Stuck With The Four Hotties

“I’m sure I will,” I tell him as I get the ribbon and paper off, opening the box to find mounds of tissue paper. Inside, a blue velvet box is nestled, and when I crack it open, I find Grandma June’s antique bracelet. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with this thing. It’s always hung on Dad’s side of the bed, and I can remember countless times that I’ve walked in and found him, head bent over, fingers rubbing the little copper charms. There are four of them: a tiny steam train, a loaf of bread, a dress, and a baby. But one charm was always missing, right in the center: all that remains is a tiny ring where it used to hang. Now, that ring has something else dangling from it: Dad’s wedding band.

“What …?” I start, holding the bracelet up. It’s clearly been polished to a shine, the dull patina gone, the copper gleaming as I hold it up to the light.

“Why are you giving me this?” My eyes drift to Dad’s, but he’s completely unreadable. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his jeans and forces a smile. “You should have a piece of our family history with you. It’ll give you strength.” My mouth opens, but no words come out. How am I supposed to

respond to that? “Are you sure you want to go back to that awful school?” A groan escapes me, and I look away, clutching the bracelet in my palm.

“The academy will set me up for the best possible future-” I start, but Dad cuts me off, coming over to kneel beside me. He puts his hand on my knee, and I turn back to look at him.

“Don’t go back to that school for boys, Marnye,” he says, voice rough. He almost sounds like he’s pleading with me, and my heart hurts. “Just don’t do it. And … don’t go back because you think you have something to prove.”

“I …” How can I really respond to that? Is that what I’m doing? Going back to prove myself? To exact revenge? Or is it really because I want the best academic career possible? I can’t even answer that question for myself, so how can I tell Dad what’s going on inside me?

“You could move in with your mother, and go to Grenadine Heights High

-”

My turn to cut him off.

“Move in with Jennifer?” I choke out, pulling away and pushing my body into the worn couch cushions, as if putting distance between me and Charlie will erase his suggestion from the air. “I barely know her.”

“Marnye,” Dad says, uncurling my palm and taking the bracelet. He puts it on my wrist as I sit there, staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “I’m not saying your mother hasn’t made mistakes in the past, but she’s really trying here. She wants to get to know you.”

“The feeling is not mutual,” I reply, pulling my arm to my chest and playing with the bracelet. “I’m not giving up my scholarship because of some bullying.”

“That was more than just bullying, Marnye. Those boys-” My eyes close and Dad stops talking, like he can see how pained just the mention of that day makes me. “Look, you’re a smart girl, always have been. You’re more driven than I ever was, smarter, too. If you want to go back there, I won’t question it, but know that you have other options.” Dad sighs and rises to his feet, pausing at a knock on the door. “That should be Zack,” he says, and my eyes go wide.

I rise from the couch, but I’m not fast enough to get past before Zack Brooks steps into the trailer, dressed in a tight black tee that pulls across his muscles, dark denim jeans, and brown boots. He stares at me from those dark brown eyes of his, gaze flickering over my black leggings, tight black tank, and total lack of bra, before he returns his attention to my face.

“Happy birthday,” he says, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he made it his mission to see that I would never have another birthday again.

“Excuse me.” I push past the two men, being careful not to even brush against Zack, and get dressed in one of my new outfits from yesterday. May as well test it out on him before heading back to that den of wolves.

If Dad notices that I’m wearing a new pink jumpsuit and black wedges, he doesn’t say anything. If he asks, I’ll … well, I won’t lie about it. But he doesn’t. Zack takes me in carefully, my new hairdo, the bit of makeup I managed to put on with a YouTube tutorial, and my eyelash extensions. Didn’t even know that was a thing until I Googled it.

“You look beautiful,” Zack says, holding out a package wrapped in opalescent paper. It’s very pretty, but I’m loath to take it. Dad is watching though, and I don’t want him to know anything about the Zack situation. It’d just stress him out on top of everything else, and I can tell he’s already pushed to the limit. He looks thinner, paler, and he sleeps a lot more than usual. I’m honestly worried about him, but he seems to like Zack; they’re sort of buddies now. I may as well let Dad keep that relationship. “Just something small. You can open it later, if you want.”

“Later is good,” I tell him, putting the package on the stove. Zack nods and steps back, leaving room for Charlie and me to step out of the train car. The sky is gray, but the rain hasn’t started yet. Zack has his orange McLaren, but it’s only a two-seater, so we take Dad’s Ford instead.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

Charlie does his best to make conversation on the drive, but it’s not easy, not with the tangible tension between me and Zack.

When we get to the Railroad Station restaurant-this funky little twenty- four hour diner that’s been here forever-Dad excuses himself to the restroom, and I’m left alone with Zack.

“You’re crashing my daddy-daughter time,” I whisper, and his narrowed eyes soften slightly.

“You want me to leave?” he asks, and I nod. A long silence follows.

“Only you’re not going to because your wants and needs are more important than mine,” I whisper, and Zack stiffens up, like I’ve slapped him.

“Marnye, I want to help,” he says, but I’m already shaking my head. “You’ve helped enough, Zack.” I look him straight in the face, and

memories flicker across my vision: the bathroom door opening, Zack pulling me into his arms, putting his fingers down my throat. He saved me, but he also pushed me to that point for a bet. How can I ever forgive that? One time, he cornered me outside my math classroom and told me he knew all about my mother, how she didn’t love me enough, how she doted on her other daughter in way she’d never dote on me. My mouth flattens into a thin line. “I don’t know what you’re seeking from me, but if it’s forgiveness, I’m not ready yet.”

Zack’s mouth tightens, and he looks away for a moment before rising to his feet. I glance back at him, my arms crossed over my chest, and I wait. I don’t actually expect him to leave. He pushes in the chair, tosses down a wad of cash on the table, and then holds up his hand when I try to give it back.

“Enjoy breakfast with your dad on me,” he says, moving away from the table towards the door. But he stops when he’s behind me, leaning over and putting his cheek so close to mine that I can feel his stubble. His right hand curves over my shoulder and squeezes, sending a swarm of butterflies winging through me. “But … whether you want to deal with me or not, I’m going to destroy those preppy academy pricks for you.”

“Hypocrite,” I mumble, because it’s the only thing I can think to say. Zack’s hand tightens on my shoulder, and I suck in a sharp breath. “You’re just as bad as they are-maybe worse. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Zack presses a sudden kiss to my cheek and my body goes white-hot before my emotions freeze over, and I’m ice-cold on the inside. “Happy birthday, Marnye.” He rises to his feet just as Dad is making his way back from the bathroom. Zack gives him a little wave and then slips out the door, leaving me to answer awkward questions.

“What happened to Zack?” Charlie asks, taking his seat and then pausing to look at the heaping pile of cash on the table. He whistles and reaches up to adjust his gray fedora. “I think he left a hundred on accident,” he says, and I smile, but I don’t think it was an accident at all.

But maybe what Zack doesn’t get, and Tristan doesn’t get, Creed, Zayd … money isn’t that important to me. Now, only a truly privileged person will tell you it doesn’t matter: it does. Food, clothing, shelter, security, medical

care … Those things require money, but I don’t worship the green. It doesn’t impress me. It doesn’t buy my friendship or my love.

My throat gets tight.

“Zack had a thing he forgot about,” I say with a shrug, and while Dad raises an eyebrow, he doesn’t say anything. When our orders come out, I glance at Zack’s plate of pancakes, his empty chair, and I think about his statement: I’m going to destroy those preppy aFademy priFks for you.

Only … he’s not. Because that’s my job.

It’s my job to destroy the Bluebloods of Burberry Prep. Those bad, bad Bluebloods.