Besides, she’d heard the whispering about her getting special treatment because of her burgeoning friendship with Isaac. She knew that was a huge part of why the dean let her work alone on her art project—but she wanted the favors to end there.
The dean’s house stood on top of a small hill near the front gate of campus. It was a stately white Greek Revival building with black shutters and a giant porch held up by enormous Doric columns. Jenny’s heart raced. Ever since she’d first set foot on campus, she’d imagined what it would be like to step into the dean’s elegant residence. And here she was, pressing the thumb of her yellow Banana Republic mitten against the doorbell.
A stunning woman in a deep blue-and-green paisley silk wrap dress answered the door. “You must be Jenny. I’m Karina Dresden, Isaac and Isla’s mom.” She was tall and statuesque, with long reddish-brown hair down her back. Except for some fine lines at the corners of her eyes, her face was perfectly smooth, and Jenny wondered if she had amazing genes or regular access to Botox. “Please, come in.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jenny squeaked nervously as she followed Mrs. Dresden across the black marble floor of the foyer. The interior of the house was as gorgeous as the exterior, and just as elegant and refined. Two enormous red and orange abstract expressionist paintings hung on the pale gray walls, making Jenny feel like she’d entered another museum. “Those aren’t Rothkos, are they?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“Why yes,” Mrs. Dresden replied, staring at the paintings fondly. “They’ve been in the family for ages. We have some other pieces upstairs that I’ll have to show you later.”
“I’d like that,” Jenny managed to say, tearing her eyes off the luminous canvases to take in the rest of the foyer. A wide dark wood staircase wound up to the second floor, and the domed ceiling culminated in a stained glass skylight. It was illuminated from above by the moon, an ethereal glow filling the space. “That’s so beautiful!” Jenny exclaimed, forgetting herself and staring up at it like a child.
“It’s an incredible house—we’re still getting used to it all.” Mrs. Dresden smiled as she hung Jenny’s coat in the hall closet. Jenny caught a whiff of her perfume, vanilla and some kind of exotic flower. “We’re so happy you could join us for dinner.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” Jenny wiped her clammy palms on her black-and-white houndstooth J. Crew skirt. She’d put it together with a black sateen puffed-sleeve turtleneck, her red ballet flats sparkling under the light of a chandelier. While she wanted to look sweet and friendly for Isaac’s parents, she didn’t want to look boring for him. “It’s nice to have a dinner outside of the dining hall every once in a while.”
“Oh, you might be missing out, ’cause I heard it was sloppy joe night.” Isaac appeared, grinning, in the doorway to the living room, and Jenny felt her cheeks heat just at the sight of him. He had on a navy blue long-sleeved Lacoste polo shirt, gray corduroys, and a pair of distressed brown leather loafers. He touched her lightly on the back. “Thanks for coming.”
“Join the other kids in the sitting room, Jenny. I’m just going to check on the cook.” Mrs. Dresden steered Isaac and Jenny into the slate-blue-walled living room, where a Charlie Parker saxophone recording was playing through the surround-sound system. Tinsley, in a gold silk tie-front Twelfth Street by Cynthia Vincent dress, waved at Jenny, looking perfectly at home in the dean’s living room. She swirled a wineglass full of what looked like cola and leaned back on the velvet chaise lounge that stretched in front of the enormous brick fireplace. A brilliant fire crackled.
“What a beautiful fire,” Jenny exclaimed, then immediately blushed. She knew she sounded like a twelve-year-old at Christmas.
“You know Tinsley, of course. And this is my sister, Isla.” Isaac swept his arm out toward his sister, who sat on the red velvet piano bench, leaning back against the keys of a gorgeous black baby grand. A narrow vase of white tulips sat in the middle of the polished black top. “You guys haven’t met yet, right?”
Isla stood up to shake Jenny’s hand. Jenny had seen her from far away, but up close, she looked like a more feminine version of Isaac—the same wavy, almost-black hair, same pale green eyes, same high cheekbones. “Nice to meet you, Jenny.” In a pair of bell-bottom black satin pants and an angelic-looking white lacy Gold Hawk top, she looked sweeter than Jenny had imagined. But there was also a glint in her eye, like she knew all kinds of secrets and wasn’t about to tell you any of them. No wonder she and Tinsley got along so well.
