I can't say anything. My throat is too tight, my pulse is beating too fast, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“I made a bet.” Zack exhales sharply and then grits his teeth together. The way he looks at Creed, Zayd, and Tristan makes me think that he’d kill them if he could. When he looks back at me, his expression is much softer. “To get into the Infinity Club, I had to make a bet. The group wanted to taste blood, and they …”

“The girls were the real masterminds behind this one,” Creed says, but he doesn't sound happy about it. He's wearing a deep frown that looks etched into his face. When he lifts his blue eyes to mine, he looks apologetic. “Because he’d been cut off from his trust fund, they really wanted him to prove himself to the group. They bet him he couldn't make somebody kill themselves.”

My heart literally stops. I can't breathe. The room seems to tilt and spin on an axis.

Lizzie opens the sliding door and walks in, pausing when she notices Tristan. She seems to sense the tension in the room, and her shoulders tighten.

“What's going on here?” she asks, looking from me to Tristan to Zack and back again.

“Oh,” Tristan says, folding his arms over his chest, his drink still clutched in a tight fist. “We were just telling Marnye about that bet you made with Zack.” Tristan's face tightens up as he stares Lizzie down, and I have to wonder if he's doing this as much for revenge against her as he is to get rid of Zack. Maybe he's doing it for me, too, so I can finally know the truth, but it's hard to see it that way.

Lizzie’s amber gaze slides over to me, and her mouth opens but nothing comes out.

“We were much younger then,” Zack whispers, rising to his feet. His voice is pleading, begging me to look at him. I do, but when our eyes meet, all I feel is sick. “Marnye, what I did was wrong. It was … it was fucked. It was Lord of the Flies type shit.” He grits his teeth and glances away sharply. “Hanging around with this club, with these people … they’re fucking snakes.”

“Oh please,” Zayd snarls, squeezing me even closer. “Don't act like we had anything to do with this. The three of us weren't even around when you originally made this bet.”

“No,” Zack snarls, taking a step forward. Tristan moves between us, like he thinks he might need to protect us from him. “You might not have been here for that bet, but you've been around for worse. This is not out of line with something you’d do.”

“Just tell Marnye you used her to get into the Club, and that you only saved her because Lizzie changed her mind and said that was enough.” Creed stands up from his side of the table, his face lit with the same determination I saw when he attacked Derrick Barr over Miranda. Only this time, he's fighting for me. I'm not sure whether to be happy about it … or, no … I'm too sick to be happy.

“Marnye,” Lizzie begins, drawing my attention around to her. It occurs to me then that she knew exactly who I was when she came to the party a few months ago. She looked across that room and she knew exactly what she’d done to me. That was the ‘connection’ that she’d felt between us. “I really do like you, and I meant it when I said I wanted to be friends.”

I stand up, but my knees almost give out, and Tristan grabs me around the waist to keep me from falling.

“Please,” Zack starts, but I'm already shaking my head.

“I just …” Tristan lets me go, and I manage to keep my feet, but my gaze keeps bouncing between Zack and Lizzie. I feel betrayed from both sides, from my past and from my future. Now it all makes sense, why Zack started picking on me for no reason. All for some stupid club. Years and years of pain …

It makes even more sense why he didn't want to tell anyone that we were dating back then. And Lizzie … I feel like my whole friendship with her is a sham.

“I just want to be left alone,” I blurt, pushing past them all and heading down the hallway. I end up in the bathroom with the door closed, and I turn the hot water on in the shower, climbing in and huddling underneath it with my hands over my ears.

When someone knocks, I don't answer, I just sit there until the hot waters run cold and my teeth are chattering. Then I climb out, grab a towel, and step into the hallway where Zayd is waiting.

He doesn’t say anything, just leads me into one of the guest rooms and tucks me in the bed. He gets on top of the covers, curls around me and holds me there for the rest of the night.

Finding out that I was just a bet to Zack is … well, it’s devastating. I’m a zombie for weeks, going through the motions, focusing on my schoolwork and my harp. Nothing else matters. It hurts too much to think about what he did to me. What Lizzie did to me.

And the Idols … they’re still being nice to me, still acting like they want me, but … they had to know how much that revelation would hurt, right? Yet, they did it anyway.

