“You’ll take care of Zayd, Creed, and Zack for me, right?” I ask, not because I think they really need the help, but because I’m starting to look at Windsor like my righthand man. If some unforeseen circumstances come up, I know he’s good at thinking on his feet. “You’ve already taken care of Tristan.”

I glance at Lizzie, but she’s in the process of storming off, her head in her hand. I don’t blame her for being upset; I would be, too.

“I’ll take care of them,” Windsor promises, taking me in his arms and kissing the corners of my mouth. He’s teasing me, like he always does, making me want more. “Miranda says she already called your dad, and he said it was fine if she crashed at your place for a few days.”

“And after that?” How long an Infinity Club party lasts, I have no idea.

“After that …” Windsor starts, just as Zayd, Creed, and Zack come into the room.

“Time to skedaddle, babe,” Zayd tells me, wringing his tattooed hands in nervousness. I don’t like that, seeing someone as carefree as him get nervous. Fuck the Infinity Club and everything it stands for. It’s just an excuse for rich bullies to pick on the less fortunate, and call it a game.

“There’s a side entrance,” Creed tells me, slouching lazily against the doorjamb. He’s got that sharpness in his eyes that says he’s ready to fight if need be. “Through the ballroom. I’ll show you. I had Miranda move your car.”

Zack puts his letterman jacket on my shoulders and presses a kiss to my cheek, his full mouth pursed tight, eyes dancing with dark shadows. He’s about as happy about this whole situation as I am.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I tell them, taking one last look out Tristan’s front window to find Harper climbing from her car. Great. I exhale sharply, and turn toward the door to follow after Creed.

“Drive safe, Marnye,” Zack whispers as I pass by, and I give one last wave before retreating to my room to pick up my bags.

This whole situation feels dramatic, but I know it’s just another summer for us academy kids.

Today, we’re plotting intrigue. Last week, we meted out vengeance. Tomorrow, we’ll probably go to the beach.

One year, one choice, one improbable future.

Who knew that being the new girl would be so damn difficult.

The drive home is peaceful, just winding roads and hillside and sunshine. The ocean sparkles on our left as we take the coastal route back to Cruz Bay and Charlie’s tiny rental house on the edge of the exclusive Grenadine Heights neighborhood.

Miranda and I don’t talk much, not until we’re nearly home.

“What happened?” she asks, and I raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her briefly before I look back at the road. I might be an overly cautious driver, but better than a reckless one, right?

“Happened?” I ask, and she sighs, leaning back in her seat with her white-blond hair whipping all over the place. She’s got big, shiny silver shades on, and she lifts them to glare at me with her icy blue eyes.

“Yes, happened. Between you and Tristan. You disappeared upstairs, and we couldn’t find you.”

My cheeks flush with heat, and I know what she’s thinking. Of course she’d assume we were having sex. But with Tristan, sex is normal. Easy. It’s a way for him to express emotion without actually having to come to terms with any of it. No, that’s not what we did.

“We played Twister, and then kissed, and cuddled.” Miranda laughs, but only for a second. Then she realizes I’m serious and gapes at me, her lips shiny with pink gloss. Bits of her hair get stuck in it as we take the exit into Cruz Bay.

“You cuddled?” she asks, and I nod. She makes this half-whine, half-groan sound. “You’re totally picking him, aren’t you?”

“I’m not picking anyone just yet,” I murmur as we slow down and it gets a little easier to chat without all that wind in our faces. “I slept with your brother, but you’re worried about a game of Twister?”

“Uh, duh. Sex is … just sex. But someone you can hang all afternoon with and not realize how much time has passed? Someone you can have a good time with? Someone you can—gag me with a spoon—snuggle? That’s real stuff right there.”

I don’t respond, pulling into the driveway and mulling that information over in my mind.

It’s not until I climb out that I realize there’s a cream-colored Cadillac parked on the street.

Jennifer is here.

“Mommy troubles?” Miranda asks, as I purse my lips and nod, grabbing my bags from the back of the convertible and heading inside. It’s so bright and sunny out that I have to squint when I step into the living room, Miranda on my heels.

As soon as I see what’s waiting for, I come to a complete halt, and my best friend-turned crush-turned best friend again bumps into my back.

“What the—” she starts, and then stops as she looks between me, and the teenaged girl that looks just like me sitting on the couch between Jennifer and Charlie. He’s got tears in his eyes as he looks up at me, and Jennifer … she’s got a big, round belly, and a smile.

“Marnye,” she says, rising to her feet with considerable effort. She groans and has to put a hand out to steady herself. Dad is up in an instant to support her, looking a little wobbly himself. I feel this sick, dark shadow inside of me that whispers about how much worse he looks from when I last saw him, how much weight he’s lost. Shit. Jennifer waves him off and then there’s this awkward moment of quiet where we just stare at each other. “Marnye, I’d like you to meet your younger sister, Isabella Carmichael.”

My heart turns to ice, plummets into my stomach, and breaks into a million little pieces.

My brown eyes lock on Isabella’s, and the way she smiles at me … reminds me of something. It takes me a second to register what, exactly, that is, but as soon as I do, I feel cold on the inside.

Her smile … it reminds me of the filthy rich girls I already know and hate.

Fan-freaking-tastic.