Marnye …”

“Yes?” I start, grabbing her abandoned yaoi manga and opening it to a random page. There’s a full page drawing of two guys on a bed, and I think … Oh. Based on the next panel, I don’t have to think about what they’re doing: I know. My cheeks turn pink as I keep flipping through.

“Jessie and I broke up.” She blurts this out in a rush and then peers up at me from under blonde brows. I’ve stacked two bean bags on top of each other to make a chair, raising myself up several inches above her. Better to be here than back in my room, all alone. For the last week and a half, I’ve begged Miranda to stay with me because I can’t bear the silence. As soon as I lay down and the light on my bedside table clicks off, I start remembering the water filling my lungs.

“Wait, this isn’t because of me, is it?” I ask, and Miranda flushes even brighter than I am after looking at the yaoi drawings. Damn. Now I feel like complete crap. I knew I shouldn’t have asked her so many times to sleep over.

“You needed me: you suffered a trauma,” she starts, and then she glances away sharply and exhales, her gaze fixated so purposefully on a copy of a book about sea turtles that I know her mind is a million miles away. When she glances back, I see she’s about to say something important, but gets interrupted by Creed.

“Boys’ love?” he asks, appearing out of nowhere and sweeping the manga from my hands before I can stop him. “How gauche. I’ve told Miranda not to waste her time reading these things: it’s basically porn in the shape of a comic book.”

“How about you get fucked?” Miranda snaps at her twin, and I raise my eyebrows. “If Marnye cared what you thought, she’d ask.” Creed narrows his ice-blue eyes at her, and they have an epic stare down that only a pair of twins could accomplish. Flames practically crackle in the air between them.

It doesn’t bother me though because Creed’s one and only admirable trait is the protective brother thing. He’d kill for his sister; I know he would.

“I’m going to excuse myself,” I murmur, standing up and slipping away.

I end up bumping—quite literally—into Zack in the next aisle. He actually looks surprised to see me, a book of poems open in one hand, his academy-issued tablet on the table next to him. Aww, he’s actually studying. Zack is by no means the top of the class, but since the school year started he’s worked his way up from the bottom twenty percent to the top fifty. Huge improvement.

“Do you need any help?” I ask, peeping at the cover to see what he’s looking at. “Ah, Emily Dickinson. Did you know many of her poems are still under copyright? She’s a classic, a legend, and she’s long-dead. Do you want to know how messed up copyright law has actually become? It used to be a tool of the people, and now it’s used against the people by corpor—”

Zack puts a finger on my lips to shush my rambling, and then leans down suddenly, replacing his hand with his mouth.

The book of poems falls to the ground between us, and I’m soon standing with my back against a wall of literature while Zack explores my mouth with his tongue. His big arms sweep around me, filling me with this sense of protection and safety. When did that happen? When did I go from hating Zack to … liking him?

We break apart with a small gasp, his dark eyes locked on mine, burning with need.

“You can tell me about Emily Dickinson, or copyright law, or random historical facts whenever you want, Marnye. I think it’s hot.”

“Hot for me to tell you the library wing was an addition added to Burberry in the early nineteen hundreds by a grant from the Vanderbilt family?” I choke out and Zack grins. He kisses me again, and I swoon so badly that if his arms weren’t there, I would fall over.

“So fucking hot. Except for the name Vanderbilt. Let’s just leave that part out.” He moves to kiss me again when a dramatic throat clearing breaks us up, a sudden foot of space appearing between our bodies as we turn to find Windsor York … lounging on top of a book case?

“How did you get up there?” I choke out, and he shrugs. He’s all stretched out on the wood like it’s a hammock or something. “You’re going to get suspended,” I warn as he looks down at us with his hazel eyes sparkling.

“Don’t stop on my account. Occasionally I get tired of fucking and like to watch.” My nose wrinkles, and Zack scowls, gathering his book from the floor. Windsor doesn’t seem to care, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side. He hops down to the ground next to us. “So.” He props his forearm on the shelf above me and leans in dramatically. “I was thinking: you’ve got a few names on your list that aren’t crossed off. Small fries, though. We should knock those out, and then focus on the girls.”

“I showed you that list, so you could offer suggestions, not take over,” I say with a roll of my eyes. Windsor raises his eyebrows and gives this self-satisfied little smirk that I couldn’t force my mouth to make if I tried. Once, I stood in front of the mirror to see if I could get my expression to look as haughty and arrogant as the Idols, and I failed miserably. “I’m working my way up to the girls. They’re the most difficult.”