“You’re right, you’re not the help. You’re less than the leftover meatloaf that you’ll be scraping from pans in the school kitchen. Any one of those people working in there is a better person than you, you spoiled rotten little brat.”

Mark starts toward me, but all five boys rise in unison and he stops, fully aware of what they’re capable of.

“We’ve changed your dorm assignment as well,” Church continues as Micah, the acting Secretary of the council, scribbles something down on a piece of paper and hands it to me. I pass the notarized dorm assignment form over to Mark, and he gapes at it.

“You’re putting me with that loser science geek from first period?” he says, completely aghast, like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. He looks up, and I wonder briefly how I thought he was even remotely handsome. Like, I think I was trying to be nice when I said he could be if he didn’t have such a rotten personality. In reality, he sort of reminds me of a skunk or a weasel, only with less intelligence and heart than either animal exhibits in the worst of circumstances.

“You tried to murder our girlfriend,” Spencer says, sitting slowly back down in his chair and lounging bonelessly in it, like he owns the place. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten that.”

“All of this because of some practical joke?” Mark scoffs, getting that cocky swagger back in his step as he approaches the table. “The Montagues might have some sway and influence, but my dad plays golf with the POTUS.”

POTUS sounds like the name of a fancy toilet room spray, I think with a small chuckle. Only, I’m not as dumb as Mark, so I know it stands for President of the United States.

“So?” Church asks, cocking his head to one side. “What does that have to do with you trying to kidnap Charlotte from a London cemetery? What was up with that fox mask, by the way.” Church gestures at his face with his hand. “And who were your friends? Maybe if you gave up their names, we could reconsider the dorm room assignment?”

“My father’s going to hear about this,” Mark says, gesturing with the page and then spinning on his heel and storming out the door.

I scurry after him, and lock the main office door after he leaves, just so we can have a moment of privacy before our next appointment.

“It’s been a week and you still haven’t told me how you managed to pull all of this off,” I say, stepping back into the room and leaning against one of the statuesque wooden doors that separates this area from the office. “My birthday is coming up, you know, so …”

“Oh, low blow,” Spencer says, shaking out his hand like I’ve slapped him. “Come, take a seat.” He taps his knee, and I roll my eyes. But then I go over and sit down on his lap anyway because I’m stupidly, madly, over-the-top, filled-with-glitter, in love with this guy. “You know how my dad owns a pharmaceutical company, right?”

“Yeah?” I hedge, hoping and praying that his dad isn’t one of those types who, like, triples the price on EpiPens for no reason at all other than pure profit. But we can get to that later. I figure maybe it’s a good thing I’m dating these guys, so I can teach them to check their male and class privilege, huh? Or maybe … maybe I just like them?

“Well, you know how I’ve been refusing to sell weed to everyone? To get them all psyched to vote for us?”

“You mean blackmail them into voting for us,” the twins correct, but Spencer ignores them, clearly proud of his own behind-the-scenes scheming.

“Okay, yep,” I say, narrowing my eyes and wondering where this is going.

“Well, I put pressure on my dad to talk to some of the doctors that are popular among the upper class in NYC, the ones that rely on his generosity to supply copious amounts of pills. They cut the prescriptions off for the parents of half the kids that go to this school.”

My brows go up.

“Damn, dude, that’s hardcore.”

“No ‘us’ on the Student Council, no more celebrity doctors with questionable morals.” Spencer shrugs his shoulders. “And I don’t even feel bad about it. Why should I? Most of them are like Mark and his family, throwing their weight around all the damn time. It’s a lesson that’s well-deserved.”

“How did you get your dad to agree to that?” I ask, noticing that Ranger looks away sharply at the mention of the word dad. His is guilty, that much we know for sure, and as much as he says he doesn’t care about his father, it still hurts. I can see it in his sapphire eyes when he looks off into sky sometimes.

“I told him I’d never see him again. I hate his lies anyway, and it’s a chore to be around him. But I guess he must care about me somewhat because he agreed to it.” Spencer shrugs his shoulders, also throwing on a bit of a cavalier attitude. One day, I’m going to break these boys down and get to the root of their emotions. And you know what? I hope they do the same for me, too.

“I have to admit, I’m impressed by your scheming,” I say, leaning in for a kiss as Ranger grumbles under his breath.

“We have back-to-back meetings all day,” he chastises, but I figure he’s just jealous and wants a kiss, too. I plant one on Spencer’s lips, pulling back before he draws me into that fiery essence of his, and then running down the line to kiss each and every boy on the mouth.

“Oh, that was fun,” I say as I hit the door with my back and push it open, spinning out into the office and then doing a triple fist pump and happy shimmy dance where no one can see.

“You’ve left the door open,” Church says, and my face pales as I glance back to see that it hasn’t swung properly closed and everyone’s just seen me act like a total idiot.

That’s … great. Just great.

When Aster Hayes knocks on our door, and I open it, my face is the color of the strawberry-beet jam that the kitchen makes on Fridays.

She smiles at me, but the expression doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

Psychopath, I think, but even if that’s not true, Aster is up to something.

I just know it.

“She didn’t even blow up about any of it,” I say as the twins and I fumble through the complicated process of actually trying to make cauliflower mash taste good. I don’t even see how it could be healthy at this point; we have to load it up with a crapload of butter to give it any flavor. It’s like … tasteless albino broccoli that turns into flavorless mushy white goo when cooked and pureed. “Like, a normal person would be furious. Even used-tampon-face Mark Grandam was annoyed. She creeps me out.”

Aster Hayes took every punishment the Student Council laid out with grace and poise, understandably frustrating the crap out of me. Nobody is that calm unless they have something to hide.

“So maybe she’s the guilty one and not Selena?” Spencer suggests, looking up from the casserole dish in his hands toward the classroom door. We’ve been booking it over here after class every Tuesday and Thursday, just to see if we can’t have some time to ourselves before Aster shows up. Despite the punishments laid out by the Student Council, and despite the fact that we’ve been consistently giving her the cold shoulder, she doesn’t seem able to take the hint. “Or, what if we’re wrong and there’s more than one female attacker?” He goes about putting the dish in the oven as Church raises his head up from his schoolwork, staring at his friend like he’s just given him a revelation. “It’d make sense, you know, because I swear I saw Selena leaving the Valentine’s party with that weird blue-haired girl that Ranger slept with. Then that girl ends up knocked out with no memory of what happened? That’s some shady shit.”