“I called ahead and got us a table by the window,” he told her, raising his voice a little so that Brett could hear. Where was he taking her? Brett wondered furiously. Le Petit Coq? She pictured the two of them in one of the cozy window nooks, watching the snow fall and sharing wine as a fire crackled in the old stone fireplace.
“Sounds perfect,” Callie said, tugging him a little toward the steps. “We should, uh, get going.” She winked at Brett.
Brett stood on the steps, feeling like a third wheel. He’s just doing it to be an ass, she thought to herself. No, forget that: he is an ass. If Sebastian were Cinderella, she knew he’d turn back into a pumpkin sooner or later, his hair finding its way back into a greasy mess on top of his head, his skin reeking again of Drakkar Noir. Callie might be fooled by Sebastian’s metamorphosis, but Brett knew better. It served Callie right if she was desperate enough to get sucked in. Better her than me, Brett thought, though it took her an uncomfortably long time to convince herself of the idea.
“Have fun, kids,” Brett called over her shoulder, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. But she couldn’t help glancing back as she opened the front door. The crisp night air tousled Callie’s hair, and the almost full moon lit up Sebastian’s clean-shaven face as he turned back to give Brett a grin. She let the door slam shut.
To her surprise, Brett’s annoyance morphed into a stabbing jealousy. She marched through Dumbarton and slammed the door of her room, grateful that Tinsley was off somewhere. She unzipped her boots and kicked them into the corner, not caring that they were crusted with snow or that the hardwood floors would be covered with puddles soon. Wasn’t she the one who’d spent all that time tutoring Sebastian? Inviting him to her house for Thanksgiving? Listening to Bon Jovi in his car with him? Like Callie was ever going to do that.
She flopped down on her Indian-print fuchsia comforter and stuffed a pillow under her head, trying to block out any memory of the conversation where she bet Sebastian that he couldn’t attract Waverly girls. If he wanted to date a blue-blooded Southern belle, he could go right ahead and do it. Why the hell did she even care?
She decided she didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
12
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS TRUE POTENTIAL WHEN SHE SEES IT.
“Ritoli’s?” Callie Vernon asked in surprise as Sebastian’s black Mustang screeched to a halt beside the pizza place in downtown Rhinecliff. Her ears were still ringing from the Bon Jovi medley Sebastian had burned onto a CD just for the short ride into town. The music was awful enough, but Callie had to stare out the window to avoid looking at the Magic 8 Ball Sebastian had somehow managed to fix to his gearshift, or the diamond-encrusted S hanging from the rearview mirror. (She hoped it wasn’t real—what a waste of diamonds.) The inside of Sebastian’s Mustang was fogged with some cheap cologne that smelled like CVS, and by the time they pulled over on Main Street she was gasping for breath. She’d kind of hoped he’d take her to Le Petit Coq, the fancy French restaurant at the edge of town, where the portions were tiny and the food was artfully arranged on white china plates.
But Ritoli’s was better than the KFC off the freeway, which, after seeing Sebastian’s car, wouldn’t have surprised her. Ritoli’s was kind of cheesy, but Waverly students loved it because they delivered late—and the girls especially loved it because the waiters were notoriously cute. Maybe some Waverly Owls would be there and see her with Sebastian. She wanted word to spread as quickly as possible that she’d claimed him.
“They’ve got the best garlic cheese bread this side of Sicily,” Sebastian said proudly, hopping out of his Mustang and quickly rushing over to open Callie’s door. Well, that was sweet. And he had told her he liked her outfit—when was the last time any of the Neanderthals at Waverly had paid homage to her fashion sense? Except Brandon—and that was only because he noticed everyone’s fashion sense.
Callie stepped carefully around a snowbank. Through the enormous windows of the restaurant, a red leather booth sat with a single candle in the center of the table. In that lighting, the pizza place did look kind of romantic.
“Sebastiano!” a voice from the kitchen cried out as Sebastian held the front door open for Callie. The smell of pepperoni hit her in the face.
