“What do you think?” he asks me, and we stare at each other again. “You know how the Infinity Club works now.” My mouth purses, and I look away for a moment, staring out at the yellow-brown grass on the side of the road. It’s been a hot, hot summer.
“Who was it?” I whisper, wondering if any of the guys were in on this one.
“Becky, Harper, Abigail, and Valentina,” Andrew says, and then sighs, like it feels good to get that off of his chest. “The other girls call them the fucked-up foursome behind their backs.” I look back at him, slumped in a white tee and expensive jeans. He looks defeated. There’s no sense of victory or justice in this.
“Did you know about …” I can’t even force my lips to form the words. Did you know about the beating I got backstage? How about the video? The paint? The panties? Anything at all? Because if he did …
“Miranda and I knew nothing,” he says, sighing again. “I’m not in the Inner Circle anymore.”
My mouth pops open, and my eyes go wide.
“How do you even know that? Do the Idols send out secret emails or something?”
“When you’re no longer a Blueblood, you know it.” Andrew sits up straight and looks me dead in the eye, reaching up to run his palm over his hair. I hate to stereotype, but no wonder he smells so good, like coconuts and sunshine; I should’ve known he was gay. All those vibes I was getting off of him, all those appreciative looks … they were bestie vibes, not boyfriend vibes. “I knew about the, uh, to make you fall in love, the …”
“The bet.” I say it for him, thinking about that awful, awful trophy. “Go on.”
“Just that. It’s why I wanted to take you to the winter formal, why I encouraged you away from them.” He leans forward and puts his face in his hands. Taking revenge on Andrew would be like kicking a sad puppy. I can’t do it. Because no matter what, I am not like them. I don’t want to be like them. I used to think becoming my mother was the worst possible fate, but now I’ve decided that becoming like the Idols is a fate worse than death.
I’ll take my revenge, but I have rules.
I pull out the notebook from my bag and open to the first page, penning a new line on the bottom.Marnye’s Rules for Revenge
No physical violenceNo friendly fireNo innocent bystandersNo sexism, racism, homophobia et alLet them hang themselves with their own ropeKnow when enough is enoughAndrew lifts his head to look at me, blue eyes dark with regret and frustration.
“What else?” I ask, swallowing a lump. “Is there anything else you did? Because this is your last chance to be honest.”
“What are you going to do?” Andrew asks as I flip the page to the back cover where I’ve taped in my revenge list. I spin it around for him to look at, and he raises his eyebrows. He notices his own name and lifts his face, meeting my eyes. “Be careful with them, Marnye. If you think last year was bad, then rest assured they’ll amp it up this time. They’ll be gunning for you.”
“Answer the question.” I keep my pen poised above the page, and Andrew exhales sharply.
“Nothing else. And Miranda—” I hold up my hand. Miranda and I need to talk. But I don’t want any information second-hand; it all has to come from the source. “Nothing else. I’m so sorry, Marnye.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I say, feeling this wave of relief rush over me. I never wanted to hurt Andrew. “Look: grant me one small favor, and we’ll call it even?” He nods, and I uncap my red Sharpie. I have five of them in my bag, just for this sort of occasion. As Andrew watches, I make an adjustment.Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep
A list by Miranda Cabot Marnye ReedThe 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), Becky Platter (year one two), and Gena Whitley (year four) (graduated)The Inner Circle: Andrew Payson, Anna Kirkpatrick, Myron Talbot, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner … and, I guess, me!Plebs: everyone else, sorry. XOXOZack BrooksThe limo reeks like Sharpie for a moment as I pop the cap back on, tuck my notebook away, and look over at Andrew.
“So. You were in the Hamptons part of the summer, right?” Andrew raises his eyebrows, but nods. “I hear shit went down. Tell me about it.”
His forlorn facial expression evolves into a grin, and for a second there, I see a glimmer of the real Andrew hidden underneath the shell.
