“You figured it out,” he guesses, his words vaguely echoing Tristan's. Creed crosses his arms over his chest and waits for me to talk.

“I did,” I start, and then I don't know what to say. It seems so anti-climactic. Miranda being gay isn't a problem, and it shouldn’t matter to anyone. Then again, I know Creed’s just worried about what it is that she’s hiding. Maybe, like me, he's expecting the worst. This should be a relief for him. “Miranda is dating a girl named Jessie Maker,” I say, waiting to see what his reaction is going to be. The skin around his eyes tightens imperceptibly, but that's it.

“You're sure?” he asks, and I nod. Creed exhales and drops his arms by his side, and I'm glad to see that he’s not upset. “That’s it?”

“You're not going to bother her about it, are you?” I ask, but he just stares at me and shrugs his shoulders. Oh, well, that’s reassuring. I feel sick with guilt already, but when I think about violating the Infinity Club’s rules … I know that was never an option.

“I just want to make sure she doesn't get hurt,” Creed says, and it's the most genuine thing he's ever said to me. There’s a brief pause before he speaks again, changing the subject with effortless ease. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” he asks, and even though I know he just means to take me to The Mess, my heart warms and I nod.

Everything seems fine … until next week when the shit hits the fan.

I hear the fight before I see it, the sound of grunting, the painful crack of flesh against flesh. Miranda and I exchange a look, take off down the hallway, and turn the corner to find John Hannibal beating the ever living crap out of Andrew.

“Stop it!” Miranda screams, dropping her bookbag to the floor and leaping into the fray. I follow after her, but the boys are in such a frenzy, they just knock us to the side and continue fighting. There's quite a bit of blood, and when Tristan and Zayd appear to pull them apart, I can see that most of it belongs to Andrew.

“Come on man,” Gregory Van Horn says, stepping out of the crowd that's gathered to watch, “let me have a turn at him.” It takes me a second to realize he doesn't mean John, he means Andrew.

“What the hell is going on here?” Miranda asks, spinning to look at her brother as he comes around the corner. She searches his face desperately, but he doesn't say anything. It's John that speaks first.

“We heard Creed confronting Andrew about being a faggot,” he sneers, reaching up to wipe some blood from the corner of his mouth. I turn to look at Creed, my stomach tightening in knots, but he's already shaking his head.

“That’s not even in the fucking realm of what I was doing. I wasn't confronting him. I just wanted to be sure he wasn’t banging my sister.” Creed runs his fingers through his hair. “I thought he was lying to me, so I followed him after our conversation. That's when I found him making out with Gary Jacobs.” Creed shrugs his shoulders. “But whoever gave you the right to beat him up?” Creed’s voice is as sharp as a whip, and he gives Tristan a run for the money in the asshole department. At least this time, he’s using his asshole powers for good. “There will be absolutely no homophobic bullshit on my watch.” His eyes briefly flick to his sister before he looks away again.

“Why would you confront him like that?” Miranda snaps, stepping up to her brother. Her eyes sparkle dangerously, and even though I'm terrified, I know I have to tell her about my part in all of this. If I don't, then how am I any better than Lizzie or Zack? Just thinking about them makes me want to throw up again, so I push the thoughts aside and reach out for Miranda’s arm.

“Hey,” I say, looking her straight in the face. I haven’t even said anything and she’s backing away from me. Andrew watches us both carefully.

“You said something to him, didn’t you?” she whispers, and then she turns and takes off down the hall at a run. I jog after her, but she’s waiting for me when I turn the corner.

“You said something!” she shouts, and I cringe, clinging to the strap of my bookbag. My guilt is written all over my face; I can feel it.

“I followed you one day, and—” Miranda reaches out and slaps me. I don’t even stop her because I know I deserve it. Still, the explanation tumbles out of my mouth, and I’m frustrated to hear it sound like an excuse. There are no excuses for what I’ve done, getting Creed involved, and subsequently the entirety of the Bluebloods. “I made a bet with Creed during poker—”

She interrupts me again, and I let her.

“I warned you about that fucking Club!” she shouts, pacing the hall in front of me, raking her fingers through her hair. “And I warned you about the Idols.” She stops and stares at me like she has no idea who I am anymore. “I thought you were different, but when it comes down to it, you’re just like them.”

