My bags are packed and left near the door to my room, ready for Dad to pick up after my harp solo. He’s going to take them with him when he heads home, and I’m going to leave with Zayd. Tomorrow, he’ll drive me home. How, exactly, I’m going to explain to my dad that I want to go spend the night with Zayd and a bunch of other horny teenagers is beyond me, but I’m going to try. I worked too hard this year to miss out on the party to end all parties.

Besides, I managed to finish top of the first year class. Take that, Tristan! I think, but the smug smile on my face fades when I remember the angry expression on his last night. The way he looked at me, I felt like I’d torn his heart out and crushed it under my heel. Touching my hand to my stomach, I close my eyes and try not to think about him or Creed. I can’t have three boyfriends. Nobody does. Besides, even if I were to try some sort of open relationship thing, I’d have to be okay with them dating other girls, and I’m not. I’m not at all okay with that.

In my heart, I don’t know if I made the right choice. I feel torn, split, confused.

But I made my choice, and Zayd is not a consolation prize. I won’t treat him as such.

Checking my hair and makeup one last time, I make my way outside to where Zayd’s waiting for me. He’s not smiling when I first see him, but when I lay my fingers on his arm, he turns to me and flashes a grin.

“I was wondering where you were,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. He weaves his tattooed fingers through mine and guides me through the winding garden paths and down to the indoor amphitheater where the ceremony’s being held. There’s a different ceremony for every year, just a series of accolades and performances to showcase the accomplishments of the students.

We head inside and move down the aisle, past the family members seated on other side.

I spot my dad right away. What I don’t expect is to see Jennifer sitting beside him.

My feet stop moving of their own accord, and Zayd comes to a halt, glancing back at me with his brows raised in a questioning manner.

“You okay, Charity?” I shake my head, but I’m having trouble finding the words to explain. I’ve spent a lot of time with Zayd over the past year, but we’ve never delved into deeper issues. I’ve barely mentioned my mother.

“It’s just … my mom’s here,” I whisper, and Zayd follows my eyes, locating her in the crowd. She looks ridiculous, dressed up in a white fur coat with a hat, like an extra from a made-for-TV movie. With a sigh, I grab Zayd’s hand and pull him down the aisle, pretending I don’t notice her. She waves at me, but I just hope nobody I know sees.

“You’re not cool with your mom?” Zayd asks, but his tone is detached, far away. He’s in another place and another time. Or maybe he’s just tired? We danced until two in the morning last night, and then made out for another hour after that. I have to say, that last hour was my favorite part.

“It’s complicated,” I explain as we take our seats in the front row. Tristan is right next to me, his mouth pressed into a flat line, his skin pale. I knew he was upset last night, but the look on his face now is in a whole other league. Maybe he’s upset because he’s second place to my first? I have no idea.

The ceremony starts, and the teachers take turns making speeches, praising our accomplishments, gently reminding us where we can do better. Awards are given out for sports, clubs, and community service first, lines of students filing onstage to collect their paper certificates. A huge screen behind them showcases the same awards in digital format.

Academics are last, and when Tristan’s name is called, he grinds his teeth so hard that I’m afraid one’s going to pop right out. He practically storms onstage, bites off a pathetic thank you, and then heads right back to his spot. Across the aisle, I can feel Creed watching me, so I make sure that when I’m called, my chin is high, and my shoulders are back.

My speech is short, but not overly so, and I recite it without even having to read what I wrote. I make eye contact with Dad, Mrs. Amberton, Ms. Felton, anyone but my mother. At the end, she stands up to clap, but I turn away and head back to my seat before I have to see much more of that.

She can’t just abandon me, and then hop back into my life when it’s convenient. No way, not happening.

After the initial ceremony, the choir and orchestra are herded backstage to get ready for our performances.

Zayd kisses me goodbye on the cheek, and then returns to his seat in the audience.

That’s when I first run into trouble.

Harper, Becky, Valentina, Abigail, and a handful of other girls are waiting for me when I head up the steps that lead backstage. Right away, I look around for backup, either one of the boys or a teacher, anyone. But it’s just us.

“We’ve tried to be patient with you,” Harper says, stepping forward. Her makeup and hair are flawless, but the sneer on her perfect lips ruins the practiced pretty she’s trying so hard for. “We gave you a whole year to figure it out, but I guess you’re just too damn stupid.”

