Stuck With The Four Hotties

With Miranda, Andrew, Lizzie and Zack gone from my life, I’m left with this hollow, cold feeling inside my chest. Spending time with Tristan, Zayd, and Creed helps, but … they’re all vying for my romantic attention, and I want friends who are there just because, that want nothing from me.

Since that’s not exactly an option for me, I throw myself into my schoolwork, and then spend the rest of my time either practicing the harp, or hanging out with the boys. They let me sit with them in The Mess, at the high table in the front of the room.

It kills Harper and Becky to see me there, but even though their looks are seething, I’m almost always around at least one of the guys. Their presence acts as a shield, and keeps the bullying to a minimum.

“One day she’s going to stalk me in a dark alley and cut my throat,” I say as Harper makes eye contact with me from across the dining room. The way she’s handling her steak knife is disturbing, to say the least.

“She can get over it,” Tristan says, leaning back in his chair and watching her. He hunts her, like a wolf stalking a fox. The fox might think it’s a predator, but only until the wolf’s jaws clamp down on its throat. If Tristan wanted to take Harper down, I think he could.

“Any word from Miranda?” I ask Creed, but the way he stiffens in his chair tells me all I need to know. She’s not talking to him either. “Do you think she’ll come around?” He sighs, closing his eyes on what’s looking to be a major headache.

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s hard to say with her. Our relationship was already on a razor’s edge. Unfortunately, I think you might go down with the ship.” He taps his fingers on the table, his food left untouched in front of him. We’re all tired, I think, ready for a break from the social scene, from grades, from … whatever this is that’s brewing between the four of us.

“So, about the graduation gala,” Zayd begins, pushing his plate away and leaning his elbows on the table. He steeples his hands together, green eyes sparking as he looks over at me. “Have you given a thought as to who you might go with?”

“Nobody’s asked me,” I respond crisply, but none of the boys has a reaction. Creed closes his eyes again, like he’s about ready to take a nap, Tristan continues to glare at Harper from across the room, and Zayd sits back with a smirk before reaching for a roll and some butter.

Still, he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t have something in mind. So at the very least, I might be ending year one at Burberry Prep friendless, but I’ll have a date to the gala.

There’s a minute amount of comfort in that.

#

When I open my door the next day, I find three boxes stacked neatly and wrapped with twine. There’s a note on top that I slide carefully out from underneath the knot. When I open it, I recognize Tristan’s handwriting.

“Three prinFes want to take you to the ball, Cinderella. Make your FhoiFe.”

I frown as I collect the packages and carry them inside, opening the first one to a beautiful black dress and a small piece of cardstock with Tristan’s name on it. The second box has a blue dress with Creed’s name. And the third is red with Zayd’s name.

My cheeks flush pink, and I feel suddenly dizzy with choice. Miranda’s words echo in my head: How are you going to Fhoose?

The question is: do I want to choose? I’ve come to like all three Idol boys, more than I ever thought possible. They’re the only friends I have left, and more than that … I’m starting to care about them in ways I’ve only ever cared about one person. That was Zack, and he’s gone now. I can never forgive him for turning me into a bet. I just can’t.

But this …

How the fuck do I choose? And what happens when I do? Will I lose the other two guys? Will they stop talking to me?

Love is a cruel master.

Err. Love? I’m not in love with any of these guys. I quickly replace the tops on the boxes and set them in the corner to torment me. Every instinct in my body says I should go find Miranda or text Lizzie, but I’ve been hurt so many times before, I don’t know how to approach them; I need more time. Maybe summer break will be the healing balm we all need? A little sunshine, sleeping in too late, the Train Car and its comforting familiarity.

Flicking the lights off, I climb into bed and I try not to think about the graduation gala, and everything that comes with it.

Just two more weeks, and I’ll have made it. I’ll have survived my first year at Burberry Prep. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a boyfriend to enjoy the summer with.

#

Finally, I think, sitting down on the edge of my bed and pushing loose strands of hair back from my face. I’ve fought tooth-and-nail to make this year worth the pain, punching my way to the top of the first-year class, snatching my spot in the orchestra. I even managed to make friends with the bullies who were making my life a living hell.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Of course, I miss my friends. I miss Andrew and Miranda, Zack and Lizzie.

“Hey,” Zayd says, smoking a cigarette with both the bathroom windows cracked. “Don’t look so sad. We have less than a week in this shithole, and then summer, bitches.” When he’s done smoking, he drops his cigarette in the toilet, flushes it, and comes over to sit beside me, pulling me close. I lean my head on his shoulder, but I’ve got anxiety for a different reason.

Tonight is the last dance of the year. It’s called the graduation gala, and it’s for all four years of students here at Burberry Prep.