“You like you’re about to attend a funeral, not a graduation,” Andrew says, and then Miranda gives him a hard, sharp look to shut him up.
Charlie is … not doing well. So not well, in fact, that I still don’t know if he should even be coming today. I told him I’d take my cap, gown, and diploma home and we could have our own ceremony in the backyard but he wasn’t having it.
Jennifer agreed to go with him, along with his health aide. Dad told me in his most recent text that seeing his little girl graduate was the culmination of his life goals. I didn’t like that. But how could I deny him after?
“Let’s go,” I say, standing up and heading out the door. The boys are all waiting, lounging in their various ways in the hallway. Creed slouches against the wall while Tristan stands straight and tall; Zayd bobs his head in time to the single earbud in his ear and grins at me while Zack smiles, but keeps his big arms crossed over his chest. Windsor hands me a bouquet of flowers.
“This is from all of us. We each picked a type of flower to add to the bouquet. It was agreed that five giant floral bunches was simply not going to do.” I smile and give him a hug, knowing they’re all waiting for the after-party tonight so we can talk about our plans.
My plans, specifically.
They’re all waiting for me to choose.
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. I glance back at the door to my room, the old janitor’s closet turned mini-palace, and I think about all the amazing times we had in there, the movies we watched, the tea we drank, the sex … Oh, God, the sex.
How can this really be it? The end of four, long years. The end of bullying and bets and romance.
“Goodbye Brothel,” I whisper, feeling tears sting my eyes. I push forward and out the doors, taking my friends with me. The Idols, the Bluebloods, the filthy rich boys, the elite of the school. That’s us now, here, together on our last and final day as students of Burberry Preparatory Academy.
“Keep your guard up,” Windsor whispers as we make our way to the waiting limos and pile in.
“We’re in the home stretch now, but we haven’t won the game,” Zack agrees, looking out the window.
I check my phone: we still have about twelve hours until that horrible Infinity Club bet goes by the wayside.
Twelve more hours to survive the worst bullies I’ve ever encountered, or will ever encounter.
Twelve. Fucking. Hours.
We climb out of the limo near the football field where the graduation ceremony is taking place, and I thank whatever gods or deities will listen that it’s not happening in the amphitheater where I spent the end of my first year being humiliated.
Harper is breezing across the field with her parents in tow, laughing, smiling. They look so normal, but I won’t let myself forget that her parents are senior Infinity Club members. They could very well be some of the ones pushing their own child to commit murder.
“I can’t believe we never got that bitch,” Zayd grumbles, and Zack grunts in agreement.
“Never say never,” I whisper as we find our chairs, and then mill around waiting for the ceremony to start. I don’t see Dad in the audience just yet, but he warned me he might be late. I shoot off a quick text to see where he is, and he sends back ETA 20 mins.
Twenty minutes, huh?
It’s gonna be tight; he might miss the beginning of my speech. I can’t delay though, not with what I have planned. It all comes down to timing. Harper du Pont, you are going down tonight.
“He’ll be here,” Zack says, reaching out to adjust my black cap, the tassel swinging back and forth in front of my face. I blow it out of the way and try to tamp down on my nerves.
Today is a big day. Huge. I’ve been planning it all year without telling a single soul about it.
Pretty damn proud of myself for that one.
“I know,” I say, letting Zack fold me in another hug. He’s so damn good at them, I can’t resist. “I know he will. I’m just worried about him.”
“I’m more worried about you,” Zack says, glancing over his shoulder as Mrs. Amberton moves over to stand beside us, holding out a red and white sash with a black word scrawled in cursive down the length of it.
“Congratulations, Marnye,” she says as I take my valedictorian sash and watch as she moves over to hand Tristan his salutatorian one. “And to you, too, Mr. Vanderbilt.” Mrs. Amberton steps back, her orange curls tamed into some semblance of an up-do, and she smiles fondly at me. She’s always been nice, one of my favorite teachers by far, but she was too weak to protect me from the bullies. I’ll always remember that, how I had to be strong enough to protect myself. It’s a good life lesson to learn, isn’t it?