“Don’t say that,” I choke out, already feeling the tears beginning to leak down my cheeks. “Miranda, I’m sorry.”

“You spied on me, and you spilled my secrets, and now look what’s happened. Not everyone is as progressive as you, Marnye, and our secrets—mine and Andrew’s—they were not yours to tell.” She sniffles and puts her face in her hands. When I reach out to touch her shoulder, she jerks away from and drops her arms to her sides, curling her fingers into tight fists. “Don’t touch me. And don’t talk to me.”

“For how long?” I whisper, but I know I messed-up, and I can’t expect her to give me a timeline on her forgiveness … if she even gives it at all.

“I don’t know. Maybe forever?” Miranda pushes past me and my shoulder slams into the wall. I turn and watch her go before Creed appears around the corner, his eyes dark with pain. His sister is the one and only person he seems to care about, and he’s just upset her to the core—with my help.

“I’m sorry, Marnye,” he says, moving over to me and putting his hands on my waist. The world sways around me, but his touch keeps me upright. “I never meant for this to happen.” He leans down and brushes his lips to my forehead, and even though I know I shouldn’t believe him, I do. Because I want to. “Can I come in?” I nod, and use my keys to unlock the door to my apartment. Creed slips in behind me, and I let him stay the night on my couch.

With Miranda, Andrew, Lizzie and Zack gone from my life, I’m left with this hollow, cold feeling inside my chest. Spending time with Tristan, Zayd, and Creed helps, but … they’re all vying for my romantic attention, and I want friends who are there just because, that want nothing from me.

Since that’s not exactly an option for me, I throw myself into my schoolwork, and then spend the rest of my time either practicing the harp, or hanging out with the boys. They let me sit with them in The Mess, at the high table in the front of the room.

It kills Harper and Becky to see me there, but even though their looks are seething, I’m almost always around at least one of the guys. Their presence acts as a shield, and keeps the bullying to a minimum.

“One day she’s going to stalk me in a dark alley and cut my throat,” I say as Harper makes eye contact with me from across the dining room. The way she’s handling her steak knife is disturbing, to say the least.

“She can get over it,” Tristan says, leaning back in his chair and watching her. He hunts her, like a wolf stalking a fox. The fox might think it’s a predator, but only until the wolf’s jaws clamp down on its throat. If Tristan wanted to take Harper down, I think he could.

“Any word from Miranda?” I ask Creed, but the way he stiffens in his chair tells me all I need to know. She’s not talking to him either. “Do you think she’ll come around?” He sighs, closing his eyes on what’s looking to be a major headache.

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s hard to say with her. Our relationship was already on a razor’s edge. Unfortunately, I think you might go down with the ship.” He taps his fingers on the table, his food left untouched in front of him. We’re all tired, I think, ready for a break from the social scene, from grades, from … whatever this is that’s brewing between the four of us.

“So, about the graduation gala,” Zayd begins, pushing his plate away and leaning his elbows on the table. He steeples his hands together, green eyes sparking as he looks over at me. “Have you given a thought as to who you might go with?”

“Nobody’s asked me,” I respond crisply, but none of the boys has a reaction. Creed closes his eyes again, like he’s about ready to take a nap, Tristan continues to glare at Harper from across the room, and Zayd sits back with a smirk before reaching for a roll and some butter.

Still, he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t have something in mind. So at the very least, I might be ending year one at Burberry Prep friendless, but I’ll have a date to the gala.

There’s a minute amount of comfort in that.

#

When I open my door the next day, I find three boxes stacked neatly and wrapped with twine. There’s a note on top that I slide carefully out from underneath the knot. When I open it, I recognize Tristan’s handwriting.

“Three princes want to take you to the ball, Cinderella. Make your choice.”

I frown as I collect the packages and carry them inside, opening the first one to a beautiful black dress and a small piece of cardstock with Tristan’s name on it. The second box has a blue dress with Creed’s name. And the third is red with Zayd’s name.

My cheeks flush pink, and I feel suddenly dizzy with choice.

Miranda’s words echo in my head: How are you going to choose?

The question is: do I want to choose? I’ve come to like all three Idol boys, more than I ever thought possible. They’re the only friends I have left, and more than that … I’m starting to care about them in ways I’ve only ever cared about one person. That was Zack, and he’s gone now. I can never forgive him for turning me into a bet. I just can’t.