“Figure what out?” I ask, but they’re not here to talk. This time, they don’t just verbally assault me. Two girls come up from behind and grab me by the arms while Harper steps forward and backhands me across the face as hard as she can. I taste blood in my mouth, and I see stars as I look back at her. She grins and moves aside for Becky who’s so gung-ho for violence that she’s practically drooling. She hits me closed-fist in the stomach, and I double over, held up only by the girls on either arm. I’m struggling, kicking and flailing as hard as I can, but I’m not going anywhere. When I do finally break one arm free, there are two more girls to come and help pin it back.

They take turns hitting me until I’m so dizzy and out of breath that when they let go, I fall to my knees. The beating doesn’t stop there. They kick me, pull my hair, tear the seams from my blouse. The girls keep at it until a round of applause sounds from the stage. That’s their cue to step back and leave me there, panting and bleeding on the floor.

For several minutes, nobody comes, so I force myself up and stumble to the nearest bathroom, using a wad of paper towels from the dispenser to clean myself up as best as I can. I’m panting, soaked in sweat, and ready to cry, but the pain is … it’s damn near unbearable. My first thought is that maybe I should go find someone and report this, but then I remember my dad, and the harp, and my first solo …

No.

After.

After I play, I’ll deal with this.

They can’t take that away from me.

Marnye, you’re in shock. I realize that, but it doesn’t stop me from doing what I’m doing.

So I splash my face with cold water, clean up as much blood as I can, and then button my jacket over my torn blouse. By the time I make it backstage, Harper’s finishing up a piano solo, and bowing gracefully, no sign of the violence she just inflicted anywhere on her face or hands. Her eyes widen as she passes by me, but by then the harp is already being wheeled out, and I’m announced to the stage by Ms. Felton.

A deep hush comes over the room when I walk out, but I don’t think it’s because of the beating I just took. I cleaned up most of the blood, and the majority of the bruises won’t show until later. Maybe the room is just silent because everyone knows who I am, the scholarship winner, the charity case.

I sit down at the harp and close my eyes. My hands are shaking, and my body’s gone numb with shock. Later, I’m going to be hurting pretty badly. For right now, I’m okay. My love for music covers up any jitters I might have, and I throw myself into my performance, playing the best I’ve ever played. My eyes find Dad’s briefly, then Mom’s.

Most important, I seek out Miranda, but she won’t look at me.

The guys are next: Creed then Tristan then Zayd.

They’re all watching me.

I’ve just finished one song and started on the next when I start to hear whispers and laughter, people pointing. I pause briefly and glance behind me to see that the giant screen has come down again, the one that showcased the student awards. It flickers and then comes to laugh, and my jaw drops open as I see myself, my naked ass in Tristan’s hands in the library. The video is shaky, and clearly taken from the other side of the bookcase, but it’s distinctly me, and distinctly him.

I want to fucking die.

This cannot be happening, I think, hating that my dad is in that audience. Worse, my mom.

I stand up, but the video doesn’t stop there. Images of me pressed against Creed in the bathroom pop up, even my make out session with Zayd from last night is there.

“No,” I whisper, but I hardly get the chance to move before I feel the first drops of liquid on my head. I look up just in time for a can of red paint to spatter on my hair and clothes, splashing across the harp and the screen. I’ve just had a Carrie pulled on me.

My mind quite literally goes blank, and I fall to my knees without even realizing it.

Zayd stands up in the audience, but he doesn’t move to help me. Creed follows next, then Tristan. At a nod from the latter, the Idols and a good dozen other boys, all pull out pairs of panties from their pockets.

My panties. The ones that were stolen from my room.

They’re all thrown at me, littering the stage as the audience fades into a roaring silence.

Dad stands up, but I can’t bear to look at him. My heart is pounding, my mind is racing, and then I’m just scrambling to my feet and taking off. I don’t know where I’m going, but when I blink, I end up back at my room.

One of the staff is there, my overnight bag in hand, as they lock up the door and then turn, getting ready to deliver it to the office for me to pick up later. I don’t even think, I just run by and grab it, stumbling as I head outside to the courtyard and the front steps.

I only make it down the first few before I’m surrounded, by Bluebloods and Plebs alike.

Tristan Vanderbilt is front and center, with Creed on one side and Zayd on the other.

My heart breaks, cuts me up, reforms.

The hardest hearts are forged in fire; I’ll need to be made of steel to survive this one.