Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Harper and Becky are not pleased with you,” he says, reaching up to run a thumb along my lower lip. Zayd makes a growling sound from behind him, and Creed narrows his blue eyes to slits, but they don’t try to intervene. “The half of the Inner Circle that’s not loyal to us, they reported you, along with a handful of Plebs.” Tristan smiles at me, cupping my chin in his hand. “But like Zayd said, we took care of it.”

He releases me suddenly and steps back, making my head spin.

“Why are you guys helping me?” I ask, blinking through a sudden rush of emotion. “I thought …”

“Just keep those grades up,” Tristan says, pausing on his way down the path so he can turn and look at me. “I only like beating worthy opponents. When I crush you academically, it’ll be on my own merit.” He turns away and leaves me with Zayd and Creed.

“Dinner in The Mess?” Zayd asks, tilting his head to one side and giving me a panty-melting grin. “My treat.” My own lips twist up in a smile; I can’t help it. I feel heady with emotion right now. “Creed?” He watches me, and I can’t shake that memory of dancing with him during the winter formal. I felt like a princess swept away in a fairytale.

“I’ll pass,” he says, slouching against the edge of the alcove and kicking one foot up against it. His eyes meet mine, and a spark snaps between us. “I will, however, walk you to orchestra practice tomorrow. It’s about as far as I can manage before I need a nap.” He winks at me, slides down the wall, and kicks out one leg, keeping the other bent at the knee. I’ve never seen anyone luxuriate like he does, sitting in the sun with that white-gold hair sparkling, his phone in his hand.

“I’ll take you up on that,” I say, letting Zayd put his arm around my waist. He guides me down the path and I feel the strangest burst of emotion in my chest, like a flower blooming in the spring sunshine.

I wish this feeling could last forever.

The entire social scene at Burberry Prep revolves around a single day in February: Valentine’s Day.

“If you don’t get a rose, you’re worse than a Pleb,” Miranda explains, and then flushes, clamping a hand over her mouth. I smile at her, but she’s already rushing to explain herself. “Not like, well … I’ll be sending you a rose for sure. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’ll send you one, too,” I say as we walk down the hall toward our lockers. I don’t use mine as much since my dorm is actually in the chapel building, but everybody else lives in Tower Three, so they stuff them full of things. Honestly, because we use tablets and laptops in most every class, and physical textbooks have gone the way of the dinosaurs, the lockers function more as a social hub and a place to store personal items people want during the day. When we stop at Miranda’s, she gets out a soda and a bag of cashews.

I once saw inside Tristan’s locker and noticed a box of condoms. Zayd keeps a guitar in his. I’ve never seen Creed’s.NôvelDrama.Org owns all content.

“Maybe my brother will send you a flower?” Miranda teases, hip bumping me as she scoops a handful of cashews into her palm. “He’s walked you to every practice and rehearsal for orchestra, hasn’t he?” I shrug my shoulders, but I can’t deny that it’s true. Creed’s been walking me around campus, Zayd’s been eating with me in The Mess, and Tristan just flits in and makes my heart thunder at random moments.

Maybe … I’ll get more than just one flower from Miranda?

And if I do, what does that mean? Are the Idols fucking with me?

I hate to admit how much I want this new friendship with them. Or more.

Could be more than friendship …

Roses can be purchased all week in the student lounge, and are delivered during third period on Valentine’s Day. It’s a Friday, so everyone’s already antsy and ready for the weekend. People shift in their seats and whisper behind cupped hands.

Ms. Felton gives up trying to actually teach us anything, and we all wait in nervous anticipation for the bouquets to arrive. Tristan is the only member of the Bluebloods, save Miranda, that’s in this class, and my palms begin to sweat when I see him grab his things and move over to stand beside us.

I did something … risky this week.

I ordered five flowers: one for Miranda, one for Andrew … and three for the Idol boys.

I have no idea how they’re going to react to that.

“Expecting any roses?” Tristan asks, and I shrug because I don’t want to tell him the truth: I am. I really, truly am. He doesn’t say anything, just waits for the door to swing in and the staff to come through with massive bouquets of roses in hand. There are buds in every color, all mixed together in a rainbow of differently shaded blossoms.

The rule is: a student can only order one rose for each recipient.

Tristan watches as the employee makes her way around the room, handing out bunches of long-stemmed roses and little stacks of cards. When she finishes passing out the flowers in her arms, she heads back out to the cart in the hall and grabs a bunch as big around as my waist. This one she presents to Tristan.

“Holy shit,” Miranda chokes out, watching as he puts the flowers aside and moves over to the trash can near Ms. Felton’s desk. The whole class holds its collective breath as Tristan begins to look through the cards that came with them. He tosses the top card into the trash and several of the girls

gasp. The second card … also in the trash. Tristan’s gray eyes study the names and dismiss them, one by one. I have no idea how many cards he has, but I’m guessing it’s around a hundred. “I’ve … never even heard of someone getting so many roses.”

“Trash, trash, trash,” Tristan says, chucking one after the other. It’s actually pretty fucking cruel what he’s doing. There’s no reason for it. My cheeks burn, and I can’t help but wonder which one of those cards is mine. “Yawn. No thank you. Stupid bitch.”

“Tristan,” I hiss, but he’s ignoring me. The employee comes back in and hands Miranda a dozen red and white roses, and a small stack of cards. Me, I get exactly five. Blinking in surprise, I look through the notes and find one from Andrew, one from Miranda, and three from the guys. Exactly the same people that I sent roses to.

My head snaps up and I find Tristan staring at me. He slaps the remaining cards against the palm of his hand, smiles at me, and then dumps all but one in the garbage.

“To Tristan Vanderbilt,” he reads, his voice so commanding that most everyone in class stops to listen. “Thank you for being a good friend. I’m glad we Fould overFome our differenFes. Love, Marnye Reed.” He snaps my name off his tongue like a curse … or a promise. My heart thunders as I stare at him and wonder if he’s going to chuck my note in the trash next. “Thanks, Marnye. I love it.” Tristan snatches a single red rose from the bouquet, tucks it behind his ear, and then hands the rest to some random first-year girl.