“Uh,” Zayd starts, rolling onto his back, so he can stare up at the tin ceiling tiles. Even with the weird atmosphere, and Windsor’s dodgy answer to Zack’s question, it’s pretty cozy in here. How could it not be, with all these books? “Dare.”

“I dare you,” Windsor says, chucking his crown into the center of the circle, “to text your dad and tell him how much you hate being ignored.” He glances up and meets Zayd’s eyes. “Right now. Text him and tell him.”

“I’m not going to tell him that,” Zayd says, rearing back like he’s been struck. “Are you stupid or insane or both? If I send him a message like that, he’ll go off on me. He doesn’t like when I say shit like that.”

“Then I double dare you to tell Marnye how you feel about her.”

“That’s basically a truth,” Zayd murmurs, sweeping his fingers through his lavender-ash hair. “You really do like to stir the pot, huh?”

Windsor just smiles.

“I just love honesty from others—even when it hurts.”

“Even if you’re not being transparent yourself?” Zayd quips back, and the two men stare at each other. “Fuckin’ fine then.” He glances over at me, and our eyes meet. “I told you I liked you from day one, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

Zayd just keeps staring at me.

“Well, I like you better than any girl I’ve ever met.”

“It’s called truth or dare, not bullshit or dare,” Wind says, and Zayd growls. It’s purely a musical sound, too, like it belongs in the middle of one of his raunchier songs.

“Says the guy who gave a non-answer himself.” Zayd turns back to me and sighs, putting his forehead in his hand and resting it there for a minute as he looks at me. “I think … maybe I’ve been in love with you since that Halloween party. Not first year’s, but … second year. When you came dressed as a cookie, and you danced like crazy, and you fucked Creed over with that fake journal.”

“In love with me?” I ask, and Zayd sighs, closing his green eyes.

“Yep. Pretty much.”

Okay, that’s it. Between the kissing boys, and the masturbation, and love confessions … this is not like any pajama party I’ve ever been to. And then it occurs to me that I never really had friends before, so the only pajama parties I’ve actually attended are between me and Miranda.

“Yep, pretty much?” I squeak, and Zayd blinks at me.

“Truth or dare, Charity,” he whispers, and his voice is raw and open, like he’s just cracked a stone and shown me the most beautiful geode on the inside.

“Truth.”

Because I don’t think I can move from this spot, much less do something embarrassing like touch myself in front of everyone.

“Which one of us do you like best?” Zayd asks, and my heart stutters a few times before it picks back up at a galloping pace.

“I don’t know.”

And there’s no answer truer than that.

It actually snows at Burberry Prep this year which is weird as hell. We’re in central California, for heaven’s sake.

“Global warming,” Miranda says, as she stands there with her palms lifted toward the sky, tiny flakes melting on her palms. Tonight’s the talent show, but nobody really cares anymore, since all anyone wants to do is play in the snow or—depending on their year in school—talk about the winter formal, the ski trip, or, for us third years, the option of a weekend trip to San Francisco to see the ballet and the symphony.

It’s not hard to figure out what I want to do. Even though Dad and I have used those tickets Zack bought us a couple of times already, I can never get enough. We even used the third pass to take our old neighbor, Mrs. Fleming. She might be deaf, but she said she could feel the vibrations and enjoyed the show anyway.

“You know what John said to me today?” Andrew says, tucking his hands into his pockets and shivering as white fluff settles across the gardens. It’s not thick or heavy enough of a snowfall to be much fun as of yet, but it’s getting there. Every student at Burberry Prep is praying it gets deep enough to go sledding.

“If global warming is real, why is it so cold out?” Miranda mimics as she rolls her eyes dramatically. “We all heard him today. At least he got in-school suspension from Ms. Felton for snapping that poor first-year girl’s bra. He’s such an asshole.”

