Stuck With The Four Hotties

I listen to Zayd sing his own lyrics and I wonder if any of them are true. If they are, then I feel really sorry for him.

Money can’t buy everything.

I must be exhausted because I end up falling asleep on the drive, waking to an empty car. Zayd is nowhere to be seen, and I’m left wondering where the hell I’m supposed to go. The building in front of me is very clearly abandoned with boarded up windows and doors, overgrown brush crowding the pathways.

A knock on the window startles me, and I scream, turning to find Zack waiting for me with his brows drawn together. I open the door, and he helps me out, his hand cool and dry against mine.

“I was wondering where you were when Kaiser sauntered into the party without you.” Zack runs his fingers through his chocolate hair and sighs. “I still don’t understand why you’re hanging out with those guys.”

“They warned me away from you, too, you know,” I tell him, and watch as his eyes darken. “And you’re warning me away from them. Frankly, I’m inclined to stay away from all of you.”

“Why did you come out here, Marnye? You’re not a part of the club; you never will be.” My mouth tightens, and my nostrils flare. If I have to hear Zack rip on me for being poor, then I’m going to lose my shit tonight.

“Tristan made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” I say, chewing on my lower lip and looking up at the multi-level casino. The name on the sign is hard to read, but I’m pretty sure this used to be a Native American run place. That would explain the remote location. I think we might be on a reservation. My skin prickles, and I feel disrespectful for even standing here. Clearly, the casino’s closed. Maybe they’d rather not have annoying white people traipsing all over their land?

“What did he offer you?” Zack asks, putting his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket. It’s blue and gold, and I figure those must be the colors of Coventry Prep. Burberry Prep is all about red and black although the jocks most definitely don’t rule our school: money does.

“A month without anyone bothering me about my scholarship status-or anything else for that matter.” I glance over at him, but he’s as unreadable as

ever. “He wants to play me at poker. You know I can kick his ass.” The faintest brush of a smile touches Zack’s lips before it disappears again.

“Just be careful with those guys. They’re Idols for a reason. They demand sacrifice.” He starts off down the path without bothering to explain that cryptic little nugget of information. With a sigh, I follow after, around to the back of the house where white lights are strung, kegs are set up, and people are already dancing. There’s a bevy of gorgeous sports cars lined up back there, too, with girls lounging on the hoods or making out with guys inside them.

Zack leads me in the back door, past counters fitted with dark screens where customers used to drink and play slots. Some of the machines are plugged in, glowing brightly, and raucous laughter fills the room as students tug on the handles and watch the screens light up.

“Those don’t actually give out money, I’m guessing?” Zack shakes his head at my question.

“Any bets made are private bets. The machine just makes it all random.” He shows me to an area enclosed by a half-wall. It looks like it used to be a restaurant or something. The plants lining it, and hanging from the ceiling are all fake, so it looks weirdly current, even amongst the strange urban decay of the rest of the place.

Tristan, Creed, and Zayd are seated around a table with three girls, all of them topless.

My nose wrinkles, as the girls giggle and pretend not to know what to do with their cards. Either that, or they really have no idea how to play poker.

“Strip poker,” Zayd explains to me, flashing a bright grin. “You should get in on this, Working Girl.”

“No thank you.” I cross my arms over my chest. “If I played strip poker with you, I’d win, and then I’d be forced to stare at the three of you naked. Sorry, not interested.”

“You’ve gotten brave,” Creed drawls, looking like he’s half-asleep with boredom. Not even three bare-chested girls have aroused his attention. No, the only time I’ve seen him look alive is when he was destroying that Derrick guy. “We’ve been pretty lax in reminding you of your status, haven’t we?” Tristan and Zayd give him a pair of cryptic looks that he doesn’t bother returning. “You three, get up. We’re done here.”

The girls all gape at each other, snatching up their shirts and leveling dark glares on me, as if it’s my fault the game’s over.

“Guess you’re going to entertain all four of them,” she starts, jerking her thumb in the direction of Tristan, Zayd, Creed, and Zack, “all by yourself. No wonder they call you the Working Girl.” The redhead shoves me out of the way with her hip, and I grit my teeth. Truth be told, I feel sorry for her. It must be awful to be so angry all the time.

“Take a seat, Charity, so I can wipe the floor with your ass.” Tristan shuffles the cards, and then deals out a new hand, pausing as he glances up at Zack. “What the fuck do you want? I don’t remember inviting you.”

The two of them glare at each other for so long that Creed actually rolls his eyes, the first signs of life on his bored, princely face. He flicks some of that white-blonde hair of his off his forehead with long, elegant fingers. I wish Miranda were here, but since she’s on an academy-sponsored trip, no phones allowed. I can’t even text her.

“Let him play, Tristan. Who cares? I’m not scared of this asshole.”

“Mind if I jump in, too?” Andrew asks, coming from the direction of the slot machines. He’s wearing his academy uniform, and his chestnut hair is smooth and shiny. He smiles at me, and I grin back at him. Tristan, on the other hand, goes completely stiff and his eyes turn into silver slits.

“Whatever.” Creed gestures absently at the three empty chairs the girls left, and then turns his blue eyes to me. “You understand that by playing here, you’re committing to the Infinity Club rules.”

“I don’t even know what the Infinity Club is,” I say as I sit down and pretend I don’t notice Creed and Tristan studying my outfit. They seem … perplexed. Like they’ve never seen a girl in a ratty t-shirt and old jeans before.

Tristan chucks something at me, and it smacks me in the chest before falling to the floor. He barely looks up, divvying up the chips. I narrow my eyes at him as I pick it up, finding a debit card with my name on it. There’s a paper statement wrapped around it that slipped off, so I grab that, too.

My eyes bug out of my head as I stare at the statement balance.

“Forty-thousand dollars?!” I choke, flicking my eyes up to Tristan. “How

… shouldn’t …” I take a moment to clear my throat as Zayd laughs at me in a very mocking, derisive sort of way. Taking a deep breath, I steady myself and gather my thoughts. “You gave me the buy-in, so we’re supposed to split the earnings, right?”

“Keep it. It’s not worth my time,” Tristan says, and I don’t think he’s in any way trying to be nice. He just literally doesn’t care.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“How did you get all my information to open an account anyway?” I ask, my eyes sliding over to Creed. He just stares back at me with a half-lidded gaze.

“My mom has all your info from the scholarship thing. She checked in with your dad, and he agreed to letting you have your own account.”

Andrew takes the spot on my left while Zack sits on my right, and I’m just staring down at the paper with tears budding in my eyes. Don’t let them fall, I think. If you let these guys see any weakness, they’ll pounFe. Crumpling the paper up, I shove it and the debit card into my jeans pocket. Later, I’ll lie back in bed and fantasize about forty grand. But not right now.

“So are you going to tell me anything about the Infinity Club? O

r just assume I understand all the rules?”