Hang out? From Tricia’s outfit, it was obvious she hadn’t come over to play board games. “Guess you’ll have to find something else to do,” Brett replied sharply, slamming the door in Tricia’s face.
She slid into Sebastian’s desk chair. What the hell? Okay, so not only had Sebastian hooked up with half the females at Waverly, he also had a regular Friday night booty call with one of the skankiest. How could a guy even like someone like Tricia Rieken? She was all boobs and no personality.
The door opened again and Sebastian came in. His hair was flopping sexily over his eyes, but Brett was too annoyed to think it was cute.
“You missed Tricia,” Brett announced. “If I’d known you had a regular date on Friday nights, we could have seen the movie some other time.”
“Oh, shit.” Sebastian rubbed his forehead, a chagrined look in his eyes. “I forgot about Tricia.”
“You forgot about her? About the skanky girl you hook up with every week?” Brett sprang to her feet, too irritated to sit still. When her mother got angry, she always paced back and forth across the room, flailing her arms. Brett had to squeeze her arms to her sides to keep from doing the same. Maybe it was genetic. “What about Leila? And Alena? And Chrissy? Did you forget about them, too?”
“Brett, what are you talking about?” The familiar amused gleam lit up Sebastian’s eyes. “You can’t be jealous of girls I was with before I met you.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t be, if there were, like, two or three.” Brett twisted her scarf tightly around her finger, accidentally snagging the delicate fabric with her chunky rose coral ring. “But I can’t even count them all!”
“Calm down, okay?”
Her voice softened as she looked out the window. “Am I just the next one?”
“No!” Sebastian’s face darkened. She felt him step closer behind her, and she almost jumped when his strong hands grabbed her waist. He breathed into her hair. “Look, all those girls are in the past. I don’t do that anymore.”
Brett turned to face him. “So… what am I?”
“You’re my future.” His mouth curled up at the corner, hesitantly, as if afraid of sounding cheesy. But her heart melted. Okay, so it kind of sounded like a line, but it was also ridiculously sweet. And she could tell he meant it. No one had told her she was his future before.
“I guess that’s all right, then,” Brett replied, stepping into his arms. She tenderly wiped the lock of hair off his forehead with her finger, planting her lips in the same spot. His hands slid up and down her sides, and a warm feeling coursed through her body.
How could she care about stupid Tricia Rieken when she had this?
“We’d better get going if we want to make the movie,” Sebastian murmured into Brett’s ear. He kissed her on the cheek, just inches from her lips.
Brett closed her eyes. “Let’s make the later show.”
Instant Message Inbox
BennyCunningham: You’re working w/ Julian on some movie for Jan Plan, right?
AlanStGirard: Let me guess, you want to know if we saved U a part. You’re in luck—we do have a small, topless role I think you’d be perfect for.
BennyCunningham: Thanks but no thanks. Just wanted to know if it’s true about him and Tinsley.
AlanStGirard: That they’re kaput? Fraid so. But don’t even think about it—he’s not your type.
BennyCunningham: Freshmen are not for me. Dean’s sons are more my type.
AlanStGirard: Too bad Isaac’s with Jenny.
BennyCunningham: That’s just a dirty rumor!
AlanStGirard: Dunno. Heard she had dinner at his house tonight.
BennyCunningham: That could mean anything!
18
A WAVERLY OWL SOMETIMES FINDS SATISFACTION IN CULTIVATING THE ENVY OF OTHERS.
“You ready?” Isla asked, nudging a bare elbow into Tinsley’s waist. It was Saturday morning, and Tinsley was dressed in a strapless pink Alice + Olivia micromini cocktail dress. Her manicured cherry-colored toenails peeped sexily out of a pair of sky-high gold Jimmy Choos. Probably not the most appropriate outfit for the gym, but it was just right for their photography project.
“Of course.” Tinsley smiled, pushing through the double doors into the main room of the Waverly Athletic Club. Late Saturday mornings were one of the busiest times, with everyone eager to work off their Friday night pizza-and-beer binges. She and Isla had chosen to stage their latest photo shoot for precisely that reason. Isla had borrowed Tinsley’s body-hugging red Alexander Wang minidress and a pair of black sandals that laced up her calves. “The question is, are they ready for us?”