“You, too.” Jenny glanced at Isaac, wishing he’d put his arm around her again. “Welcome to Waverly.”
“Thanks.” Isla laughed. Turquoise teardrop earrings dangled from her earlobes. “I just hope it can handle me.”
“Few places can.” Isaac rolled his eyes. Jenny wondered what that was all about. She hadn’t gotten a sense yet if Isaac and Isla were close. “Jenny, can I get you something to drink? Soda or water?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Tinsley got to her feet, wobbling slightly on her black leather L.A.M.B. pumps. Something about her smile seemed a little forced to Jenny. Her eyes were a little more made-up than normal, and a little reddened, as if she’d been crying. Or smoking pot. She’d heard that Tinsley and Julian had broken up, but hadn’t believed it. Now, she wasn’t so sure. “Isla has some Bacardi in her room, if you’d like it,” she whispered to Jenny.
“Thanks, but I’m good.” Jenny shook her head, her braid swishing against her back. “Where’s your dad?” she asked, glancing up at Isaac.
“He’s the chef,” Isaac replied, his piercing green eyes focused on Jenny’s face. “And he really gets into it, so be sure to compliment the food profusely.”
“Dinner is served!” Dean Dresden announced, appearing in the doorway with Mrs. Dresden’s arm linked through his. He had on a white apron and a white puffy chef’s hat and was holding a wooden spoon into the air. He looked like a middle-aged Top Chef wannabe, albeit one with a supermodel on his arm. Jenny giggled. It was so weird to see the handsome, distinguished-looking dean in his own home—he was surprisingly silly. “I hope you kids are hungry.”
“Daddy!” Isla cried as they filed into the dining room. The antique cherrywood table was set with six funky yellow square plates set on bamboo place mats. “Take off your apron. We have guests.”
“Of course, sweetie.” The dean pulled off his splattered apron and smoothed down his royal blue button-down—no tie, top button open. He kissed Isla on the forehead and smiled at Jenny. The chef’s hat still sat on his head, until Isla reached up and plucked it off. “Jenny. Nice to see you again. Please, everyone. Sit down.”
“The salad looks delicious, Dean Dresden.” Tinsley passed the wooden salad bowl to Jenny. The dean and his wife were seated at the long ends of the table, with Isaac and Jenny on one side and Tinsley and Isla on the other. Jenny scooped some arugula onto her plate with the giant wooden forks. A tiny cherry tomato rolled off her plate.
“Thank you, Tinsley. And thank you girls for coming. It’s a pleasure to get to spend some time with Isaac and Isla’s new friends.” Mrs. Dresden leaned over the table, pouring ice water into everyone’s glasses. “I think this whole—what do they call it? Jan Plan?—thing sounds wonderful. We haven’t seen that at any of the other schools.”
“It is fun,” Isla spoke up, forking diced cucumber into her mouth. “Tinsley and I have been working really hard.” She winked at Tinsley.
“I wish you’d tell us about your project, sweetie,” Mrs. Dresden admonished as she sat back in her chair. She touched her dangling silver necklace, nestled comfortably in her cleavage. Jenny couldn’t help wondering what Heath Ferro would do if he were here, having dinner with the dean’s gorgeous wife instead of living out in the wilderness. Heath was always talking about having a thing for older women. Of course, he had a thing for younger women, too.
“You’ll see soon enough.” Isla pressed her lips together mysteriously.
“And how is your
artwork going, Jenny?” Isaac asked, his green eyes shifting toward her. “Jenny’s studying the effects of movement,” Isaac explained to the rest of the table. “Right?”
“Yes.” Jenny smiled at Isaac. “I’ve been doing a lot of sketching, and a lot of people watching.” As she took a sip of water and looked at the dean and his family’s friendly faces across the candlelit table, she realized how lucky she was. Here she was, sitting in the dean’s dining room, enjoying his homemade cooking, talking to him like he was a normal person. “And it’s been great so far.”
“Good.” Dean Dresden set down his fork, a playful look on his face. “And do you girls have any words of advice for me, as I take over the helm? Any suggestions?”
