“What—” Tristan starts to say, but there's a sudden hubbub amongst the other partygoers as several cars pull up, one of which is a police car. The other has a man and a woman in plainclothes, but they both very quickly bring up their badges, and nod to be let through the side gate.

We all watch as they make their way straight over to Ben.

“What was you said?” Windsor asks, drawing my attention away from the spectacle and back to him. “Hang them with their own rope?” The detectives—because that must be what they are—start talking to Ben. In the meantime, several other cars and vans pull up, and out climb news reporters with cameras rolling.

“Hang them with their own rope,” I repeat in awe, as Windsor grins and taps his fingers against the side of his glass.

“Well, I may have called several news stations and let on that Ben Thresher, son of the CEO of Thresher Meats was being hauled in for sexual assault.” Windsor shrugs his shoulders and gives me this wicked little smile. “That was my special, little touch. Well, that and I've guaranteed he won't be paying off or intimidating the girl he assaulted. She's safe, and well-taken care of.”

“He hurt another girl?” I ask, and the idea is just too terrible to put much thought to. Windsor nods and looks me straight in the eye.

“I didn't make that up; I wouldn't make that up. Look, there, milady, I'm learning from you.” Windsor grins and grabs a pair of hor d'oeuvres off of a passing tray. “Mini beef wellington?” He holds it out to me, but I'm locked in place, watching as Ben is dragged from the party in handcuffs.

“How on earth did you find out about that?” Tristan asks, turning to look at Windsor. The prince stops smiling, setting the beef wellingtons on a plate that's been abandoned on a nearby table. He wipes his hand on his shorts and stares Tristan down.

“I have my ways, Mr. Vanderbilt. If there are skeletons in the closet, I'll find them.” Windsor's eyes track across the group as Zayd makes his way over to us, pausing as he senses the tension in our little gathering. “That goes for everyone here: if there's something you want to confess, I suggest you do it before it's too late.”

I shiver.

Windsor York is scary.

No, not just scary, he's terrifying.

At least he’s on my side.

Summer back home with Dad is much less eventful than my single week in the Hamptons. I only just barely glimpsed what next year’s going to be like and already, I’m gearing up for all-out war.

“You okay, Marnye-bear?” Charlie asks, reeling in his line. We’re sitting on the bank of a local fishing spot, pretending like we actually have the skills to catch something. Neither of us has had a single bite, and I know that this pond is stocked once a week with all sorts of fish. Must just be our total lack of experience showing.

“I’m great,” I respond, feeling butterflies take over my stomach when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Every time I hear it make a sound, I get that sensation. Maybe because since I’ve left the Hamptons, I’ve had no shortage of messages. From Miranda, from Andrew, from Lizzie.

And from all five guys: Windsor, Zack, Creed, Zayd, and even Tristan.

“You sure?” Dad asks, setting his rod aside and opening his cooler. He pulls out a pair of sodas for the both of us, and I smile. In the past, he might’ve gone for a beer and tried to justify it to me. Just this one, Marnye, and no more. Even if he kept his promise for that single day, by the end of the week he’d be hammered. He’s really been making an honest effort. “You seem a little distant.”

“There’s just … I’m nervous about school starting next month.” And by next month, I mean in a week. My stomach flip-flops, and I exhale sharply. My birthday’s coming up, too, on the 5th of September. I’ll be seventeen, and a third year at Burberry Preparatory Academy. It’s all going by so fast, I’m almost afraid to see what happens when it ends.

“You seem to have a lot of new friends,” Dad hedges, fishing for information. He’s about as successful at that as he is at catching fish. I smile, and tuck some hair behind my ear. I’ve let it grow out a little bit, but it’s still short, still rose-gold. It’s sort of my signature color now. My fingers stray to the tattoo on my hip, pressing into my pelvic bone for comfort. I will not let the Infinity Club beat me.

