Stuck With The Four Hotties

“True. But it’s not always the ending that’s the most important.

Sometimes, the journey to get there is just as good.”

A few nights later, I call Zayd.

I don’t know why.

I just pick one of the boys at random and dial.

He comes over right away, inching his blue Jaguar convertible up to the curb, and I hop in. I don’t really like leaving Dad alone, but his health aide is here, and I … I just need a minute.

“Sometimes, when someone else is dying, it’s harder on everyone around them than it is for them.” He curls his inked hands around the steering wheel and drives slowly, so that the night wind teases our hair, but doesn’t steal away our conversation.

“Are you talking about your mom?” I ask softly, my hands shaking. I force them to sit still in my lap. I’m overtired, overworked, and I’m going to end up back at Burberry in a bad state. Spring break hasn’t exactly been a refreshing experience, but to be quite honest, I’m scared for it to end.

I’m scared I’ll never see Charlie again if I leave. Maybe I shouldn’t go back?

“Yep. I mean, I was young, so I didn’t have to care for her, but my grandma did.” Zayd pauses and looks over at me as he rolls up to a stop sign. Our neighborhood is so quiet, it’s more of a formality than anything else. Nobody’s coming. “Not my rich grandma though, my other one. I think caring for her dying daughter is what killed her, too. Or maybe she died of a broken heart or something. I’d pretend to be a tough guy and say I don’t believe in that shit, but I do.”

I smile at him and then reach out to take his right hand. He squeezes mine and pulls it to his lips for a kiss.

“How did you get here so fast, by the way? I thought your house was, like way down the beach.”

“Yeah, uh …” He looks up at the stars and then shrugs again. “I’m on my way to deliver a present to Becky’s house. It’s just, you know, revenge stuff.”

“Is it now?” I ask, leaning back against the door. “I feel like I’ve really fucked it up this year. I was so on point during second.”

“You didn’t fuck it up, you just learned that you don’t have to do everything by yourself all the time. Come on.” Zayd rolls us quietly out of the little suburban corner of Grenadine Heights, and then guns the engine, giving me this wild, little thrill, like a rollercoaster.

We take off and head into the hills, toward the super-rich neighborhoods that line some of the most exquisite beaches in the state.

When we get to one with a giant ironwork gate, I realize that ironically, Becky Platter’s family has my dad’s artwork gracing their fence. Part of me is proud … but the other part of me wonders if I couldn’t come back here later with a blowtorch and burn it off, maybe take it with me as a souvenir?

Zayd gets out and collects a box from the trunk, coming around the side of the car and pausing next to me.

“During first year, Becky was dating the basketball coach. I have all their stupid ass love letters in here.”

“Where did you get those?” I ask as Zayd cracks the lid and shows the huge pile to me. He grins.

“The coach quit like six months into their relationship, but his son is a huge Billy Kaiser fan. I may have bribed him with backstage passes. I know don’t you like to shame people or whatever, but it’s not the sexy stuff in here that’s the main focus. She gave the coach insider trading info. He made a ton of money off that shit. Her parents are going to ship her ass to one of those military academies Tristan was so afraid of.”

Zayd presses the buzzer on the intercom, and an employee comes out to take the box. The two of them seem to know each other, exchanging a brief moment of chitchat before the guy takes it, and we leave with a squeal of tires.

Zayd takes us up a hill, parks, and then gets out a pre-rolled joint and a lighter.

“I know you want to get back to your dad, but you also look like you’re about to have a stress heart attack. Here.” He hands both things over to me. I stare at them for a while, considering, and then realize that if I don’t take care of myself, too, I really am going to pass out from the stress.

We smoke the joint for a few-mostly I just cough and hack-and then Zayd slips his hand into my pocket, pulling out the list as I gape at him.

“How did you know that was in there?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“You carry it around all the time, and to be honest, I grope your ass too much to miss it.” He gives it back to me along with the lighter. “I know you’ve still got to get Harper, but when you say you have a plan, I believe it. Burn that damn thing and let’s be done with it. It’s got bad juju or something.”

I unfold the list and stare at the names, and then I lift the lighter up and catch the edge, watching it burn.

When there’s nothing left but a small corner, I shake it out until there are no live embers left, and then I watch the ashes of what’s left float away on a breeze that comes straight off the bay.

“Good,” Zayd says, pulling me close and tucking me in against his side. “Now we can bang.”

“You’re as crude as Creed Cabot,” I grumble, but we hang out in his car for a while anyway, and when we’re done, he takes me home, and I spend the rest of spring break holding my dad’s hand durin

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