My heart clenches tight, and I feel this sudden rush of guilt for being here when I should be at home with my dad.

“Marnye,” Zayd says, taking the tube gently from my fingers. He tucks it into his pocket and then puts his hands on my shoulders, gripping them tightly and looking into my eyes. “You can’t feel guilt for living your life and being a teenager. Your dad doesn’t want you to sit at home and pine over him. If he did, he wouldn’t have told you to go. I might not know the guy very well, but the way he told us all off that day in your room … I get the idea that he isn’t a man who lies and bullshits.”

I laugh, but it’s a bit teary.

“No, you’re right. Charlie is a man of few words, but the ones he says, he means.”

“Two nights here, and I’ll take you right back. Then I’m gonna chill at my dad’s place in Cruz Bay until school starts. I’m not leaving your side, okay?” Zayd leans in and kisses me before I can respond, the sensation sweeping down from my lips and all the way to my toes. He pulls back and grins. “Let’s party tonight, rock out tomorrow, and worry about life the next day. What do you say?”

Music throbs from beneath our feet, and I look down before turning my gaze back to Zayd’s.

“Party?” I ask, because I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.

“Of course,” Zayd says, standing back up and gyrating his body in time to the hip-hop music that’s being blasted downstairs. He gets in close and grabs me, encouraging me to move in time with him. He’s a seriously freaking talented dancer. “What would an Afterglow concert be without a proper pre and after-party?”

We dance for a minute, and I let Zayd twirl me in a circle before he pulls me close again. It’s … maybe less like dancing and more like sex there for a minute. Our pelvises gyrate together, and my body begins to throb. Now that I’m not a virgin anymore, it’s like my body’s been awoken to the pleasures of sex and can’t be put back to sleep.

“That’s it. I’m taking you downstairs and showing you off.” Zayd grabs my hand and drags me out of his wing and into a suddenly bustling mansion. He moves up to the edge of the banister and throws his arms up. “Welcome partygoers!” he shouts, and his million dollar voice cuts through the hubbub of the ever-growing crowd; it’s almost wall-to-wall people already and they just keep streaming in the door. “Booze and smokes in the lounge, snacks in the kitchen, and clothes optional in the pool!”

He turns back around as I raise my brows and Miranda comes up the stairs with her suitcase.

“Did you pack any party dresses?” she asks me, voice barely audible over the noise.

“Um, what do you take me for?” I reply, feeling my heartbeat pick up speed. “I didn’t exactly expect a party tonight, but I knew there’d be one tomorrow. Let’s go.”

“Don’t take too long, babe,” Zayd says, turning and hopping up on the banister in a way that seriously concerns me. But then, I figure this is his house and he’s probably done this before. I refuse to be a wet blanket, no fucking way. If I’m going to be one of the Idols of Burberry Prep, the Bitch of the Bluebloods, I have to act the part. If I’ve got control of the school, I can put a stop to the bullying. “I’m going to crown you Queen of the Elite tonight, my darling. Mark my fucking words!”

“Zayd!” I scream as he lets himself fall back and then lands in the crowd, surfing along raised arms toward the entrance to the living room. My heart is pounding like crazy, and it’s not helped when Lizzie comes up the steps with a dress in a garment bag tucked over her arm.

“Thought we could make an Idol entrance? You can bet that even if the Harpies aren’t here, they’ll see videos and pics; they’ll know all about it. United front?” She puts her hand out, and Miranda grudgingly puts hers over the top. I personally can’t believe my boyfriend just threw himself off a second story balcony, but I grab on and hold tight anyway.

The Idol girls of Burberry Prep, just the way Tristan set us up.

Let’s see how well this works.

I’ve packed Zayd’s red dress for the occasion, the short, tight little number crawling up my thighs as I fidget and let Miranda put the finishing touches on my hair. I had it cut fresh just before we left, but it was mostly a trimming and a shaping. I’m adding on just a little length.

