Stuck With The Four Hotties

“He doesn’t give a shit about you!” Jalen screams, panting, blood streaming from his nose. His brown eyes are wide and wild. Frankly, he looks like he’s about to cry. “I do.” He slams a fist against his chest and gets in Ebony’s face. She just stands there, eyes wide, staring at him. “I love you, Ebony. I fucking love you. I always have.”

“Well, I don’t love you,” she says, and then starts to sob. A few of the other girls, like Abigail and Valentina, come close and put their arms around her. Jalen stares at her in shock for several seconds before he begins to cry, these big, soppy messy tears that actually make me like him more. Boys should be able to cry; it’s disturbing that society tries to tell them otherwise.

But we’ve already learned that people like John Hannibal and Gregory Van Horn are walking nightmares.

“Are you fucking crying? Pussy bitch.” John cackles, his laugh like that of a hyena on the prowl. It’s disturbing. He’s dressed like a serial killer tonight, too, with faux blood all over his shirt. How lovely.

Jalen turns again, so suddenly that Tristan’s still in the process of wiping crimson from his lips. He tackles him, and it takes several of the other boys to pry them apart.

Creed … is absolutely loving this moment.

“Tristan Vanderbilt is a walking STD. He will sleep with anything that moves, but he’s so disrespeFtful I’m not sure how he even gets girls.” Creed chuckles as Tristan grits his teeth so hard it looks like one or two might just crack. Or hell, maybe Jalen will crack them for him? The boys start scuffling again as Ebony sobs and wails like she’s the victim here. “The sad thing is, he’s truly the king of Burberry Prep, and for good reason. I mean, who else would stand up to him, Fertainly not-” Creed turns the page and pauses abruptly, the amusement vanishing from his face. His gaze lifts up to mine.

I’m damn sure this is the end, that that’s all he’s going to read, but good old Greg hops up and snatches the journal from him, thrusting it into John’s hands.

“Certainly not Creed Cabot. If ever there was a definition for wannabe, he’s it. He tries so hard to be Tristan Vanderbilt, it’s pathetiF. He Fould never matFh up to him-and that’s pretty sad, sinFe the him in question is a womanizing lothario.” John snickers as Zayd throws his head back and howls with laughter. Meanwhile, the fight between Jalen and Tristan escalates.

“The only one worse and more pathetiF than Creed,” Greg continues as he reads over John’s shoulder, dressed up like Geralt from The WitFher video games/novels. Cosplay like that might look hot on someone like Zack who has the shoulders and muscles to carry it. On Greg, it looks even worse than Zack’s too tight green dress and pearl necklace (the plastic kind, not the pervy kind, obvs). “Is Zayd Kaiser. I mean, seriously. Does he think his musiF is aFtually good? At least Creed’s and Tristan’s dads show up to the sFhool to support their kids. Zayd’s dad doesn’t even bother.”

Zayd’s face is now tight and white, and he’s looking at me like I’m a monster.

Here’s the thing: if they hadn’t stolen my journal and read it, none of this would be happening. None of it. The Bluebloods have brought this on themselves.

Miranda is standing there shaking with rage. I feel bad for what she’s going through, but I didn’t make her brother do any of this. No, he broke into my room all on his own. I bet the guys made copies of my room and locker keys before they handed that bundle over to Vice Principal Castor. How they got keys for my new dorm locks, I’m not sure. It’s horrifying to see how far their treachery went.

“If I were you,” I say, and as soon as I speak, the entire cemetery goes quiet. The only sound is the eerie whisper of the wind through the graves, the song of ghosts. “I would stop reading now. Keep going, and you really won’t like what else I have to say in there.”

Harper snatches the journal from John’s hand and tucks it under her arm, standing up and lifting her chin in defiance. The way she looks at me, I can tell I’ve struck a nerve. Tristan is supposed to be this piece of American royalty, his family’s fortune built on shipping and railroads in the country’s infancy. The Vanderbilt name will give her a prestige that the du Pont name will never have. She’s got all the money in the world, so there’s not much left to strive for but this.

Only, she’ll never have it. I’ll make certain of that.

“This party is officially over,” Harper snaps, and the crowd groans and grumbles in displeasure. It’s disturbing though, to see how quickly they all scramble to comply with her orders. Where Tristan is the king of the academy, she is most certainly the queen. She’ll be a hard one to take down. “Tristan, let’s go.” He sneers at her, spitting blood and glaring at Jalen before

he turns and storms along the path after her. When he passes me, he spits more blood at my feet, but I don’t move, just stand there and stare him down.

He tears away from me with a string of curses and disappears into the fog. Jalen just collapses to the gravel and sobs while Ebony drifts away with Valentina and Abigail. The way she looks at me as she passes says all I need to know.

She’s a lightweight, and I’ve already shoved her out of the ring.

Creed doesn’t move from his place on top of the mausoleum. Zayd, too, is frozen in place.

“Be careful, boys,” I warn them, this strange little purr in my voice that I hardly recognize. “I’m coming for you.”

I turn away and grab Zack’s hand, dragging him with me.

On Sunday evening, I make a video compilation of Creed going through my stuff, stealing my journal, and reading it aloud, and then I email it to Kathleen Cabot with the following message: I really liked your son onFe, and he hurt me so bad I Fouldn’t breathe. He seems determined to destroy me, but I don’t want to report him to the administration. Mrs. Cabot, I trust your judgment impliFitly.

And all of that, is pure unadulterated truth.

Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep A list by Miranda Cabot Marnye ReedRêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

The Idols (guys): Tristan Vanderbilt (year one two), Zayd Kaiser (year one

two), and Creed Cabot (year one two)

The Idols (girls): Harper du Pont (year one two), BeFky Platter (year one two), and Gena Whitley (year four) (graduated), Ileana Taittinger (year one)

The Inner CirFle: Andrew Payson, Anna KirkpatriFk, Myron Talbot, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner … and, I guess, me! Kiara Xiao, Ben Thresher

Ple

bs: everyone else, sorry. XOXO

Zack Brooks