Stuck With The Four Hotties

While the junior orchestra takes up Pomp and Circumstance for the second time that day, Ms. Felton and a horde of academy staff including Mr. Castor, Mrs. Amberton, and Ms. Highland take up the stage and start calling students to collect their diplomas.

The order is entirely based on class ranking, just one last little barb to shame us all into doing our best. But I’ve fixed things so that Harper du Pont who, shockingly enough, got into the top ten percent of our class, is dead- last.

Dead. Last.

She’s fighting back a frown as she takes her diploma from Ms. Felton, shakes her hand, and starts off across the stage, pausing briefly in front of the massive Burberry Prep Academy crest background, so she can have her picture taken by the professional photographer that was hired for the occasion.

As soon as she stops there, smile white, red hair shining against the black of her gown, I pull my phone from my pocket, and I press a button.

The video screen that was used against me during first year comes down ahead of schedule on the makeshift stage, and then my masterpiece begins to play.

Every mean thing Harper has ever done that I’ve been able to catch on film, record in sound, or take a picture of is there. I had no trouble collecting even more damning pieces of evidence from the other students. Hey, I’m the queen of the school and Harper du Pont is just a bully.

“What the hell?” she asks, turning around as the awful footage begins to play. There’s her, in the woods berating girls at a party, slapping her supposed best friend Becky, screaming at John and Greg, and finally … there she is, trying to brand me with a hot iron in my dorm room.

God bless security cameras.

“Daddy, make it stop!” Harper screams as the footage just keeps rolling and rolling and rolling. There was so much choice stuff, I had to pick and choose what bits to use. Those were tough decisions to make. The crowd murmurs and gasps, whispers passing behind raised hands. The entire Infinity Club gets to see the du Pont princess at her worst. I’m sure her parents’ business associates don’t appreciate seeing their own children beaten and abused by a spoiled rotten little brat. “Daddy!”

Mr. du Pont is coming down the steps as fast as he can, huffing and puffing as the staff tries to get control of the video screen. The thing is, while Harper was busy bullying people all year, I was busy making friends with as many students as I could-including the AV club.

She’s openly weeping now as my montage continues to play.

“Good God, you’re brilliant,” Windsor whispers in awe as the red, black, and white balloons up above, held in a net to celebrate the end of the ceremony, are dropped. Only … they’re not balloons anymore. I had the students on the event planning team fill condoms with horse manure, courtesy of the equestrian club. They splatter all over Harper as she screams, covering the school’s most beautiful tyrant in literal shit.

“Now, how exactly is this hanging her with her own rope?” Creed whispers, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Well, you attract more flies with honey … and more horse shit by being a bullying asshole. Harper du Pont has pissed off almost every student in this school. I asked for help, and I got it. The other students were more than eager.” I shrug my shoulders because maybe, if I crossed my own lines just a little bit, it was worth it.

“Start the music!” Ms. Felton screams, and Pomp and Circumstance

comes on for a third time, drowning out the recordings of Harper’s

screaming voice as the staff pull her out of the sea of poop, a loose condom stuck to one ear, and drag her down the steps.

This is going to hurt, but it’s so worth it, I tell myself as I stand up and race over to her sobbing form.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” I ask, putting my hands over my mouth and trying not to laugh at the shit-covered condom earring she’s wearing. Harper pulls back her fist and punches me hard, right in the face. There’s an uproar from the audience as she’s wrangled back into submission, and I resist the urge to lick the blood from my lip. Her hand was relatively clean, but you know, horse crap and all.

The boys rush up to surround me, and I take a handkerchief from Tristan to clean my face with.

“Fucking Working Girl piece of trash! Whore! Slut!” Harper continues to dig her own grave as she’s dragged away, and I take the stage again, lifting the mic to my lips.

“Once again, on behalf of the students of Burberry Prep-” I start, trying to keep the sheer pleasure from my voice. But then I notice Dad, slumping forward in his wheelchair and falling to the pavement as Jennifer and the aide try to help him.

A scream tears from my throat as that stupid music just keeps on playing, and I jump down from the platform, hurting my wrist in the process, my knees digging into the grass and smearing my gown with dirt. I race forward, snagging the fabric yet again on the edge of one of the chairs as I race for the steps and up them, my hand skimming across the bannister.

“Dad, no,” I sob as people rush around us, a doctor announcing herself before she pushes me aside. I’m weeping now and shaking, trying to get to Charlie but being pushed aside. The boys are there in an instant, along with Miranda and Andrew.

“I’ve already called an ambulance,” Zack says panting and holding me back, so the doctor and the health aide can work on Dad. He’s dying, isn’t it? I think as shock rolls over me in a wave, and this disturbing sort of numbness

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