Isla giggled. The sound of some terrible Britney Spears song pulsed through the sound system. Did people really think bad music made you work out harder? “That’s what I like about you, Tinsley Carmichael. You’re always up for something new.”
Tinsley sighed. New was right. She still couldn’t quite believe she’d broken up with Julian. When she’d gone to his room Wednesday night, she was more than a little drunk and hadn’t meant to do anything drastic. She was sure he’d call or e-mail the next day, but she hadn’t heard a word from him since. Well, screw him.
He just didn’t get her. Tinsley shuddered, even though the gym was overheated.
She thought it would take a moment for people to look up from their workouts to notice her and Isla, but in about ten seconds, Tinsley felt the eyes of everyone in the gym on them. She tossed her loose hair over her bare shoulder, letting it fall into shimmery waves and tickle her skin.
“Let’s do weights first. Over there.” Isla pointed a bright red fingernail toward the weight machines, crowded with tall, sweaty Waverly guys in long basketball shorts and faded T-shirts that clung to their chests.
“Do you mind if we use this bench?” Tinsley asked politely as Parker DuBois, the quiet senior from Belgium or France or somewhere in Western Europe, dropped a set of barbells onto the giant rack with a clank.
Parker almost jumped in surprise. His handsome face flushed at the sight of two pretty girls in minuscule dresses and towering heels. A funny grin flashed across his face. Parker was so shy with girls, rumors always flew about whether or not he was gay. But Tinsley knew from the way he stared at her bare legs that he was far from interested in men. “Uh, help yourselves,” he said, in a slightly accented voice. He pushed his blond hair off his forehead and retreated to a butterfly machine in the corner—coincidentally, with an unobstructed view of the girls.
“Do you girls need any help?” Lon Baruzza, in a wifebeater that revealed his cut biceps, appeared next to Tinsley and Isla, grinning eagerly.
“I can hold your camera if you two want, you know, any shots together.” Chris Avery, the six-foot-four star forward of the basketball team, offered.
Isla shot them a cool look. “Thanks, but we can handle it, boys.”
Tinsley laughed and held the camera up, clicking off a few shots. She loved Isla’s attitude—it was like she didn’t give a shit about anyone, and it just made everyone want to be with her so much more. Even though Isla was only a year ahead of Tinsley, she seemed much older. Tinsley had asked Isla a few questions about her past, but Isla always brushed them off. And, as Tinsley wasn’t one to pry, she let it go. She definitely understood that the element of mystery only added to a person’s intrigue.
“Your turn.” Isla grabbed the camera and focused it on Tinsley, who picked up two barbells. She was in great shape because of the demanding tennis workouts her coach designed for the whole team. Even in the off season, Ms. Nemerov, who’d played tennis for Russia in the Barcelona Olympics, assigned each girl on her tennis team a specialized workout regimen. Tinsley had no problem sticking to hers.
She raised the slim five-pound weights, pushing them up in an artful shoulder press. Suddenly, with her flexed, toned arms lifting toward the sky, Tinsley felt like a goddess. She could feel Lon and the other boys staring at her body, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Sage Francis and Rifat Jones huffing away o
n StairMasters, wearing sweaty old T-shirts and saggy Waverly shorts. Their eyes were positively dripping with envy. Tinsley felt her lips curl into a smile as she heard a couple of camera phones snapping away at her. Go ahead, she thought. Tell your friends.
Tinsley Carmichael was back.
Instant Message Inbox
SageFrancis: Just found an invite under my door to a party at the dean’s tonite—did U get one, too?
RyanReynolds: Yup. Sounds sweet. Who do U think is behind it?
SageFrancis: Isla and Tinsley, I bet.
RyanReynolds: Dunno. I saw Jenny and the dude looking all chummy over coffee this morning.
SageFrancis: They were together again? Damn, she’s not giving anyone else a crack at him!
19
A WAVERLY OWL BELIEVES IN SECOND CHANCES.
Saturday afternoon, Brandon skipped lunch and hiked into town to pick up flowers for Callie. It was a sunny, mild winter day, and the streets of Rhinecliff were bustling with activity—families pushing baby strollers, young couples holding hands, an ancient-looking man and woman kissing on a park bench. Brandon felt like he’d been walking on air ever since he and Callie had kissed. Suddenly everything seemed to make sense again.
