Stuck With The Four Hotties

He comes over to stand in front of me, and pulls a gold box from his pocket.

“Enjoy.” He tosses it on my desk, tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and saunters out.

My mouth is basically on the fucking floor.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, open it,” Miranda chokes out, grabbing the box and practically shoving it into my arms. Everyone in class is definitely staring at me now, even Ms. Felton. “I mean, I pretty much hate the guy, but … Tristan Vanderbilt does not fall for girls. Ever. You’re like, the second coming of Lizzie.” I give her a please shut up look, and crack the box open.

There’s a white gold diamond necklace inside with a pair of roses on it. “What …” I start as Miranda gags next to me, fluttering her hands in my

direction.

“I know this necklace. I saw it at Neiman Marcus. I almost bought it.” When I just sit there staring at it, she takes it from me and puts it around my neck.

“How much is this worth?” I ask, feeling like I might choke.

Miranda clasps the necklace and sits back, looking at me with a sheepish expression on her face.

“Um, eighty thousand?” she says questioningly, and I choke, reaching a hand up to touch the pair of roses. I cannot keep this. There’s no way I can freaking keep this. Why … what is going on?!

Before I can voice any of my concerns to Miranda, Harper du Pont comes storming into the classroom, ripping Tristan’s bouquet away from the startled looking Pleb girl. Like a hurricane, she sweeps into the room and plucks one of the cards from the trash before spinning to face me. When she sees the necklace around my throat, she lets out of one of her pterodactyl screeches.

“You are so fucking done, Reed!” she snaps, moving out the door before Ms. Felton gets a chance to stop her.

I’m not sure whether to be afraid … or exhilarated. Maybe a healthy dose of both?

On my way out of the classroom, one of the academy couriers who hands out mail and packages from home stops me and passes over a small box. As he moves on with his deliveries, I pull the small pink envelope off the top as Miranda whistles under her breath.

“You’ve gotten … popular,” she says, but not like she’s jealous or anything, just in awe.

I know FhoFolates aren’t your thing, the note reads. Enjoy. ZaFk.

A smile lights my face as I open the box to an assorted collection of artisan caramels.

Wow.

“These are my favorite,” I whisper, feeling a red flush warm my cheeks.

I’m … this day just can’t be real. Days like this do not happen to me.

“Girl,” Miranda starts, raising her brows and biting her lip to hold back a laugh. “Creed is going to lose his mind. I think he actually likes you now.”Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

“He does not,” I retort, but then I think about the way he kissed me on the deck of the steamboat, and my stomach flutters. I touch a hand to the necklace and feel my heart beating beneath it. “I mean, how could he? I thought they all hated me?” Miranda just stares at me like she’s as confused as I am.

We head down the hall to my room and find Zayd waiting for us. He’s tapping a bouquet of roses against the wall in time to a beat we can’t hear. He’s got one ear bud in, the other hanging down his chest.

“Billie Eilish,” he says, pointing at his ear, and then he pauses the music and tucks his phone in his pocket. “Looks like he got to you before I did.” Zayd’s eyes narrow as he reaches out and lifts the necklace off my chest, his fingers brushing my skin and sending shivers through me.

“Before you did?” I ask, and he grins, stepping aside, so I can use my keys to get into my dorm. I set my flowers and caramels on the counter and turn around to find Zayd offering me yet another box. Holy crap. Guess today is my lucky day?

“Any idiot can buy a necklace,” he says proudly, nodding in the direction of the box with his chin. “But check this shit out.” I give him a skeptical look and lift the thin top off the box, finding a sea of colorful truffles underneath. “Homemade, motherfucker.” Zayd flops down on my bed and leans back on his palms.

“You made these?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“I’m taking PraFtiFal Skills this semester,” he says, and Miranda interrupts him.

“Translation: home economics for rich kids who’ve never done a load of laundry in their life.” Zayd flips her off, and then leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

“Yeah, whatever. But last week was a lesson on making artisan chocolates. As you can see, artisan fucking chocolate.” He pauses as I reach into the box to pluck one out. “Just a warning: there’s about ten milligrams of weed in each one of those.” With a scoff, I drop the chocolate back in the box as he laughs. “Sativa, it’ll keep you going all night long.” Zayd lifts his hips up and makes a dirty undulating motion that I find I like way too much. “You are going to the garden party, right?” he asks, and I shrug. There are too many parties here to keep track of. “You have to go, seriously.” He stands up

comes over to stand beside me, plucking a rose from my bouquet, snapping most of the stem off, and tucking it behind my ear. “Come on, Working Girl.”

I sigh, but I know I’m getting dragged into this.

There’s a banquet starting outside at four-thirty with food and drinks and games.

“I’ll go,” I say with a sigh and both Miranda and Zayd get way too excited. Miranda hugs me, and kisses me on the cheek.

“Come back to my place and we’ll get ready together?” I nod as Zayd once again opens my wardrobe and starts digging around inside of it. He emerges with the lemon-printed dress I wore to the Cabot Scholarship Award ceremony, and hands it over to me.