“Did you all decide on what you’re doing for winter activities?” I ask, interrupting the conversation. The last person in the world I want to talk about is John Hannibal. He’s a piece of shit human, and his dad’s politics suck, so there. “Because you know I’m going to the orchestra, right?”

“Wherever you go, the boys will follow,” Andrew says, almost longingly. He leans back on the picnic table and stares up at the swirling flakes, a white beanie pulled down over his ears. “I’m beyond jealous. I wish boys followed me around like lost puppies.”

“They would if you’d just let your freak flag fly,” Miranda chides, pausing as Lizzie and Tristan appear, coming out the doors of the chapel building. Ugh. My heart pounds when I see them together, but I ignore it. Like I said, I have to let the pieces fall as they may. I’m not into sabotage.

On Thanksgiving Day, we all ate in The Mess together, and the academy kitchen team prepared a pretty traditional meal. Lizzie sat next to Tristan then, too, and it occurred to me that she really is seeking him out. She’s making an effort. And yet, she’s still wearing her engagement ring. She’s as torn as Andrew is, between reality and a distant dream.

I’m a bit of a plucky optimist: I always choose the dream.

“Tristan, are you going on the San Francisco trip or …” I start, trailing off and huddling deeper into one of Zack’s hoodies. He left it in my room on accident, and well, it’s big and soft, and I love the smell too much to give it back. Grapefruit and nutmeg, that’s what it reminds me of.

“San Francisco trip,” he says, and Lizzie bites her lip.

“I’m going to the winter formal,” she says with a small sigh. “My dad arranged for a visitor’s pass, so Marcel could take me.” She doesn’t sound particularly happy about that, and I notice Tristan’s shoulders get tense.

He moves past her and out from under the awning, so he can glance up at the dusky sky, and the swirling snow.

Zack comes out a moment later, spots me in his hoodie, and grins as he pops over to sit beside me. Even with the stolen hoodie, I’m still freezing, so I burrow into him and eventually end up sitting between his legs, his big, warm body draped over mine. I like it best that way, being swallowed up by Zack and his heavy winter coat.

“We need to get you a new jacket,” he says, but we both know I already have one that Miranda bought for me last year. I’d just rather wear his hoodie is all. “Not that I mind you wearing my sweater.” He chuckles and nuzzles against my ear, giving me serious butterflies, a whole swarm of them. His muscular arms are banded around me, squeezing tight, and I relax into them.

“You’re going on the San Francisco trip?” I ask, and Miranda sighs dramatically.

“Hey, you, crazy person,” she says, moving over to stand in front of me, looking like a model with her sheet of shiny hair, designer ski outfit, and bright pink jacket. She points at me and pokes me in the forehead. “I told you: wherever you go, the guys will follow, stop asking.”

“And you?” Zack asks, because Creed isn’t the only one who knows about the kiss between me and Miranda. Somehow, they all do, and they’re jealous as hell about it. Maybe they see her as a serious threat?

“Of course I’m going to San Francisco,” she scoffs, checking the time on her watch. “It’s a third year right to go.” She drops her arm by her side and gives me a look. “It’s almost time to get ready. That is, if you don’t want to get onstage with mussy hair and poorly done makeup.”

“Aren’t you so sweet,” I tease, scooping up a bit of snow and chucking it at her.

“We need to be on time for the talent show,” Tristan says, turning to look at us, his hands buried in the pockets of his gray wool coat. “It’s imperative.”

“You guys have something planned,” I say, glancing back at Zack, but he gives nothing away. His face looks like it always does, serious and deep and dark. I reach up and tug on a lock of his brown hair, but he just raises his brows and says nothing.

I guess it doesn’t matter.

I’m about to find out anyway.

The auditorium is packed, but there’s a general sense of irritation from the crowd. Attendance is compulsory, but everyone really just wants to dick around in the snow. Doesn’t bother me. I’m just using the show as a point of interest on my college application, and also to practice for the winter concert. Next week, I’m traveling for a cheer competition in Los Angeles, so I won’t be able to play the harp all weekend.