“Of course I am,” she replies, letting go of my face and standing up. “Not only is Bornstead my mother's alma mater, but my best friend is going there. That, and my twin is attached to my best friend's hip. Really, is there any other choice?” She stands up and opens my bedroom door, letting in the raucous rumble of my dad's snoring. “Let's go make midnight margaritas.”
“There's no alcohol in this house,” I murmur, but I follow after her anyway, the tight, angsty feeling in my chest twisting painfully. Miranda's going to Bornstead. So is Creed. And as far as I know, Zayd is, too. What if I end up picking someone else? What if I don't pick at all? What if breaks my heart in half and spills all my blood to the parched earth if I have to make that choice?
“We should get dressed and go out,” Miranda whispers as she systematically goes through the fridge and all the cabinets. “Go to a bar or something. I have fake IDs for us both in my bag.”
I cross my arms over my chest as she turns around and notices my raised brow and hard stare.
“Fake IDs, seriously?”
Miranda shrugs and grins.
“Briana Chow was selling them cheap at the end of the year, and I grabbed some for the whole crew, just in case we wanted to go out.”
“Briana was selling fake IDs?” I ask, crinkling up my brow and trying to understand why a person as rich as her would even bother going through the trouble. Miranda waves my question away.
“Yep. And they're good quality, too. Her mom owns a publishing house and a printing shop, and they have all sorts of fun machines in the factory.” Miranda grabs a cluster of grapes from the bowl on the table and pops one juicy purple orb into her mouth. “Did you know her dad's into organized crime? I mean, that's the rumor anyway. I bet they use the printing press to forge all sorts of documents.”
“You're totally getting sidetracked,” I say, padding over to the table to get some grapes for myself. “And you know I don't drink. Although I guess it might be fun to go out and dance …”
“The boys should be back soon, and we can start our college partying early. Well, you, me, Andrew and your many boyfriends. Lizzie is not invited.”
I cringe slightly, my mind going right back to Tristan's room, and Lizzie's bright amber eyes, the determined set of her face. “All I care about is you, Tristan. I love you.” My stomach feels sour all of a sudden, and I have to clamp a hand over it to calm the rumbling.
Maybe I shouldn't have told Miranda about Lizzie's confession? Then again, I hate secrets. They're like splinters. If you just pull them out right away, the pain is minimal. Leave them buried and they get infected. Leave them long enough and you have to cut the skin to stop the pain. No thank you.
“Is there really nothing else going on between you and Lizzie that I should know about?” I ask, but Miranda's already breezing past me, grabbing my hand and dragging me back into the bedroom. She bends over to dig around in her bag and flashes me the lacy panties she's got on. I look away and wait for her to stand up and spin, fanning out several fake driver's licenses.
Reaching out, I take them into my hand and go through them quickly. There's mine, Miranda's, Andrew's, and one for each of my boyfriends.
My boyfriends.
Plural.
My heart flutters, and I tuck the cluster of plastic cards to my chest.
Even though it's been a week since we left Vanderbilt Manor, my mind is still roiling with all of the craziness that happened there. The least of which is that you and Tristan almost had unprotected sex … My cheeks flush red as Miranda moves over to the closet and pulls out a pair of expensive designer dresses, tossing them onto the bed.
“You're not going to answer my question about Lizzie, are you?”
“There's nothing left for me to say.” She turns back around and watches me with those disturbingly beautiful eyes of hers. “I've already said my piece: the girl is a snake in the grass. Get a fucking lawnmower, Marnye.” Miranda huffs, and then reaches up to shake out her glorious blond hair. “She knows you're in love with Tristan—”
“I never said love,” I choke out, but Miranda ignores me.
“She knows you're head over heels for that asshole, and yet here she comes with a love confession several years too late? If you want my opinion, she's a vulture picking at the carrion of a relationship long past its expiration date. Bet she's a spy for the Harpies.”
“She …” I start, but then I have no idea what else to say. There hasn't been a single text from Lizzie since, but I'm not surprised. Windsor's the only one who's been able to text me, and even then, it was one, short cryptic message. Everything's okay. We're all okay. Miss you. “If she really does love him, it's better she says it now. I mean, if he wants to be with her then …” My voice trails off, and my stomach twists into the shape of an infinity symbol. Obviously, I can't see it, but that's what it feels like. Ugh.