“There,” Miranda declares, spinning a big ringlet around her finger and letting it bounce against my head. “We’ll fix your lipstick, and get you some hairspray.”

“Didn’t you just hairspray me to death?” I ask with a smile, but Miranda steps back and gives me this look. It’s a fierce look, too, paired with the dramatic smoky eye, the waves of shining blond hair, and the short sapphire dress she’s got on. If I were into girls, I would marry Miranda tonight in that dress.

“For your thighs, not your head,” she says, reaching down and lifting my dress just enough that my black lace panties show. She sprays my thighs while I choke in surprise, and then tugs the dress back down. “Keeps it from riding up.” Miranda shakes the can and then passes it over to Lizzie who’s got a gold party dress on with loose sleeves covered in tiny glass beads. “I read online that gymnasts use the same technique to keep their leotards in place. Not sure if it’s true or not though.”

“You learn something new every day,” I say as Miranda makes me pout my lips so she can freshen my lipstick up.

“Now close your eyes.” I do as she says, and then flinch when she hairsprays my face.

“You’re like the dad on My Big Fat Greek Wedding who sprays Windex on everything. Stop that.” I wave her away and open my eyes, blinking at myself in the giant mirror on the wall opposite the vanity. We’re in one of the upstairs guest wings. Yeah, not rooms but wings again. It’s crazy. My entire house could fit in this one guest suite.

I run my hand down the front of the red dress, and hope like hell that it doesn’t piss Creed off too much. I’m planning on wearing his to the next party. I wore Tristan’s to that nightclub a few weeks ago, but I’d like to wear it to an event with him, too. Even though the guys were pricks, I don’t think I should’ve picked between them during first year.

“You look like a fucking model,” Miranda says as Lizzie comes to stand beside me, smiling softly. We still haven’t talked yet about her confession. I’m not even sure how to bring it up. In any case, tonight is not that night. “Don’t you think, Lizzie? It’s no wonder she’s got five guys drooling after her.” Miranda drapes herself over my shoulders and gives me a sweet-scented kiss on the cheek. “Now, let’s go slay some Burberry Prep assholes.”

“How many of our fellow students do you think are going to be here tonight?” I ask and Miranda gives me a strong look.

“As many as can make it—or are allowed in the door.” She smiles and grabs my arm and then encourages me to take Lizzie’s on the other side. Guess presenting a solid front is more important than her hatred for Lizzie. A hatred I’m still not entirely sure I understand. Either it’s just solidarity for my sake or … maybe something else.

“Let’s do this,” I whisper, feeling a nervous flutter in my belly.

I’m a fourth year at Burberry Preparatory Academy.

I’m dating the five hottest guys in school.

And now, I’m supposed to help rule over all of it.

Wish me luck.

We walk out and down the hall, only to find Andrew waiting for us just inside the hall door. He’s got on a sharp white suit that makes him look a bit like James Bond, especially with his slicked back hair. He whistles when he sees us and pushes off the wall to stand up straight.

“Holy hell, girls,” he says, and then he gives all three of us kisses on the cheek. He’s come a long way since his first year when he was sneaking off to kiss Gary Jacobs in the woods. I wonder if he’s told his parents yet? “You all look amazing.” He opens the door and gestures for us to step out onto the foyer together.

Zayd is waiting … surrounded by a bunch of girls.

I raise my brows as I step out, and they all scatter as Zayd stands up, his eyes widening when he sees me. He’s still wearing the Feminist AF tank, but he’s jazzed up his hair and added a dash of eyeliner.

“Marnye fucking Reed,” he growls, moving over to the top of the steps and cupping his hands around his mouth. “Make way for the Idols, folks. Your queen has arrived.” Zayd takes me by the arm, leaving Miranda and Lizzie behind us as we come down the steps.

Everyone is staring at us; everyone is looking.

It’s something I never really wanted, but now that I have it, I’m going to use my position for good. Because next year, there’s going to be another student who comes into Burberry Prep with the Cabot Scholarship Award, and I want the way paved for whoever that person is.