“I can’t believe we never got that bitch,” Zayd grumbles, and Zack grunts in agreement.

“Never say never,” I whisper as we find our chairs, and then mill around waiting for the ceremony to start. I don’t see Dad in the audience just yet, but he warned me he might be late. I shoot off a quick text to see where he is, and he sends back ETA 20 mins.

Twenty minutes, huh?

It’s gonna be tight; he might miss the beginning of my speech. I can’t delay though, not with what I have planned. It all comes down to timing. Harper du Pont, you are going down tonight.

“He’ll be here,” Zack says, reaching out to adjust my black cap, the tassel swinging back and forth in front of my face. I blow it out of the way and try to tamp down on my nerves.

Today is a big day. Huge. I’ve been planning it all year without telling a single soul about it.

Pretty damn proud of myself for that one.

“I know,” I say, letting Zack fold me in another hug. He’s so damn good at them, I can’t resist. “I know he will. I’m just worried about him.”

“I’m more worried about you,” Zack says, glancing over his shoulder as Mrs. Amberton moves over to stand beside us, holding out a red and white sash with a black word scrawled in cursive down the length of it.

“Congratulations, Marnye,” she says as I take my valedictorian sash and watch as she moves over to hand Tristan his salutatorian one. “And to you, too, Mr. Vanderbilt.” Mrs. Amberton steps back, her orange curls tamed into some semblance of an up-do, and she smiles fondly at me. She’s always been nice, one of my favorite teachers by far, but she was too weak to protect me from the bullies. I’ll always remember that, how I had to be strong enough to protect myself. It’s a good life lesson to learn, isn’t it?

“Thank you,” I tell her, and we share a small hug as the audience files into the bleachers, rows upon rows of society’s finest and most elite. Princess Alexandra is there along with Kathleen Cabot and her husband (Kathleen waves at me, and I can tell she’s proud as hell). Fuck, even Billy Kaiser shows up, and Zayd’s surprise registers all over his face.

Robin Brooks is sitting on the far side with her daughter, Kelsey, and I can only assume the two gruff looking men with them are Zack’s dad and grandfather.

Fortunately, I don’t see William Vanderbilt anywhere.

“He’s not here,” Tristan says, sighing with relief. “Thank fuck for that.”

“There’s not even a small, little part of you that wants him here?” I ask, and Tristan looks over at me with a severe sort of expression, like he’s never been more serious in all his life.

“The only person I care about being here is you. That’s it. I don’t need anything else.” He storms over to his seat, like he’s in a bad mood or something, but I know it’s just nerves. He’s worried about me. All the boys are. For an entire year, they’ve worked to protect me from a very real threat. For an entire year, it’s worked.

Today is the last day, the final showdown.

Just twelve fucking hours …

My harp is wheeled onstage, and we’re all ushered to our seats, so Ms. Felton can begin her speech, thanking the alumni, the schoolboard, and so on and so forth. Once she’s finished, I’m announced and the crowd cheers properly for me in a way they never did during first year.

I take the stage and play a special arrangement I wrote based on the standard graduation song, Pomp and Circumstance. My fingers pluck the strings, and my eyes close as the rest of the orchestra backs me up from the field, situated just in front of the dais.

The music surges through me, and I open my eyes, meeting Tristan’s, getting that special little surge of confidence that always hits me when he’s around while I play. Windsor is the next boy I make eye contact with, playing my instrument with confidence, knowing that at least for the moment, at least right here, everything is going to be okay.

My gaze lifts up and scans the crowd, and I find Charlie there in the front row, situated in a wheelchair with a hat on and a heavy coat, even though it’s sunny out. Jennifer is on his right, and his health aide stands just to the side on his left. He waves a Burberry Prep pennant flag at me when he sees me looking, and I smile.

Don’t think about how skinny he looks, I tell myself, because it was so important for Dad to see this moment that he came all the way down here, sick as he is. I won’t fuck that up for him.

My eyes drift back to the rest of my boys, and I wonder how much longer they’re going to be my boys for, after I tell them my final decision.

Zayd pumps his fist and then curves his hands around his mouth to shout encouragement. Creed lounges back in his chair, but he’s got on the smile of a cat who’s got the cream. Only, I’m pretty sure that I’m the cream in this scenario. Zack is last, but not because I’ve got any sort of ranking for the guys in my mind. How could I? It’s like apples to oranges comparison with them. Each one fills a different niche in my heart. And Zack Brooks, he’s like a snuggly teddy bear/bodyguard. Just … don’t tell him I think of him that way.

I finish my piece and accept the applause of the crowd before I move up to the podium to take the mic. It’s time to give my valedictorian speech. Good thing I’ve been practicing for this moment since I was twelve.

“Welcome, friends, family, and loved ones. On behalf of the students of Burberry Preparatory Academy, I want to welcome you here today to celebrate the end of an era.” I take a deep breath and lift my chin. I’m not reading from a card; I’ve practiced enough that I don’t need to. “For four years, the students of this school have fought tooth-and-nail to get where they are today. And now, on this gorgeous sunny California afternoon, we will all get what we deserve.” The students go nuts, but I’m pretty sure only my guys, Miranda, and Andrew get the hidden references in my speech.

I take up my allotted ten minute time slot with flowery words for the future, and then move down to take my place in the audience. Tristan is next, and I’m not surprised to see that he’s as talented a public speaker as he is everything else. His words are actually uplifting, and I find myself clapping like crazy along with everyone else.

While the junior orchestra takes up Pomp and Circumstance for the second time that day, Ms. Felton and a horde of academy staff including Mr. Castor, Mrs. Amberton, and Ms. Highland take up the stage and start calling students to collect their diplomas.

The order is entirely based on class ranking, just one last little barb to shame us all into doing our best. But I’ve fixed things so that Harper du Pont who, shockingly enough, got into the top ten percent of our class, is dead-last.

Dead. Last.

She’s fighting back a frown as she takes her diploma from Ms. Felton, shakes her hand, and starts off across the stage, pausing briefly in front of the massive Burberry Prep Academy crest background, so she can have her picture taken by the professional photographer that was hired for the occasion.

As soon as she stops there, smile white, red hair shining against the black of her gown, I pull my phone from my pocket, and I press a button.

The video screen that was used against me during first year comes down ahead of schedule on the makeshift stage, and then my masterpiece begins to play.

Every mean thing Harper has ever done that I’ve been able to catch on film, record in sound, or take a picture of is there. I had no trouble collecting even more damning pieces of evidence from the other students. Hey, I’m the queen of the school and Harper du Pont is just a bully.

“What the hell?” she asks, turning around as the awful footage begins to play. There’s her, in the woods berating girls at a party, slapping her supposed best friend Becky, screaming at John and Greg, and finally … there she is, trying to brand me with a hot iron in my dorm room.

God bless security cameras.

“Daddy, make it stop!” Harper screams as the footage just keeps rolling and rolling and rolling. There was so much choice stuff, I had to pick and choose what bits to use. Those were tough decisions to make. The crowd murmurs and gasps, whispers passing behind raised hands. The entire Infinity Club gets to see the du Pont princess at her worst. I’m sure her parents’ business associates don’t appreciate seeing their own children beaten and abused by a spoiled rotten little brat. “Daddy!”

Mr. du Pont is coming down the steps as fast as he can, huffing and puffing as the staff tries to get control of the video screen. The thing is, while Harper was busy bullying people all year, I was busy making friends with as many students as I could—including the AV club.