Stuck With The Four Hotties

It feels like I might never breathe again.

Until … I do.

Everything comes to a stop, but not like the storm has passed, more like I’m in the eye of it.

“You look way hotter in your graduation gown than I do,” Miranda whines, adjusting her glorious blond hair around her face and proving that that is most definitely not true. She looks beautiful, like she always does. In another time or another place, we’d probably be soulmates.

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I’d definitely add her to my harem.

Speaking of harems … My heart beats wildly in my chest as I sit down on the edge of my bed and think about the decision I made last week. It’s been haunting me ever since, but I know in my heart it’s the right one. During first year, when I got those three boxes filled with glittering dresses, I chose one. And I wished I hadn’t. Not because Zayd was the wrong choice, but because Creed and Tristan were just as right.

My choice now remains the same: I either pick all of them … or I pick none of them.

That’s what I’ve decided, although both avenues might lead me to the same place. They might say hell to it, and walk away, but at least that’d be their choice.

“Are you okay?” Miranda asks as Andrew comes out of the bathroom, putting his cap on and examining himself in the mirror. He’s too excited about his trip to Connecticut tomorrow to be thinking much about anything else. He’s off to meet his email pen pal which I’m still not sure is a good idea. I did stalk the dude, some guy named Ross from Adamson All-Boys Academy. Seems legit, although I did read online that a girl died on campus once, when they tried to integrate the students. Scary.

“I’m fine,” I say, blinking myself out of my stupor and glancing over at her. I’ve got fresh rose-gold in my hair, a new very short and very edgy ‘do, and an Idol’s Eye necklace hanging between my breasts. Dad’s charm bracelet is on my arm, and I’ve tucked a little something from each boy into the pockets of the jeans I’m wearing underneath the black gown. “Really.”

“You like you’re about to attend a funeral, not a graduation,” Andrew says, and then Miranda gives him a hard, sharp look to shut him up.

Charlie is … not doing well. So not well, in fact, that I still don’t know if

he should even be coming today. I told him I’d take my cap, gown, and diploma home and we could have our own ceremony in the backyard but he wasn’t having it.

Jennifer agreed to go with him, along with his health aide. Dad told me in his most recent text that seeing his little girl graduate was the culmination of his life goals. I didn’t like that. But how could I deny him after?

“Let’s go,” I say, standing up and heading out the door. The boys are all waiting, lounging in their various ways in the hallway. Creed slouches against the wall while Tristan stands straight and tall; Zayd bobs his head in time to the single earbud in his ear and grins at me while Zack smiles, but keeps his big arms crossed over his chest. Windsor hands me a bouquet of flowers.

“This is from all of us. We each picked a type of flower to add to the bouquet. It was agreed that five giant floral bunches was simply not going to do.” I smile and give him a hug, knowing they’re all waiting for the after- party tonight so we can talk about our plans.

My plans, specifically.

They’re all waiting for me to choose.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. I glance back at the door to my room, the old janitor’s closet turned mini-palace, and I think about all the amazing times we had in there, the movies we watched, the tea we drank, the sex … Oh, God, the sex.

How can this really be it? The end of four, long years. The end of bullying and bets and romance.

“Goodbye Brothel,” I whisper, feeling tears sting my eyes. I push forward and out the doors, taking my friends with me. The Idols, the Bluebloods, the filthy rich boys, the elite of the school. That’s us now, here, together on our last and final day as students of Burberry Preparatory Academy.

“Keep your guard up,” Windsor whispers as we make our way to the waiting limos and pile in.

“We’re in the home stretch now, but we haven’t won the game,” Zack agrees, looking out the window.

I check my phone: we still have about twelve hours until that horrible Infinity Club bet goes by the wayside.

Twelve more hours to survive the worst bullies I’ve ever encountered, or will ever encounter.

Twelve. Fucking. Hours.

We climb out of the limo near the football field where the graduation ceremony is taking place, and I thank whatever gods or deities will listen that it’s not happening in the amphitheater where I spent the end of my first year being humiliated.

Harper is breezing across the field with her parents in tow, laughing, smiling. They look so normal, but I won’t let myself forget that her parents are senior Infinity Club members. They could very well be some of the ones pushing their own child to commit murder.

“I can’t believe we never got that bitch,” Zayd grumbles, and Zack grunts in agreement.

“Never say never,” I whisper as we find our chairs, and then mill around waiting for the ceremony to start. I don’t see Dad in the audience just yet, but he warned me he might be late. I shoot off a quick text to see where he is, and he sends back ETA 20 mins.

Twenty minutes, huh?

It’s gonna be tight; he might miss the beginning of my speech. I can’t delay though, not with what I have planned. It all comes down to timing.

Harper du Pont, you are going down tonight.

“He’ll be here,” Zack says, reaching out to adjust my black cap, the tassel swinging back and forth in front of my face. I blow it out of the way and try to tamp down on my nerves.

Today is a big day. Huge. I’ve been planning it all year wi

thout telling a single soul about it.