“They’re just friends,” I repeat with a grin, turning to look at him. We’re so much alike: same brown eyes, same brunette hair (before mine was dyed), same full upper lip with the little dip in the center, same small button nose. Dad always says his features look better on me than they ever did on him, but I still think he’s a pretty handsome guy. “If I get a boyfriend, you’ll be the first to know.”

I salute him, and he grimaces, but at least he’s smiling, too. I have noticed in the last few weeks that he’s started to look thinner, and his hair’s started falling out. Fucking chemo. Both a blessing and a curse. Our old neighbor from the trailer park, Mrs. Fleming, is not only the world’s best texter over the age of ninety, but she also grows her own marijuana with the help of her adult grandsons. She’s beaten cancer four times in her life, and swears that cannabis is responsible for it. She brings dads joints, edibles, and other things and, to make up for her deafness, shouts really loudly about him taking his medicine.

Maybe it’ll help, maybe not, but at least the medical center has been taking excellent care of Charlie. I woke up one night in a cold sweat, panicking about it, certain that Harper was going to poison my father somehow, but Zack talked me down.

Infinity Club rules are ironclad. Harper would never hurt Charlie because it would mean the end of her—financially, socially, and in business. The other Club members take bets very seriously. And by other members, I don’t mean the junior sect.

Exhaling sharply, I pop the top on my soda and down it. I’m trying to get Dad to quit sugar with me, but he says he can only tackle one vice at a time, so for now we’re both still sweet-tooth junkies.

On the way home, Charlie suddenly reaches to turn off the radio—even though his favorite song in the whole world, Every Little Thing She Does is Magic by the Police is on—and then sits back heavily in his chair, hands white-knuckled on the wheel. My first thought is that there’s something going on with his health, and I start to panic.

“What?” My voice is shrill and high and foreign, a whole host of nightmares coming to life inside my head. “Dad, please.” My voice cracks, and Charlie reaches out to take my hand.

“Marnye-bear, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He smiles as my heart races and I narrow my eyes. “This is about your birthday, that’s all.” I exhale sharply and lean back into my seat, pushing some of the yellow batting that’s leaking out of the headrest away from my face. “Your friends asked my permission to organize a surprise party.”

“A surprise party … that you’re telling me about?” I query, glancing at my phone and finding messages from most of my new ‘friends’. The new Bluebloods. A surge of energy goes through me, and I lick my lips. Me, a Blueblood? An Idol? Surely, Tristan was joking. And anyway, I could never be so cruel. I’d never fit in.

“Well, I wanted to make sure you were okay with it,” Dad continues as we pull into the driveway of our new house. It’s disconcerting sometimes, not going back to the Train Car. I have so many fond memories of that place. Bad ones, too. I’ll miss it, but I’m okay with the change in scenery. “Those boys, if they’re bullying you again …”

“They’re not,” I say, and the words come out strong, sure, confident. I wait until Dad’s parked the truck and shut off the engine before I reach out and take his hand. “And I’ll never put you through what I did before.”

Red ribbons, water turning pink, my back sliding down the wall of the shower.

Exhale, Marnye, exhale.

“If there’s something you need to tell me,” Dad starts, his cheeks reddening slightly, “even if it’s about sex or anything like that, I’m here. There’s nothing you could do that would change my love for you, Marnye. If you come to me with questions, I promise I won’t be mad.”

My serious expression morphs into a grin, and I lean forward to throw my arms around his neck in a very Miranda-esque sort of hug. When I sit back, Dad’s smiling, too.

“Okay. If I have any questions, I’ll ask Google first, but keep you in mind for a close second.” Dad laughs, but the sound is half mirth and half relief. Good. “And yes to the party. Actually, I’m excited for it.”

I don’t say it aloud, but … it’s been years since I’ve had a birthday with anyone but me and Dad.

Last year, Zack tried, but I wasn’t ready.

This year, I’m open to change.

And I’m not afraid.

I don’t tell anyone that Dad’s already spilled the beans about my party. Instead, when he starts acting squirrelly after our pancake breakfast at the Railroad Station, I just smile and smother my laughter with my hand.