“Well,” Tinsley said innocently, pushing her dark pin-straight hair behind her ears. Tiny diamond studs glittered in her earlobes. “Since you’re asking, is there anything you can do about the Latin requirement?” She smiled sweetly.
Jenny giggled. She hadn’t expected to feel so relaxed here. “What if everyone could take a schoolwide field trip? A weekend in New York or Boston.”
“It sounds like it could be very school-spirit-building, Dad.” Isaac laughed, buttering a warm whole wheat roll. “You’re always talking about school spirit.”
“That’s definitely true,” Dean Dresden admitted, chewing thoughtfully. “You know how I love school spirit.”
Isla glanced at her mother and they both rolled their eyes, making the rest of the table laugh. “Yes, because you never shut up about it,” she pointed out, sweetly.
“Or what about letting sophomores have singles?” Jenny suggested, getting into the spirit.
“But what about you, sir—how are you enjoying your time at Waverly?” Tinsley leaned forward, smiling politely. Jenny was always a little in awe of how comfortable Tinsley was talking to adults.
“Very much, thanks for asking.” The dean chuckled. “Except I have yet to meet most of the faculty. I’m hosting a little get-to-know-you faculty dinner on Saturday night, in fact, where I’ll get to meet most of them for the first time.”
“At Le Petit Coq?” Jenny asked, mentioning the French restaurant in town where anyone requiring a fancier locale than the pizza place in downtown Rhinecliff usually wound up. She’d never been there—when her father visited, he was more interested in the pineapple-and-ham pizza at Ritoli’s than in escargot. But it was the kind of restaurant where people lingered for hours over five-course meals and bottles of expensive red wine.
“Yes,” Mrs. Dresden spoke up, pressing her hand to her ample chest. “I hear they have an amazing Parisian chef who makes a duck à l’orange that is to die for. That’s my favorite.”
“My dear, the asparagus-and-pine-nut risotto I have for you tonight is going to make you forget all about French cuisine.” Dean Dresden pushed his chair back and disappeared into the kitchen.
While Mrs. Dresden chatted with Tinsley about the shops in downtown Rhinecliff, Jenny took the opportunity to lean closer to Isaac, an idea forming. “Your parents are going to be out on Saturday night. How cool would it be to throw a little party here?” she whispered. She knew it was a risky proposition, but she was in a daring mood. Why not have a little fun?
“You have a devious mind,” Isaac whispered back, raising an eyebrow. “I like it.”
Jenny grinned and stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork. When a Waverly Owl sees an opportunity, shouldn’t she take advantage of it?
Instant Message Inbox
AlisonQuentin: U want to hear something strange? I kind of miss pervy Heath!
JennyHumphrey: I know! It just seems kind of quiet without him.
AlisonQuentin: Alan said he saw some bloody rabbit tracks out past the soccer fields. Do you really think Heath’s eating bunnies?
JennyHumphrey: Ew. But I did see some smoke coming from the woods today. I never knew he was a chef!
17
A WAVERLY OWL NEVER KISSES AND TELLS.
“Whoa.” Sebastian let out a low growl when he opened the door to his dorm room. Brett was standing there in her cropped leather Fendi jacket over her emerald green silk spaghetti-strap Betsey Johnson dress. The dress set off her catlike green eyes and porcelain skin to perfection. In her four-inch Stuart Weitzman peep-toe patent leather pumps, she was almost at Sebastian’s eye level. “You look incredible. Are you sure we’re just going to the movies?”
Brett grinned despite herself. She twisted the ends of the patterned silk Hermès scarf her mother gave her for Christmas around her wrist. “I just wanted to look nice.”
That wasn’t quite true. The revelation that Chrissy had dated Sebastian was like a wake-up call. With Jeremiah Mortimer, Brett’s previous—and only other—boyfriend, it had been so much easier. He went to St. Lucius Academy, fifteen miles away, and it didn’t matter who he’d dated since Brett didn’t need to face his exes all the time. The one time she’d run into an ex of Jeremiah’s at a Waverly party had ended in complete disaster.
