“I …” The anxious little butterflies in my belly take flight and reveal a whole host of raw nerves I didn’t realize I had. “It’s complicated.” I invited her to Hookup Point so she’d see that Tristan was engaged, and then I noticed she was hurting so bad that I crossed her name off the list.
“Well, I’ll tell you what’s not complicated: I don’t trust Lizzie Walton, and I never have, not since we were kids.” Miranda pauses in front of my door—somebody’s already spray-painted The Brothel onto the front of it, how creative—and stamps her shiny black kitten heel on the stone floor like a child. She’s a sweet, genuine sort of person, but sometimes it’s pretty damn obvious how spoiled she is. “Hell, I didn’t trust her when we were in diapers.”
“Miranda,” Lizzie starts, putting her hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m only here to help. I transferred here to help.”
“Yeah, sure.” Miranda spins to me and puts her hands on her hips. “Did she tell how Tristan, Zayd, and Creed used to follow her around like puppies during the summer? But then she got interested in Tristan, and couldn’t bother giving her other friends the time of day. Creed was heartbroken.”
“Miranda, stop,” Lizzie says, curling her hands in her plaid pleated skirt. “That was a long time ago.”
“She dated all three of the Idols—Tristan, Zayd, and my brother for a whole season in the Hamptons.”
“That was years ago!” Lizzie finally snaps, raking her fingers through her dark curls. A weird thought occurs to me, a text from first year that I’d assumed was a typo. If I had any other choice, I’d still be with them. Lizzie had sent that to me. Holy … crap. “I’m engaged to Marcel now.”
“You look like you’d rather choke on that massive rock on your finger than marry Marcel Stone.” Miranda makes a gagging sound and rolls her ice-blue eyes. “Don’t lie and pretend you came here just for Marnye. You’re lonely, and you’re still in love.”
Lizzie flushes pink and starts to stutter. Miranda steps forward and Lizzie takes one back.
“You seem to have outgrown your fascination with Zayd and Creed, but the way you look at Tristan …” Miranda clucks her tongue and turns back to me. “I hope you know that if you’re interested in Tristan Vanderbilt, that you have direct competition. She’s playing the good girl now, but it won’t last.”
“Miranda,” I blurt, feeling my own cheeks color pink. Lizzie looks at us both for a moment with her face scrunched, turns, and takes off down the hall. “What was that all about?” I say, a little flustered. I’m not sure if Miranda was just revealing a truth to me I didn’t want to acknowledge, or if she was on the attack.
Unlocking the door, I step aside so she can pace into the room. There’s no point standing out here alone. We might be safer as a pair, but if Harper brings her whole crew with her, we’re in big trouble. Actually, now that Lizzie’s run off, I figure I’ll have to walk Miranda back to the Towers and get a pair of the boys to escort me back to my room.
“She’s a snake in the grass,” Miranda declares, lifting her chin, looking very much like she deserves to be standing in this fancy prep school. I’d never guess new money. No, she looks like an aristocrat. “Tristan either wants to use her because she’s Idol material, and everyone knows who she is, or else he’s still in love with her, too. But don’t trust her, Marnye. Don’t.” Miranda lifts her shirt and points at the bare skin on her right hip. “I am the only one who isn’t in that stupid fucking Club. I’m the only one looking out for your best interests.”
“You don’t trust any of them, do you?” I ask, and she shrugs, dropping her shirt with a sigh.
“Andrew, maybe. Windsor.” She looks away as I set my bookbag on the edge of the bed.
“Creed?” I question, and Miranda grimaces like she’s in pain, turning back to face me.
“I don’t trust anyone when it comes to you,” she says, and I blink a few times in surprise.
“Why?”
The next thing Miranda Cabot does shocks the hell out of me.
She steps forward, skirts swirling, white-blond hair flowing … and then she grabs me by the face and kisses me. There’s no time for me to react before she pulls back, and we both hear a sound at the door. I guess Miranda didn’t close it behind her, and we look to see Creed standing there with his blue eyes wide, mouth open in shock.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Miranda whispers, hitching her bag a little higher on her shoulder. “In fact: don’t say anything. I have to go.” She moves to the door, pushes past her brother and takes off down the hall. Creed looks torn between going after her and staying there to gape at me.
