Stuck With The Four Hotties

Zack’s eyes narrow, but he turns and heads down the hallway where Miranda’s waiting, watching and listening to the verbal scuffle between the boys with her mouth hanging open.

“Enjoy your tour, Charity,” Tristan schmoozes, lifting a cocky brow. “Because you won’t be around much longer.”

The next morning, we have class as usual. The only difference is that the families are allowed to hang around and observe. Most do, but I notice that Zayd’s dad still isn’t here. I guess he’s not coming at all. The asshole acts like it doesn’t bother him, hitting on girls, and letting out that raucous laugh of his, as usual. I wonder though if it’s all a front to cover up the pain. I know all about that.Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

Zack sits beside me during the morning announcements, but Charlie’s nowhere to be seen. I know the parents were being housed in the cabins (think glamping style cabins) out by the lake, and being driven in at their leisure. But when I ask Zack where my dad is, he just shrugs his big shoulders and refuses to look at me.

By the time we get to our mixed media class, I’m already starting to sweat. Not only is Dad still missing, but today we’re focusing on music, getting a feel for everyone’s talents, and starting the auditions for the school orchestra. I figure I probably don’t have much competition considering I play the harp. It’s kind of a rare instrument. Good thing, too, since there’s usually only one spot for a harpist.

“Everyone take a seat,” Mr. Carter says, taking control of the class for the day. He’s the conductor for the Burberry Preparatory Academy Orchestra, and the one I need to impress most this week. “Today we’ll be getting a feel for the type of music and instruments each student is interested in.”

An email pops up on my academy-issued iPad from Mr. Carter, and I tap on it, glancing down the length of the form as he explains how to fill it out.

“You think any of these uptight assholes can outplay you?” Zack asks, and I shrug. Harper du Pont is sitting right behind me, and the last thing I want to do is draw attention to my instrument of choice. The way she looks at me, it wouldn’t be surprising if she picked the harp just to spite me.

“Guess we’ll find out,” I murmur as I submit the form, and then sit back to wait for everyone else, listening to Mr. Carter drone on about the choir program, the orchestra, and the music industry internship opportunities. The door to the lecture hall opens, and I glance lazily over my shoulder to see who it is.

It’s Charlie.

And he’s drunk off his ass.

He stumbles into the classroom, tripping over his own feet, one hand landing on Anna Kirkpatrick’s shoulder. She twists her face in disgust and pulls away from him as I stand up, dropping my iPad to the ground.

“Marnye, baby?” Dad calls out, and a bevy of dark snickers takes over the room. “Where are you?”

My whole body’s frozen over, and I feel rooted to the spot. Zack is quicker to react than me, bulldozing his way out of the aisle and grabbing Charlie by the shoulders.

“No, I want to see Marnye,” Dad slurs, trying to throw Zack off. But despite their age difference, Zack is about a million times stronger. He gets my father under control, hustling him toward the door as the entire class looks on in silence.

“Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Becky Platter sneers, and the room lights up with laughter.

“If you need a minute, you can excuse yourself, Miss Reed,” Mr. Carter says, but he doesn’t correct Becky for her comment. Why should he? Most of these kids have the staff wrapped around their fingers. Cheeks flaming, I pick my way down the aisle, and head up the steps, holding back tears.

Shoving my way out of the mixed media room, I find my dad slumped against a wall, Zack’s hold just barely keeping him upright. I’m torn between being worried and upset, my emotions a wild turmoil inside of me. I love my dad, but his behavior, it’s … it’s fucking unacceptable.

“Do you know what you’ve just done?” I whisper, choking back the tears. “You’ve given them the ammo they really need to take shots at me.”

“They?” Zack asks as Dad groans. The man’s barely conscious. My yelling at him isn’t going to do a thing. So much as I want to voice my anger, I take up his other side and help Zack lead him toward the front where the cars are waiting to ferry parents back and forth from the cabins.

“Don’t worry about it,” I murmur, feeling Zack’s dark eyes still on me. He says nothing as we move down the hall and out the door, along the corridor, and into the courtyard.

“Your dad got some news last night,” Zack tells me, but when I ask what it is, he clamps all the way up. Jerk.

I’m soaked in sweat by the time I get my dad into the back of the car. Zack pauses, like he’s not sure whether he should stay or go.

“He needs you,” I say lamely, holding up a palm. “He can barely walk let alone change his clothes and get into bed. Just make sure he sleeps facedown.” My eyes lift up to meet Zack’s, those dark pits that are completely and utterly unreadable. “I don’t know why you’re helping me, but … thank you.”

“Don’t bother,” Zack says, sliding into the backseat next to my dad. He slams the door, and the car starts off down the side road that leads to the lake. I watch it until it disappears, closing my eyes and doing my best to gather myself before going back to class. It isn’t easy, not with my hands shaking, my shirt sticking to my back with sweat, but I manage.

As soon as I walk in the door, I can feel it, the weight of their judgement, the depth of their hatred.

I settle myself into my seat and manage to hold back my tears for the rest of the day.

Next week,

I might not be so lucky.