My hand tightens on the handle of my beach bag. Inside, there's a brand-new list. I felt like the last one was getting too cluttered, so I started over. I'm not ready to show the Idols this, not yet. But maybe one day.
Closing my eyes briefly, I can see it in my head. Everyone that was on that boat has their name written down all over again. What they did to me … I owe them all a lot more than I gave last year. Vengeance is due in spades.Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep
A list by Marnye ReedThe Girls: Harper du Pont, Becky Platter, and Ileana TaittingerTheir Cronies: Anna Kirkpatrick, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner, Kiara Xiao, and Ben ThresherThe PlebsTristan exhales, nostrils flaring, and then takes off down the small rise, dragging me with him. Everyone else follows, a little entourage of bluebloods-that-aren't-technically-Bluebloods, if you know what I mean. Windsor and Zack have the money, the looks, and the popularity to be in the Inner Circle. Hell, they have enough charisma to be Idols. And then there's Miranda and Andrew who used to be Bluebloods, but got kicked out, even though they're more worthy than any other person on that beach. And Lizzie … Lizzie would be a female Idol if she went to Burberry Prep, that's for damn sure. From what Zack tells me, she's the Queen of the Coventry Prep Elite.
The crowd on the beach hushes and goes still as we approach the bonfire together. All eyes are on Tristan as he heads over to one of the logs next to the fire, gestures for me to take a seat, and then leans down in front of me, so close that our mouths nearly touch.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asks as Harper scoffs and makes her way over to us. I'm so focused on Tristan though that I can barely look at her.
“Soda,” I whisper, and when he lifts one brow, I get more specific, “cherry Coke and a cup with ice and a straw?” Tristan leans in close and presses his lips to my cheek, leaving me with this hot, tingling sensation and literally no clue as to what's actually happening here.
Are we friends now?
“Done.” Tristan stands back up and turns, putting himself chest-to-chest with Harper as Zack sits down on one side of me, and Zayd sits down on the other. Double Z-boys. I almost smile, but then I see Greg and John watching me, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. John was undoing his pants. I'm pretty sure he …
“Hey,” Zayd whispers, drawing my attention over to him. “Don't look at those assholes.”
We stare at each other, his lip and eyebrow rings catching the flickering light from the bonfire. He really has a beautiful face, meant for stardom. And that voice … It's no wonder his personal net worth is around twelve million. His dad's net worth is close to four hundred million, but it's Zayd's grandmother, who started a rental car business in the sixties who's worth the most: at around six billion.
“What the fuck, Tristan?” I hear Harper spit out, and even though I'd much rather look at Zayd, I end up turning to glance in that direction. Miranda is right there. Creed, too. Lizzie and Myron as well.
Windsor stands back, sipping from a red plastic cup. How he's managed to get a drink in his hand so fast is just a testament to his party boy skills. He notices me looking at him and gives a dramatic little wink.
Tristan reaches out for Harper's bare shoulder, and then pushes her to the side. Not forcefully or anything, just enough to get her out of the way. He funnels between Ileana and Becky as they gape at him, and the others follow.
“Who invited Coventry Prep?” Becky says, at a volume that's clearly meant to carry. “This is a Burberry party.” She steps in front of Lizzie and gives her a little shove in the chest.
“Don't test me,” Lizzie says, just as loudly. “You saw what happened last year when you tried.”
Becky pushes her again, this time with two hands.
Lizzie stumbles back, and then Tristan's there, hauling Becky up and away, and tossing her to the sand.
“Do not touch my people, Platter,” he says, pointing at her. His face is dead serious. Without having to try, his voice cuts through the murmuring and the whispering. There are Plebs everywhere, watching us. I rise to my feet, sensing violence. Back at Ileana Taittinger's party, when I dumped the cars in the pool, I could see factions forming in the audience. The same thing is happening here.
Tristan versus Harper, King versus Queen.
"If you keep talking, I’ll toss you right out of this limo, and we’ll find out if the Plebs enjoy their queen better … or their king. Don’t test me, Harper.”