“Paisano!” Sebastian called back, taking Callie’s coat and hanging it on the coatrack. Then he slid out of his own dark peacoat—which looked brand-new—just as a large man threw his arms around Sebastian. Callie noticed a small flash of gold underneath Sebastian’s baby blue Salvatore Ferragamo button-down and she stared intently. Was he wearing… a gold necklace? She slid uneasily into the red leather—scratch that, vinyl—booth, running her hands over the red and white checked tablecloth to make sure it was clean.
“What, you don’t come around anymore?” a large, red-faced Italian guy approached them, his arms out. He wore a purple silk shirt partially sweated through. Callie hoped he didn’t handle any of the food.
“Man, they’re busting my ass to graduate.” Sebastian grinned. Callie straightened her back and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to be a snob or anything, but if she and Sebastian were going to have any sort of future, he was going to have to lose expressions like “busting my ass.” Not to mention expressing difficulty in actually graduating from Waverly. Everyone graduated, didn’t they?
“Ah, forget about it,” the Italian said, waving his hands. “I never even went to high school and look at me!” Sebastian hugged the guy again—were they related? She really hoped Sebastian didn’t look to him for college advice.
The Italian grabbed Sebastian’s face as if he might kiss him. Then he noticed Callie. “It looks like you’re pretty lucky yourself, with such a lovely companion for the evening.” Callie tried to smile brightly, but the compliment didn’t do much for her from the lips of an overweight, greasy old guy. “Enjoy, enjoy, huh?” the guy said, bowing slightly in Callie’s direction as he receded back into the noisy kitchen.
“Sal is great,” Sebastian said, sliding into the bench seat opposite Callie.
“He seems… nice.” Callie tried not to wonder what Sal had been doing that made him sweat so much. If Callie’s mother had been there, she probably would have called the health department from her cell phone.
But Callie was on a date, after all—nothing else really mattered. She wasn’t sitting home, using the stupid knitting kit her bastard Secret Satan had sent her this morning. She carefully arranged herself in the booth, straightening her clingy black Calvin Klein wrap dress. Maybe she was a little overdressed for Ritoli’s, but at least she knew she didn’t look like an old maid. It was her first date with Sebastian, and she wanted it to lead to many future dates. She couldn’t help keeping score. The car and choice of venue were against him, but he had showed up with flowers, even if they were the kind of gaudy red roses packaged with gobs of baby’s breath they sold at the supermarket. She’d dropped them into Jenny’s green Nalgene bottle and left them on her desk.
“Everything here is great,” Sebastian said seriously as he opened his oversize menu.
Callie pressed her lips together and did the same. Or tried to—the laminated pages inside were covered with a dried splotch of red sauce, causing them to stick together. The menu made a small tearing sound as she wrestled it open, but Sebastian didn’t seem to notice. He was engrossed in the list of pastas, his lips moving as he contemplated each one.
“What do you recommend?” Callie asked demurely, staring at the list of pastas swimming in various artery-clogging cheese and Alfredo sauces. Weren’t Italian women supposed to be thin? What on Earth did they eat?
“My go-to is the linguini with clam sauce.” Sebastian looked up at Callie, his dark eyes alight. “Sometimes I get it with Alfredo sauce, but the clam sauce is almost as good as my Nonna makes.” He flashed a smile, and despite Callie’s recoiling at the thought of gooey Alfredo sauce—and its million calories—she found herself smiling. It was sweet that he mentioned his grandmother.
&nbs
p; Callie glanced up at the black-and-white photograph hanging on the wall of man in a top hat bicycling down a narrow street in Rome. “I think I’m just going to have the tomato and mozzarella salad.”
Sebastian eyed her incredulously, his dark eyes wide with dis-belief. “Shit, are you one of those girls who only eats salad?”
“No,” Callie insisted, crossing her arms over her chest, annoyed, even though her lunch every day, and often her dinner, consisted mostly of green lettuce leaves. “Besides, I like salad.”
“Yeah, right. Rabbits like salad.” Sebastian chuckled, leaning back in his seat.
Callie’s eyes caught again on the gold chain peeking out from his shirt. Did he wear it everywhere? Or was it only for special occasions? Either way, it wasn’t okay. “So, um… what else do you do at school? Besides, you know, study with Brett?” she asked, desperate for something to say. She tried to remember back to other first dates—were they always this awkward? Maybe she was just out of practice? Her first “date” with Easy, after all, had been a frantic make-out session in the rare books library during a boring party for Absinthe, the school literary magazine. Not exactly practical preparation for this—although it did make her wonder if Sebastian was a good kisser.