Still, it's hard to stay mad at them. Zayd is always charming, popping into my room at random times, flopping down on my bed and joining me for TV night without ever saying a word.

My tutoring sessions with Creed are tense, but in a good way. That spark between us burns hot, whether we’re doing math, or working on essays side by side. Every time he touches me, I can feel it, a rush of heat that infuses every molecule in my body.

Tristan … he's a lot harder to get a read on. But he does sometimes sit in on my orchestra practice, watching me play the harp with those blade gray eyes of his. I always play better when he's in the room, like just knowing that he's listening is a boon to my creativity.

Miranda and Andrew definitely notice the change in my behavior, and call me out on it.

“Are you sure you know what you're doing?” Miranda asks as the three of us sit together in The Mess eating yet another meal I can't pronounce. It's good, it's just … in a language I definitely don't speak. This week's menu is food from around the world. It's educational, at the very least.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I say as I pick at my food with my fork and then glance up to see the two of them staring at me skeptically. “What? I'm not doing anything but hanging out with them.” And wearing an eighty-thousand dollar necklace, and skinny dipping, and making out, and—

“The Idols don't just hang out,” Andrew says, sighing. “They divide and they conquer. The fact that they've all set their sights on you worries me. If you ask me, they’re up to no good.” He exchanges a look with Miranda that I can't read, and the mystery of what they're up to together starts to get to me. So much so that the next time they try to sneak off together, I follow them.

I don't intend on doing any true sleuthing, I don't have to. Just keeping a safe distance behind them as they walk through the rear courtyard and meet up with some friends in the trees is enough.

The first thing I notice is that Miranda and her new girlfriend take off in one direction, while Andrew and his male friend go the other way.

I decide to stick with Miranda.

What I don't expect to see when I round the corner of the hedges is the two of them lip-locked, their arms around each other, fingers grasping. They're both panting, kissing like they can't get enough of each other, and it all clicks in the place.

Miranda isn't dating Tristan, and she's not dating Andrew either.

Miranda is … gay.

I turn away and take off before they notice me spying on them, but honestly, I feel a sense of relief. I was expecting the worst, like a hidden pregnancy or something, but this is … this isn't even noteworthy. In a good way, I mean. Like I said, I'm a fierce LGBT ally.

For the next few days, I keep things cool, normal. But now that I know, the way Miranda acts makes a whole lot more sense.

Before I tell Creed, however, I decide to confront Tristan.

“You knew didn't you?” I ask him, planting my hands on my hips and staring down at him as he sits on one of the stone benches in the courtyard and scrolls on his phone. Tristan lifts his gray eyes up to mine, and I find myself licking my lower lip without even meaning to. One look from him and I melt.

“Oh? So you finally figured it out?” he asks me, scooting over and patting the spot next to him on the bench. If this was anyone else, that’d be a harmless gesture, and I’d just sit. But with Tristan, there's so much more to it. I’m afraid to sit that close to him.

“Is there a reason you didn't want Creed to know?” I ask, cocking my head to one side. “He thinks you and Miranda are sleeping together, you know that?” Tristan shrugs his shoulders, but his eyes land on the necklace that he gave me, and I reach up to touch it without thinking.

“No reason. It just wasn't any of my business.” He stands up, and takes a step forward, towering over me. His fingers reach up and brush along the side of my jaw, a smirk taking over his lips when I shudder. “But it is yours. You and Creed had a bet.”

Tristan cups my face and leans down. For a second there, I think he's going to kiss me again, but instead he just puts his lips right up against mine, so I can feel it when he talks.

“That girl she was making out with, that's Jessie Maker. Her parents are Evangelical Christians, they won't be happy with the news.” Tristan runs his tongue across my lower lip, and then steps back. The absence of his body makes me feel cold.

“Is this going to hurt either of them, me telling Creed?” I look into Tristan's eyes, but he just shrugs. I sigh, but it looks like I'm going to be on my own with this one. It was my arrogance that got me into this mess after all. I should've stopped playing poker after I'd won the first round. Lesson learned.

Tristan brushes past me, making sure his fingers linger on the back of my hand before he moves away. I listen to his footsteps on the gravel path before I turn and head for Creed and Miranda's apartment.

Fortunately, Creed’s the only one that's home. He lets me in, and the spark between us flares to life.