The situation with Sebastian wasn’t at that level of horror just yet—but it was strange, nonetheless. She hadn’t even known Sebastian before she started to tutor him over the fall. He mostly hung out with seniors, potheads, and slackers, and while his crowd had occasionally crossed paths with Brett’s, it wasn’t like they knew all the gossip about each other. And so Brett had no idea who he’d dated—or at least, she hadn’t, until yesterday, when she’d followed up Benny’s suggestion and met with Devon Sprague. Devon, a blond senior girl on Brett’s varsity field hockey team, kept a file on her laptop chronicling every rumored Waverly relationship, hookup, flirtation, and everything in between. A discreet chat at CoffeeRoasters was all it took for Brett to learn that in the past year alone Sebastian had managed to “date”—she used the word loosely—the following girls, in addition to Chrissy and Alexis: Leila Rodriguez, a pretty art student who’d been accepted early to RISD; Molly Theal, a slutty blond softball player who was notorious for taking her clothes off at Waverly parties; and the overly tattooed Leigh Nissonson, who made the pre–Brad Pitt Angelina Jolie look sane.
“You okay?” Sebastian asked, stepping back and taking Brett’s chin in his hand, his strong fingers warm against her cold skin. His dark eyes, almost black, were so wide and caring, how could she doubt him? “You look like you just spaced out.”
Brett smiled weakly. He was so handsome, in a simple white button-down that set off his olive skin and a pair of dark-rinse Levis. But how many girls had stood right here in his doorway and thought the exact same thing? Had Leila Rodriguez sprawled out half naked on his bed while he told her how beautiful she was? Had Molly Theal admired the cheesy Italian flag that took up half his wall?
Brett smoothed her dress out over her knees and tried not to think about it. Why did she even care whom he’d been with? He was with her now. “I’m fine.”
“I’m just going to grab my keys from this dude upstairs.” Sebastian opened the door.
“This dude upstairs?” Brett repeated, grinning. “You lent your beloved Mustang to some guy whose name you don’t even know?”
Sebastian shrugged his shoulders, a bewildered expression on his face. “I think it’s Mike. Or Ike. Something like that.” He kissed her on the forehead.
“I doubt there’s an Ike who goes to school here,” she teased.
Sebastian shook his head in mock outrage as he walked out the door. “I’ll be back to deal with you in a minute.”
She loved watching him walk—it was more of a swagger, really, and when she first met him it had annoyed her. Just another overly confident Waverly player, she thought. But once she got to know him, she discovered he was just comfortable in his skin. He didn’t worry about being from tacky New Jersey; he was, in fact, proud that he came from the Garden State and that his father owned a lucrative chain of car dealerships across the tristate area. Unlike Brett, who had for years told people her father was a surgeon, omitting the “plastic” part of his job description out of embarrassment.
> Brett got to her feet, the heels of her black pumps clicking against the hardwood floor. With Sebastian gone, she had an incredible urge to look through his stuff. Not to find evidence of other girls, of course—but just to prove to herself that there wasn’t any. She quickly opened his desk drawers, searching for mementos of girlfriends past. Since the postcard in Chrissy’s room did come from him, she wanted to see if he kept any postcards from girls. But the only things on Sebastian’s walls were his enormous Italian flag, and a giant poster of The Godfather.
She opened the long, narrow pencil drawer, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw a stack of pictures. The one on top was of Sebastian having a snowball fight with a girl in a pink puffy coat. Brett looked closer. Wait, that was her. It was taken over break, in front of Sebastian’s dad’s house. His father must have taken the shot without Brett knowing. She smiled, remembering how she’d tackled Sebastian from behind and pushed him into the snow. He kept this in the top of his drawer? That was so sweet.
A knock at the door made her jump. She quickly dropped the picture back into the drawer and closed it guiltily. But when she opened the door there stood Tricia Rieken, wearing a pair of red stilettos, tight black jeans, and a tight black Ed Hardy tank top that showed off her huge chest. Brett had always suspected the rumor about her boob job was false, but when presented with her balloonlike breasts practically popping in her face, she had to admit the rumor seemed awfully valid.
“Yes?” Brett asked coolly, crossing her arms over her own chest. She’d hated Tricia ever since freshman year, when she’d flirted her way to an A in Monsieur Lamont’s French class—an A that Brett had to earn.
“Just looking for Seb.” Tricia peered over Brett’s shoulder, as if Brett were hiding him. Then her heavily mascaraed eyes lasered in on Brett. “We hang out every Friday night.”