Sebastian narrowed his eyes at her. “As little as possible.”
Callie laughed nervously and started to twirl a lock of her blond hair around her finger, a bad habit she had when she was distracted or anxious. Was she trying too hard to make something happen with Sebastian when there wasn’t anything there? But then she remembered hearing that Evelyn Dahlie had invited him to a seniors-only party that very weekend. Probably in her bedroom, that skank. Sebastian was too cute to be available for long—and if Callie wanted a boyfriend, this was her chance.
“No, I mean, like, in your free time?” Callie leaned forward, hoping to give Sebastian a tantalizing peek at her lacy pink La Perla camisole. She looked up at him from beneath her mascaraed lashes and gave him her most flirtatious smile. “What sports do you play? You look like you’re in great shape.” There was a mandatory PE requirement at Waverly that students satisfied by playing a fall, winter, or spring sport, so Sebastian had to play something.
Sebastian rubbed his chest, looking flattered. “Ah, I play some b-ball. Nothing like a good game of pickup to get your blood flowing.”
Callie nodded politely, not sure what the hell Sebastian was talking about. Baseball? Basketball? “That’s cool.” She touched her earring nervously. Someone turned up the Italian music coming from the speaker in the corner and the sound of wailing violins made her think she was in The Lady and the Tramp. Which, unfortunately, made Sebastian the tramp.
Their waiter came over with a bottle of red wine she hadn’t even seen Sebastian order and half-filled Callie’s and Sebastian’s wineglasses.
“Cin cin,” Sebastian announced, holding his glass up in the air. Callie raised her own glass, ignoring the water spots, and clinked it against his. She took a small sip of the wine.
“Cin… cin,” Callie repeated. Her father was half-Spanish, and she’d spent a good amount of time in Barcelona, where he’d grown up. So she half-understood Spanish, which was similar to Italian… so maybe that was one thing she and Sebastian had in common. Maybe his family had a place in Italy somewhere. She imagined a picturesque Italian coastal village and a sprawling ancient villa with amazing views of the Mediterranean.
Sebastian was staring out the window at the snow-covered cars on Main Street. In the dim, orangey glow of the streetlights, she could see the snow falling, but when she caught Sebastian’s eyes again, she thought she saw a bored look in them.
“You don’t like the snow?” she asked, starting to panic. Sebastian was bored already? The vision of her perfect Italian villa disappeared like a soap bubble.
“Hate it.” Sebastian shook his head, his almost black hair sliding into his face. He had this kind of young Johnny Depp thing going on. “You ever been to the shore?”
Callie wasn’t sure what he was referring to. “You mean the beach?” she asked, biting her lip. The image of the sun-sparkling blue waters of the Mediterranean instantly returned.
“The Jersey shore.” He smiled, but looked at Callie suspiciously, as if he could imagine what she was thinking. “You’ve heard of New Jersey?” he teased.
“Tell me about it.” Callie swirled the remnants of her wine in the glass, hoping to look sophisticated. New Jersey wasn’t the worst place to live, despite what Brett thought. He could have been from, like, Kalamazoo or something. Or Las Vegas. But before she knew it, Sebastian was detailing for her the merits of the Jersey shore, all the fun things to do there, the bars that stayed open late, the fried food available—fried dough, fried ice cream, fried onions, fried anything you wanted—the neon-lighted carnival rides and sleeping on the beach “until the pigs chased you away.”
“Interesting,” Callie said as their young Italian waiter set down a steaming plate of pasta in front of Sebastian and a giant salad in front of her. At least it wasn’t fried dough. Callie couldn’t think of anything more unappealing than walking along a boardwalk crowded with tattoo parlors and arcades, the scent of fried grease drowning out the smell of the ocean.
“You’d like it there,” Sebastian said, pouring more wine in Callie’s glass. He looked her in the eyes and smiled. The gold chain flashed again under his shirt and, the red wine going to her brain, Callie boldly leaned across the table toward him.
“What is that?” she asked innocently, her hand brushing against his collar. “A necklace?” She couldn’t think of any occasion in which she would find a guy in a gold necklace attractive.
