“Go get dressed in something nice,” Jennifer says instead, not bothering to actually answer any of my questions. “If you don’t have anything, you can wear your uniform—” She’s not done talking, but I’m already pushing away from the counter and heading down the hall to my bedroom. Once inside, I slam the door, lock it, and pull my phone from the pocket of my pj pants.

Are you busy today? I text Zack, surprised when he starts typing right away.

Fuck no. This is boring as hell. You want to get out of here?

Yes, please. Pick me up at the road?

I don’t wait for him to respond, dressing in jeans, a t-shirt, the Bear Paws that Dad gave me as a present this morning, and my warm red wool academy coat. There’s a door behind my bed from the car’s original life as a train. It would’ve connected the passenger car I’m in to another passenger or dining car. If I stand on my bed and unbolt the top lock, I can push it open and climb out.

Closing it softly behind me, I hop down to the muddy gravel drive and take off for the road.

Since I don’t know how long it’ll take Zack to get here, I hide behind a tree, wondering if Jenn and Charlie will come looking for me. After a while, I hear them calling to me, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. I turn it to silent, and then crouch low until Zack’s McLaren pulls up on the side of the road.

“Where are we going?” he asks as I climb in, huddling into the seat. Seat warmers are so underrated. I glance over and find his dark eyes on mine. When we look at each other, I know he knows what he’s done to me. He can never forget; I can never forget. How can we really be friends? Look how our dating life went.

“Anywhere but here,” I say, and I mean it.

For the rest of the day, we just drive.

And it’s the best day I’ve had in a long, long time.

Arriving back at Burberry Prep after the break is bittersweet. I’m excited to see Miranda again, but I’m nervous to see what happens with the bullying ban lifted. First thing I notice when I head inside is that my locker is covered in condoms with a note taped in the center. These are for you, Working Girl. XOXO.

Fantastic.

I tear the note off with a sigh. Dad was not happy with me for taking off, and Mom was long-gone by the time I came back. I apologized to him, let him ground me for the rest of my vacation, and devoted myself to studying when he was at work. Whatever’s going on between me and Zack, I can’t figure it out right now.

“Welcome back,” Tristan says, sweeping past me and heading down the hall with an entourage in tow. He doesn’t look at me, but his fingers just barely brush the back of my hand, leaving this tingling sensation that lasts for hours.

Once Miranda’s done bouncing around in excitement over seeing me again, she starts telling me all about her vacation, how Creed was much less combative than usual, how her mom bought her a pair of Louboutins at the flagship Paris store, and how their apartment overlooks the Eiffel Tower. Miranda Cabot is a wonderful person, but her life is so different from mine that I don’t even know where to begin.

Andrew joins us for lunch, and although the snide comments and sneers in the halls are back, there aren’t any life shattering moments like the breathalyzer or the essay. In fact, all three Idol guys are still being relatively normal towards me.

Since our first day back is also a Friday, the third of January, we get our phones back right after class, and I find a text from Tristan inviting me to work on our chemistry project. We end up spending most of the weekend walking the campus and taking soil samples to test in the lab, looking for various contaminants. We also take samples of paint, the insulation that’s visible in the half-finished walls of the school basement, and even a piece of roof tile.

Just over a week later, we’ve finished our experiments and make plans to meet up in the library to finish the last bit of research, using the school’s old archive files and newspaper slides to get information about the campus that’s most definitely not available online.

Of course, I have to get through PE first.

It is one hundred percent, without a doubt, my least favorite class now that the bullying ban is lifted.

We dress down into our school-issued swimsuits, and the teasing starts. The Bluebloods—Harper and Becky in particular—are relentless, doing their best to make up for my brief reprieve from their cruelty. They come to class with red Sharpie lines drawn on their wrists, and whisper about how fat I look in my suit. When that doesn’t faze me, one of them pushes me into the deep end with the coach isn’t looking, and I end up with a huge amount of water in my nose and lungs, choking on the burning sensation as I surface and drag myself back onto the cement.

Their petty bullshit doesn’t get to me. Instead, I brush it off and focus on the fact that Tristan and I are going to snag the highest grade in chemistry. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. I take no small amount of pleasure when Harper starts complaining that Tristan won’t hang out with her after school because he’s ‘too busy banging the Working Girl’.

