Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Well, look at you, standing up for yourself. I bet your drunk daddy would be real proud.” Zayd steps away from me before I can figure out how to react and tugs a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“At least my dad showed up,” I whisper, and as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. It’s okay to defend myself, but I don’t ever want to make someone feel the way I did in junior high. Nobody deserves to feel thatContent from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

low. Zayd’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare, but then he smirks and lights up his cigarette with sharp, jerky motions.

“Nice one, Charity. Guess even girls like you can come up with a clever retort every now and then.” He smokes his cigarette and stares at me, still scowling. “If you’re done dicking around, we gotta go. I don’t like being late to Club shit.”

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I say instead, and he pauses, like I’ve just slapped him. Zayd turns away and kicks open the door to my dorm, stepping out into the hallway. I can only pray there’s not enough of a cigarette smell in here to get me busted. That’d be just my luck. “What is the Infinity Club anyway?” I ask as I hold the door open and toe my sneakers on.

Zayd keeps his back to me, but there’s a band of steel in his voice when he glances over his shoulder.

“You’re a guest, Marnye Reed. Don’t fuck it up.”

“First rule of Infinity Club, don’t talk about Infinity Club?” I joke, but Zayd doesn’t laugh. Instead, he starts off down the hallway, a trail of cigarette smoke wafting behind him. With a sigh, I follow after, taking the same path as yesterday out to a gravel parking lot.

There’s a crimson colored sports coupe with dark rims and tinted windows.

“Maserati GranTurismo,” Zayd says, gesturing lamely in the direction of the car. “I borrowed it from Sheldon Barnes.” He finishes smoking his cigarette and then just chucks the butt like he expects somebody else to clean up after him. I bet for most-if not all-of his life, people have. “He’s allowed to have a car on campus because he’s eighteen, and his grandma’s like, sick or something, and she only lives fifteen minutes from here. He gets to come and go as he pleases.”

“Well, for his grandma …” I start, but Zayd’s already tossing a smirk over his shoulder at me, sea green hair flopping into his face. He reaches up and twists it into a gelled spike.

“He never actually visits the old bat. She’s got an entire nursing staff on- hand at home anyway. He just uses her as an excuse to go pick up hookers in the city.” My brows go up at that, but I can’t decide if Zayd actually means this Sheldon guy pays prostitutes for sex, or if he’s being a judgmental, slut- shaming prick again.

“It’s a nice car,” I hedge instead, and Zayd howls with laughter.

“You could buy a hundred for these for the price of that Ferrari Spider.” Zayd cracks the driver’s side door and climbs in. I notice he doesn’t bother to open my door for me. Not that I’d expect him to, but still.

The inside has that new car smell, this mixture of leather and oil that makes my nose tingle. There’s a torn scrap of paper with a lipstick smudge and a phone number on it stuck to the dash, but that’s really the only sign that anyone’s ever used this vehicle before. There aren’t any old coffee cups or fast food wrappers or muddy boot smudges like in my dad’s truck.

Zayd starts the car, and then cranks up the stereo, blasting a stream of rock music from his own band. That husky voice of his is just too recognizable. As he pulls out of the parking lot, I slide my phone from my pocket and surreptitiously do a search for Zayd Kaiser.

He comes up right away, with over ten million results. Zayd Kaiser, lead singer of the AmeriFan band Afterglow, a Fontemporary roFk group with several number one hits. Their latest summer tour was a huge suFFess, opening for headliners and superstars IndeFenFy. Also on the roster were Amatory Riot, Beauty in Lies, Caged Impulse, and Pistols and Violets.

“If you want to know something about me, you could just ask,” Zayd says, turning the music down slightly. He’s got rubber bracelets trailing up his right arm, and I notice that the names of the bands listed on the tour roster match up. Interesting. Too bad I don’t follow popular music much. Instead, I’m the weirdo in the corner listening to obscure Carlos Salzedo pieces.

“My dad listens to some of your dad’s songs,” I start, “but personally, I spend most of my time listening to classical music. Honestly-and don’t take this the wrong way-I have no idea who you are, other than some jerk who goes to my school.”

“Some jerk, huh?” Zayd asks, but he sounds slightly pleased by the sentiment. “I’m the fourth generation in my family to have a number one hit. My personal net worth is larger than the family net worth of some of these other assholes. I play four different kinds of instruments, and my manager is fucking the vice principal.”

I blink at him and then cock an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t tell me a whole lot about you as a person. I mean, do you have any hobbies other than music and bullying?” Zayd smirks at me, green eyes sparkling, but he doesn’t take his attention off the road. Good thing, too, because now that we’ve exited the academy gates, he’s edging close to a hundred miles an hour.

“I like fast cars, pretty girls, and wicked ink. What else is there to know?” “Do you ever sit down and just lose yourself in a good book? Are you

overly emotional, or do you clamp down on your feelings? What’s your greatest fear and your biggest pleasure?” Now Zayd does look over at me, eyes wide and brows raised. He’s staring at me like I’m some sort of alien creature.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks, shaking his head and turning back to the road. “You’re seriously fucking strange, you know that? Most girls would either be trying to suck me off, or cursing me out right now. You let us beat up on you, but you barely fight back, just enough to stay standing. And yet, you could’ve fucked all three of us by now if you’d wanted. Why haven’t you?”

I Fould’ve slept with them? I think, and then even though the only person I’m talking to is myself, I add, not that I Fare beFause I definitely don’t want to. Definitely not. No way.

“You seriously need to ask?” I lean back against the door and look Zayd over. “Because maybe I don’t want to have sex with men who treat me like shit. Is that somehow surprising to you?”

“Honestly, yeah, it sort of is. I’ve never had a girl tell me no before, not when I’ve blatantly offered myself up. Most of the girls at Burberry Prep drool and hang all over me.”

“That’s their prerogative,” I say, exhaling and closing my eyes. “Everyone is looking for something different.”

“What are you looking for, Working Girl? Romance? Affection? Love?” “A good education, a promising career, and some outlet for me to play the

harp for an audience. That’s it.” I open my eyes again, but Zayd doesn’t look like he’s listening. Instead of answering me, he just cranks the music up and sings along with the lyrics, harmonizing perfectly with his own voice. I’m guessing he doesn’t use auto-tuner.

“Basking in the glory of my followers, bathing in the blood of my enemies, drowning in the waves of my own lies. That’s what it means, that’s how it feels, that’s what it’s like to be me.”