Sebastian looked down and touched the gold cross proudly. “My grandfather gave it to me the first time I ever visited my family in Italy. I never take it off.”
We’ll see about that.
Callie leaned back in her chair, appraising her dinner date. Okay, he had awful taste in music, jewelry, restaurants, and vacation spots. But he was also handsome and truly sweet. Callie felt a familiar rush: the excitement of starting a new project. Sebastian was a diamond in the rough—he just needed a little polishing. I can work with this, she thought, watching as Sebastian twirled his fork in his plate of linguini. He was total boyfriend material.
Or he would be, with a few minor adjustments.
13
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT THE CAMERA’S ALWAYS ROLLING.
Jenny could feel the warm summer wind on her skin. She licked her lips and tasted the salty air. All along the beach, bronzed boys in Abercrombie swim trunks watched as she sauntered to her towel near the lifeguard station. The waves roared in her ears and she pranced in the sand, her milky white skin miraculously tan, her dark brown hair highlighted with gold. She climbed the diving board, ready to plunge headfirst into the calm Pacific waters. Wait—why is there a diving board at the beach? The more she tried to concentrate on the water and the Abercrombie boys, the quicker they faded. The rapidly disintegrating scene was overtaken by the sound of murmuring, as if the clouds were whispering. Jenny snapped open her eyes to find a camera lens in her face.
Ohmigod. “Wha…” Jenny trailed off. She could feel some dried spittle—she sometimes drooled as she slept—at the corners of her mouth. She quickly rubbed the back of her hand against her lips.
Kaitlin Becker’s orangey red curls bounced behind the camera screen. “Your roommate let us in!”
Jenny glanced at her clock radio, silently cursing Callie and the early morning Pilates class she’d insisted on taking after her bread-heavy date last night. She sat up, pulling her homemade quilt up to her chin and wishing she’d worn something sexier than her pink-trimmed gray flannel PJ Salvage jammies. At least they kind of hid her boobs. If the camera added ten pounds, she certainly didn’t need them there.
Claire Goodrich, sitting in Jenny’s desk chair, leaned over and lightly smacked Kaitlin with the back of her hand. “Shh…” she hissed. “Give her a chance to wake up.” Her bobbed hair
was still damp from the shower and she looked perfectly put-together, in a New England preppie kind of way. She was the kind of girl who could pull off a bright yellow cable-knit sweater.
“We wanted to get your day from start to finish,” Izzy Vanderbeek explained, shrugging off her blue puffy down vest and dropping it on Callie’s unmade bed. She turned to Kaitlin and barked: “Pull back a little. You’re too close.”
Kaitlin stepped back, a disappointed look on her face. Jenny touched her hair—it was always completely disheveled in the morning. But the red eye of the camera inspired her, and she tossed her brown curls over her shoulder, hoping they were falling in kind of a sexy, bed-headed way. “Morning,” she said sleepily into the camera. Please look sleepily cute and don’t have eye crusties, she prayed. “What, exactly, do you want me to do?” she asked tentatively. She didn’t care how “real” they wanted to make this documentary. She wasn’t about to let them watch her shower or pee.
Kaitlin swept her camera around the room. Izzy jumped to her feet. “Just… walk us through what you do in the morning. You know, your routine.”
“Okaay…” Jenny threw the quilt off and slipped her bare feet into her ancient pink bedroom slippers. “Normally I don’t talk to anyone before I brush my teeth, so I’m sorry if my conversation skills aren’t up to par.” Jenny grabbed her blue plastic shower caddy and headed toward the door, the freshmen girls trailing after her into the third-floor bathroom. It was empty— not surprising at this hour on a Saturday morning. Most of the other girls were still sleeping after Friday nights filled with pizza and illicit drinking.
Jenny reached for her toothpaste. She heard one of the girls note the brand, Tom’s of Maine, in a reverent mumble. Another mumble of approval as Jenny squeezed some of the minty goop onto her Hello Kitty toothbrush. She held the toothbrush under the running water to erode the pile of toothpaste by half, knowing that a giant glob of toothpaste on her pajama shirt was not exactly glamorous behavior. She didn’t want it immortalized on film for generations to come.