After showering in the—thankfully—private stalls, I wrap a towel around myself and open my locker, grabbing my shirt, skirt, tie, socks, shoes … and where are my damn underwear? I dig through my stuff, but don’t see the pale blue cotton panties I was wearing earlier. With a frown, I steal back into the private shower stall to change. There is no way in hell I’m getting naked in front of these girls. Knowing my luck, they’d probably sneak a phone in here and snap photos of me to share around the school.

Once I’m dressed, I head back into the locker room and start the search for my panties all over again.

After clearing my locker out completely, it dawns on me.

“Goddamn it,” I grumble, rising to my feet and slamming my locker door closed. I throw my bookbag over my shoulder and make a beeline for my dorm, fully aware that this is yet another Idol prank. Knowing them, they’re probably waiting around a corner somewhere to flip my skirt up and snap a pic. Using extreme caution, I go the back way—out the door where I first saw Tristan’s Ferrari Spider and then all the way around the outside and in the other door nearest the chapel—before I hit my apartment door.

Free and clear.

After I slip inside, I set my bag down and start looking for a pair of clean panties so I can make my library meeting with Tristan.

The drawer on the bottom of my wardrobe is empty. All my bras are there, but my undies are gone.

With a snarl, I dump out my dirty clothes basket and search there.

Still, nothing.

How these girls keep getting into my dorm is beyond me. I’m going to have to ask for a lock change which means I’ll have to make a report. Nothing will come of it, I’m sure, as there’s no proof pointing to anyone in particular, but at least it’ll be on file.

Fine.

I go for a pair of pj shorts to put under my skirt, but those are gone, too. As are my jeans. As is every single piece of clothing that’s not a shirt, skirt, or dress.

Those bitches.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed with a sigh, I text Miranda, asking if I can borrow some shorts or leggings, but she’s at volleyball practice and won’t be able to get back to me for a while. While I’m at it, I use the online form to ask for an off-campus pass for tomorrow evening, and then grab my bag and head for the library.

Panties or no panties, I still have to get this project done.

I’ll just be really, really careful.

As usual, the library is deserted, most of the students choosing to retire to their dorms or heading outside to one of the courtyards to study. That’s one of the reasons I like it here; I can get a little time to myself. The Idols and their Inner Circle most definitely don’t hang out here unless it’s for a specific and necessary purpose.

The other reason I like it here … the books. Five stories of invaluable knowledge, row after row of old tomes, and rooms filled with historical archives. The architecture is to die for: Gothic revival with soaring arches and intricately carved columns. The whole place smells of ink and paper, and I feel this sense of relaxation come over me as I wind my way toward the back corner where Tristan’s waiting.

He’s standing two shelves over from the entrance to the archive room, a table nearby littered with file folders and boxes of slides. Burberry Prep has had a student-run paper since 1970, but while the journalism club is in the process of scanning old articles into a digital archive, they’ve still got a long way to go. The time period Tristan and I are most interested in isn’t even close to being uploaded.

His eyes snap over to me when I walk down the aisle, the silver of his irises glimmering with some unknown emotion. I can’t seem to figure this guy out when he’s not being a dick. He holds his face so still, with this practiced haughtiness covering up any real emotion that I have no idea how to get a read on him. I fully expected him to go back to treating me like shit, but instead he seems to be doing the opposite.

Tristan smiles at me, and while it’s just as cocksure and arrogant as the day I met him, there’s a smoldering undertone to it, like he’d enjoy searing my mouth with those full lips of his again.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say, trying my very best not to think about the fact that I’ve got no panties under my skirt. It occurs to me then that I should’ve unrolled the waistband and dropped the hem a few, careful inches. My cheeks flame and Tristan raises a dark, questioning brow. “There was some … shit happened in gym.”

His mouth turns down into a frown.

“Harper?” he asks, and I shrug my shoulders. “If it happened in the girls’ locker room, then it was Harper. Not a single girl makes a move on this campus without her approval.” He pauses and narrows his eyes, not at me but just in general. “Except for Miranda, of course … and you.”

I’m not quite sure what to say to that, so I don’t say anything, turning to examine the row of books in front of us. They’re all titles penned by alumni, some of which pertain to the construction of the school or its many additions. Since our chemistry project has to do with levels of contamination in the soil and building materials, we’re trying to match up the time period in which the contaminants might’ve occurred.