Stuck With The Four Hotties

The next day is Halloween, and I’ve made my decision about the party.

“You …” Miranda stares at me, dressed in the red bodycon dress, red Prada heels, horns, and clip-on tail. I’ve even done my makeup, putting on a smoky cat eye and vibrant lips. Red glitter adorns both cheeks, and I’ve taken a razor to what was left of my hair. It’s now gelled up into a stylish but soft crest down the middle, gentle waves curving around my ears. “Look so freaking hot.” She clamps her mouth closed and just stares at me like she’s never seen me before.

I’m still fuming, but I’m also going stir crazy. Creeping around the halls and hiding in my room isn’t doing it for me.

I smile.

“So do you.” I gesture at Miranda’s tight, pink dress and coiffed blonde hair. Her makeup is flawless, long white gloves on her arms, gold rings glittering on her fingers. I haven’t completely forgotten that I was drugged at some point on Thursday, but I also don’t think I can survive Burberry Prep without her. Besides, it’s easier for me to hold onto trust than believe deceit from my friends.

“I’m kind of … in shock,” she continues, circling me and looking me up and down. “You look so freaking fierce.” She snaps her fingers in my general direction. “Devil Wears Prada-SFarlet Letter realness, hunty.” A genuine laugh escapes my throat as I smooth my palms down the front of my

dress. It’s too tight, too short, and I’m pretty sure it would look better on Miranda’s thin form than my, uh, less than thin form, but I’m determined.

I’m going out tonight, and nothing’s going to stop me.

I’ve been banned from getting my phone back this weekend, so I don’t worry about Dad or whatever messages he may or may not have sent me. No, I’m going to focus on survival instead. I’m still leading the school in grades, and I’m already preparing for the orchestra auditions this Friday. If I can excel in my own ways, then I’ll keep my head down and endure whatever the Idols throw at me.

“Wait until Andrew sees you,” Miranda giggles, lifting my hand up and making me twirl for her. “He’s going to lose his mind.” She leads me out into the hall where Andrew’s waiting, dressed in a ridiculously expensive looking Zoot suit. I’ve seen cheap versions at the Halloween store in Lower Banks, but this is … holy crap. His hair is slicked back from his face and hiding under a wide-brimmed fedora. His shoes are black and white, as shiny as the chain hanging from his pocket. He twirls it as he gapes at me. “Does she not look totally and completely gorg?”

Andrew’s brows go up, and he reaches to adjust his pinstriped hat.

“You seriously turned this hair thing into a miracle,” he tells me, and I grin, doing a little twirl before letting him take both Miranda and me by the arms. The party tonight is actually an academy sponsored event, so it’s being held in the gym with a DJ, gaudy streamers, and plenty of chaperones. From what Miranda tells me, the real party starts afterwards, over by the lake.

“I’m trying to stay positive.” I exhale as we approach the ridiculous arch over the gym door. It might be expensive-I’m pretty sure those are real roses woven into the trellis-but it looks much the same as every other school dance I’ve been to. “Tristan called me a nervous, eager charity case. And I’m okay with that. I am eager, and I am nervous, and I am here on charity, so I’m going to embrace that tonight.”

“You’re going to slay,” Miranda drawls as she drags us in and over to the photo booth. People are staring at me. No, not just people, everyone is staring at me, but I ignore them, snatching props and taking ridiculous, over- the-top photos with my friends. We settle at a table next, and Andrew leaves to grab refreshments.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see that the dance floor is completely packed, mostly with Idols and their Inner Circle goons, but there are Plebs, too. Honestly, I’ve stopped even bothering to differentiate. Whatever the

Idols want to happen spreads through the school like wildfire. I’ve been treated just as poorly by the regular students as the self-appointed elite ones.

“Look who it is,” Zayd purrs, coming over to the table and leaning his forearms against it. I’m not sure what he’s supposed to be, but it looks like he’s taking advantage of the lax dress code to go topless. His entire upper body and both arms are covered in tattoos, and the muscles underneath are rock-hard. Something tightens in my lower belly, but I’m pretty sure it’s hatred so I ignore it. “Look at you, Working Girl. Don’t you look fuckable tonight.”

His grin is infectious, but it’s not meant to be kind, so I steel myself against the smile that tries to steal over my lips. For fuck’s sake, he just called me Working Girl again. Of the three Idol boys though, he’s been the least cruel. I try to give him some credit for that.

“Don’t dick with the devil, Kaiser,” I deadpan, and even when he roars with laughter, I don’t react.

“Wow,” he starts, standing up and raking his fingers through his sea green hair. Those emerald eyes of his sparkle as he takes me in. “Vicious.” He gestures at me with fingers covered in rings, and uses the other to tug up his very low-slung black skinny jeans. “I’m digging the hair. Becky did a nice job.” He pauses and pretends to grimace, like he let information slip on accident. From what I figure, Zayd Kaiser doesn’t do anything on accident. As I stare at him, I try to remember the hurt on his face when the car pulled up, and it was my dad inside and not his. Then he opens his mouth again. “Ah, but you already knew she did it, huh, Charity? Her mother runs some famous beauty line.” He rolls his eyes like this is information hardly worth repeating.

“Who drugged me?” I ask, because if he’s already half-drunk and loose- tongued then I may as well get something out of him. “Because clearly someone did.”All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask your friend over here?” he points to Miranda with a black-painted nail, and teases one of the lip rings pierced through either side of his mouth. When I flick my attention her way, the hurt is evident in her expression.

“I would never do something like that,” she spits, and the vehemence in her voice makes me want to believe her. “I don’t know how you guys did it, but you’re lucky Marnye didn’t press charges.” Zayd shrugs his shoulders like he couldn’t care less, and moves past, giving me a patronizing pat on the

head before he grabs Anna Kirkpatrick around the waist and hauls her into his arms as she squeals. “Marnye?”

I turn back to find Miranda watching me, and I make myself smile.

“Don’t worry. I know it wasn’t you.” I sit back down as Andrew approaches the table, setting out three glasses of red punch and a plate piled with hors d’oeuvres. Miranda’s still staring at me like she thinks I’m mad at her, but tonight is not about what Becky and whoever else did to me. No, we’re su

pposed to have fun tonight.