After that, we don't mention the kiss again, but Miranda still watches me with a certain look. I'm not sure if she's given up yet, but I'm glad we had that talk.
She's my backbone at the academy, and she's right: she's the one person here who's not a part of the Club. I feel in my heart that I can trust her.
Everyone else … I'm not so sure about.Creed and I start our tutoring sessions again, and it's a much more relaxed atmosphere than it was last year. Honestly, I feel like for the first time ever, he's actually trying. He listens when I talk, and the way he follows me with his eyes …
"Miranda's in love with you," he says suddenly, interrupting our easygoing Wednesday session in the library. Today, he brought me an entire stack of yaoi—Japanese comics focusing on boy-on-boy relationships—as a gift. I reminded him that last year, he called them gauche and rolled his eyes, but I accepted the ribbon wrapped bundle anyway because there were several in there that I really want to read.
"Um," I hedge, feeling color creep into my cheeks. "You saw everything that happened."
"She's infuriating, you know that?" he drawls, folding his arms on the table and laying his cheek on them. His eyes are so heavy-lidded right now. There's a bit of anger in his voice, but I can tell it's not meant for me. "Some twin. Hitting on the girl I've already decided I want."
"Hah, you've decided?" I give him a look. When our eyes meet, my stomach clenches. But, like, in a good way. He's an arrogant jerk, but for whatever reason, I still like him, this lazy, little rich boy.
"I just can't believe that she's interested in you, too. What are the chances?" Creed sits up and stares at me for a minute. I can't say anything when he looks at me like that. My throat's too tight. "You seem to have a lot of people interested in you, Marnye Elizabeth Reed."
"Tristan once called me a Mary Sue, maybe that's it?" Creed smiles at the joke which I find surprising. Usually just the mention of the T-word makes him frown. "Honestly, I'm still half-convinced you guys have another bet going."
"There's no bet," Creed says, scowling. But like, screw him because I have every right to be suspicious. "Nothing that involves hurting or harming you anyway."
"Well, that's cryptic," I reply, leaning back in my seat and giving him a look. Our knees bump together and a shiver takes over me. Creed notices and smiles nice and slow. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"There were other bets or suggestions of bets involving you, like the one with Zack," he says simply, shrugging. "The one he tried to make when you crashed the party at the amphitheater."
Ah, right, the night with the knucklebones. Like that wasn't creepy at all. Harper du Pont really is a special sort of monster.
"Can you tell me about it?" I query, and Creed's smile gets even more wicked. "And is there a reason you guys hate him so much?"
"Marnye, there's a whole host of things we could talk about, but there's only one subject I'm interested in."
"Creed," I warn as he leans forward, and I shoot up out of my chair.
Alright. I've accepted it. I have a bit of a thing for him. For Tristan. For Zayd. For Zack. Windsor … is just a friend, right? Or … maybe I'm just scared to admit I'm crushing on him when I'm not too sure that he likes me back?
Creed follows me as I weave through the aisles, heading back toward the history section and sliding the binder full of old school newspapers back on the shelf. We're in separate history classes, but we both have the same assignment: put together an essay on Burberry Prep and its relation to politics during the late eighteen hundreds. Ugh.
"Marnye," he repeats, and I spin around. It's still so new to me to hear the boys call me by my name. Zayd still occasionally says Working Girl, and both him and Tristan say Charity, but there's an affectionate little tint to it now that I actually like. I'm all about reclaiming and re-purposing words.
"What?"
Creed leans in close, putting his hands on the metal shelf on either side of my hips. He doesn't touch me, but there's barely a hairbreadth between us. My mind conjures up Miranda's words: For what those boys did to you, they should let you date them all until you make up your mind.
"I've been patient, but on the inside, I'm wasting away."
"Drama queen," I blurt, and then after a second, "drama prince." Creed has always struck me as more of a prince and less of a king. And it's not because he's inferior to Tristan, it's just … he's different. If he spent less time trying to be or beat Tristan, and more time on his own endeavors, he'd be a force to be reckoned with.
