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The whole school watched as drama unfolded among the elite outside the café this afternoon. Our ‘queen’ lost her boyfriend and her crown when it was revealed that not only had she warmed the bed of last year’s King, but also the court’s executioner, its jester, and so many more it’s impossible to keep track. A better question than who has she been entertaining might be, who hasn’t she?
More secret trysts are revealed by the minute, the scandal including everyone from the crown princes of every Founding Family to the lowest of the low. Which begs the question: why did we ever think she was fit to be Queen?
This Just In: I have it on good authority that not only are her morals questionable, but so is her financial situation. Our so-called queen is a scholarship student.
That could explain why a reliable source came forward to expose another secret: She sells certain used undergarments to men on the internet.
Such shocking revelations make us wonder. Was she ever our Queen at all? Or just a clever imposter whose pretty disguise enchanted us all?
The Scoop:
It goes without saying that this is not the kind of person we want representing us. Willow Heights holds the highest standard for students, and it might be time for the admin to rethink who belongs on top of the pyramid—and in our halls. As for the students, one thing’s for sure. We’ve let ourselves be fooled for far too long. It’s time to take back the throne from the desperate upstart!
Must have item of the week: An appointment at the clinic if you’re among the false queen’s former conquests or currently dating one. Can’t be too careful!??
I close the blog and talk to Harper and Colt for a minute, like it’s no big deal. Like my life isn’t over. This wasn’t a blog post. It’s a hit job. One that, if Colt’s casual words are true, she’s been planning all along.
I close my eyes and take a breath. Of course she was. She’s always been jealous of me.
Or maybe she knows.
A cold terror winds around my body, the words of the blog circling in my head on repeat. She said I fucked everyone, even the lowest of the low.
That’s Colt.
The twins will kill him. I have to get him out of here.
twenty-two
Rumor Has It… The Queen has fallen! The Queen is dead (socially) in spectacular Marie Antoinette fashion! Rejoice! At last, we are free of the tyrant! For the full scoop, see Willow Heights Gossip Grrrl blog, now posted.
Rylan Woods
What can I do to make her hurt like me?
There has to be something. Why can’t I find it? I know her better than anyone.
I’m seething after the lunchtime revelations.
Sure, it was nice to see her feathers ruffled a little when Baron and Duke cast her out, but it wasn’tme. I didn’t hurt her.
Fury swells inside me, and I retire to the gym.
Not to work out—I’m not one of those clowns—but because the first week of school, my stepbrother told me there’s a peephole between one of the storage rooms and the girls’ locker room. I wasn’t going to use it. It seemed disloyal to Gloria, and I watch her through my window all the time anyway.
But fuck her. Fuck being loyal to her.
If she can fuck random guys, I can look at other girls showering.
It can’t make me feel like a bigger creep than I already do. I should have defended Gloria, should want to protect her. What kind of man is pissed because when someone hurt his girlfriend, it wasn’t him?
Once I find the hole behind the box where Cotton said it was, I park my ass on a box and wait for the next class to start while I think through my dilemma.
There has to be something, some way to hurt her. Something to get back at her for the stomach-churning agony I’ve been in since I found out, unable to think of anything or feel anything but the depth of her betrayal.
She didn’t just sleep with one ex-boyfriend.
She’s a slut.
