“What are we making today?” she asks, moving over to the cabinets and looking through them. When she goes for the one with the aprons in it, I step in front of her and cut her off.

“This is a private cabinet,” I say as Ranger watches stiffly from behind her.

“This classroom is for everyone,” she argues, still smiling at me. “But if you don’t want me to look in there, I won’t. I’d rather we didn’t fight. I’m here to be a part of this club.”

“Sure thing,” Spencer says, but he’s not convinced. None us are.

Instead of our usual joking and playing around, the room is silent while we each work on our own recipes. Sometimes, we work individually, other times we make things together. But with Aster here, everybody stays in their own lane.

“She seems like the type to get us written up, if we were to, say, crack an egg down her back,” Tobias whispers, looking across the room at her. I noticed Ranger cringing when she started making substitutions in a recipe from one of the old cookbooks. “You know, that’s one of the things we liked so much about you, Chuck.”

“Cracking eggs down my back?” I ask, thinking of the plastic spider from the cemetery and narrowing my eyes.

“No, silly, the fact that you didn’t get us written up for acting like twat-faces.” Micah pops the electric mixer into his bowl as I grin.

“Twat-face. That’s a new one, but I like it.” I stir my healthy banana-chocolate-oat pancake mix together as I think about that. It never really occurred to me that I could get the guys written up for the things they did to me. That’s just not my thing. After all, I’ve had a headmaster for a father my entire life and believe me, running to him and tattling never did me any good.

Sometimes, we have to face our own problems. And sometimes, those problems turn into blessings.

Toward the end of the day, Spencer finishes his cupcakes and goes about piping fox faces onto them with red icing. He sets the tray down on the island where Aster’s working, but even though she looks up, there’s no reaction.

“If I didn’t think it might get me killed, I’d have put that ugly symbol on all of them,” he says, watching the small, short girl put blackberries on the top of her cake.

So, for the rest of the day, we leave Aster alone.

But she isn’t going to stick around and ruin Culinary Club for us for the rest of the year.

No fucking way.

The Student Council debates are held in the large auditorium in the rear portion of the main building, this stuffy old theater with enough neoclassical features in its architecture to choke a horse. Since I'm not actually on the Student Council—the assistant position is assigned by the members and not up for election—I sit in the front row to watch the debates, not onstage with the boys.

It's doubtful anybody would show up at these things without being mandated, but, of course, when Archibald Carson has his way, things are bound to get boring. The whole school is in attendance, slumped and groaning in their seats.

“Nice of you to show up,” Dad says, pausing next to my seat and looking down at me like I'm the biggest disappointment of his entire life. “I'd almost forgotten that you attended this school.”

“That's on you,” I quip back, crossing my arms over my unbound chest, and shrugging. “You're the one that said you didn't want to treat me like a daughter anymore.”

“That's not what I said,” he bites out and then sighs, pausing to run his hand over his thinning hair. “You're misinterpreting my words for your own gain, behavior that’s rather childish, especially for a woman who’s engaged and planning to marry.”

I roll my eyes, but Dad doesn't notice, moving over to the steps on the side of the stage and climbing up to take his position at the podium. As he's hefting his iPad from his briefcase to look at his speech notes (the iPad with the PAW Patrol cover, by the way), Aster and her friends appear from behind the curtain, taking their seats on the opposite side of the stage from the boys.

Theoretically, everyone knows that each Student Council position is individual, that there are no party platforms or anything like that. But only theoretically. Either Church will win—and with him, the other guys—or else Aster and her friends will.

The way that room picks up and all eyes flick toward the three new girls in their well-pressed skirts and ties, I have a feeling that the vote is leaning toward Aster.

With a sigh, I slump in my seat and resist the urge to scroll on my phone. It's painful to watch though, seeing my boys give all the right answers while Mark and his stupid meathead roommate—Gareth, apparently, is his name—goof around.

There has to be some way for us to kick their asses, right?

After the debates, everyone files out and the halls are filled with gossip. People are definitely looking at us in a different way than they used to before. Student Council only, assholes just doesn’t seem to hold as much weight as it did.

“You said you had a plan,” I whisper to Spencer as we watch Mark from across the hall, leaning against his locker and flirting shamelessly with Aster. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Like, how does he not know this is all going to get back to Selena? Maybe he just doesn’t care? “But you still won’t tell me what it is.”

“You’ll see,” Spencer says, but his eyes are bright as he watches our rivals basking in the glow of an adoring crowd. He glances down at me and cocks a brow. “What? It’s a surprise! I’m still working on it. I need my dad’s help, and we don’t have that great of a relationship, so … sort of banking on his guilt to make this work.”

“Guilt over what?” I ask, and Spencer makes a bit of a face.

“He left my mom to go live in Paris with his mistress and his other kid, sort of a royal piece of shit.” He looks right at me and then puts his hand on the wall above my head, looking down at my face with all due seriousness. “That’s why I don’t like lies, Chuck. He lied to me, and my brother, and my mom. And then you know what he did? He came back and my mom took him back, and guess what? He still lies about the shit that he does, and she doesn’t care. Jack doesn’t even care.” He pauses for a moment, still watching me with those intense eyes of his. “But I do.”

“Of course you do,” I say, trying to keep my voice soft. “You have big feelings.”

Spencer thinks for a moment, and then smiles.

“Yeah, I guess I do?” he says, pausing as a student approaches us warily. “If you’re trying to buy from me right now, it’s not happening. Not until we win the elections.”

“Cheap ass!” Mark calls out, snickering, like we didn’t catch him trying to abduct me in London. What a piece of work. He seems to think he’s untouchable, but I know better. It’s just a matter of time before he gets his. I don’t know what the boys plan on doing about it, but they’re not going to let it go.

Not a chance in hell of that happening.

By Friday, there’s a buzz humming through the school that I can’t quite puzzle out. Mostly because nobody likes me. Partially, I blame the boys for that. They’ve been super overprotective, but considering I’m being hunted by a murderous cult, I don’t think that’s such a bad thing.