Well, not everything. He rubbed his hand over his face as he thought about Hellie. After calling her every hour the other day, she’d finally picked up. He apologized profusely, but she didn’t really want to hear it. No one deserved to have to watch her boyfriend cheat on her, long distance, over iChat.
But he would never take back what had happened with Callie, not for anything in the world. He’d always known they were destined to be together. He just wished that Hellie hadn’t seen it. But he and Callie were in love again, and Hellie was better off without him.
Carrying a gorgeous bouquet of orchids, he pushed through the door to the rare books library. They were scheduled to tape the last interview with Brett, who hadn’t been able to make it to the Atrium the other day.
He spotted Callie leaning over the video camera. She sneezed, and Brandon smiled. He’d forgotten how cute her little sneezes were—he imagined a bunny sneezing would sound like that.
Unable to resist, Brandon walked up behind her and planted a kiss on the nape of her neck. The long wavy strawberry blond ponytail tickled his face. He could feel her body shiver with pleasure before she spun around.
The smile on her face disappeared as she saw the flowers Brandon was holding. “Oh…” she trailed off. In her plaid Emilio Pucci jumper and her mustard yellow flats, she didn’t exactly look like the kind of girl who’d have a frantic, hair-pulling, clothes-tearing makeout session on an ex-boyfriend’s bed in front of his current girlfriend.
“They’re for you,” Brandon said, suddenly nervous. Was yesterday some sort of hallucination? Had Callie not been nibbling on his neck and digging her nails into his back? No, he’d seen the scratch marks in the mirror that morning. At least he wasn’t crazy. But why wouldn’t she want flowers? Didn’t girls always want flowers? “I just wanted to, you know. Give you something nice.”
Callie stared at the bouquet of lavender and white flowers and took a deep breath. They were gorgeous, and it was sweet. But… she already knew the sweet Brandon. He wasn’t the one who wanted to make her tear his clothes off. That was the aloof Brandon who had a girlfriend, and who didn’t really care about Callie. Their frantic makeout session yesterday had been completely hot, and she was already wondering when they’d get the chance to do it again.
But Brandon didn’t think that they were a couple now, did he? They’d already tried that once, and it didn’t work. And now, after one hookup, he was bringing her flowers?
Before she could ask, Brett strolled through the door, wearing a yellow slouchy C&C California sweater and a pair of skinny gray jeans tucked into fleece-lined suede boots. Her bright red hair was twisted up and held in place by half a dozen tiny butter fly clips. “Am I late?”
“Not at all.” Callie rushed over to Brett, grateful for her friend’s interruption. “Thanks so much for doing this.”
Brett smiled and waved a hand in the air, then frowned slightly at the camera. “I didn’t know you were videotaping this.” She touched her hair.
“Don’t worry, you look great. And I’m…” She glanced at Brandon. “Er, we’re just using the video to make the interviewing easier. No one’s going to see it. Come over here. Sit in front of the camera, okay?” Callie shuttled Brett into a leather-backed armchair. Brandon turned the camera on her, and Callie sank back into the chair next to it, crossing her legs. She could feel Brandon’s eyes on her short jumper, and her annoyance toward him softened. It wasn’t so bad that he wanted to bring her flowers—it was sweet, after all. As long as he didn’t expect too much.
Callie shuffled through her index cards. “I’m just going to ask you a bunch of questions, and try to be as honest as possible.” Brett nodded, leaning back into the chair and staring up at the vaulted ceiling. “Have you ever been in love?”
Brett nodded her head slowly. “Yes.”
“More than once?”
Brett nodded again. “Twice.”
Callie’s lips twisted in surprise. Twice? Brett was in love with Sebastian—already? She’d been madly in love with Jeremiah Mortimer, her long-haired football star boyfriend, for what seemed like forever. How had she managed to move on so quickly? Callie leaned forward in her chair. She really wanted to know. “How did you know it was love?”
“I don’t know.” Brett shifted in her seat. She tapped her glittery pink fingernails against the padded leather arm of the chair. “It was different each time.”
“Do you believe in true love?”
“I don’t really think I know what that means. I mean, I fell in love with Jeremiah, and I was sure he was my true love. You know, the one I’d been waiting for and all that.” She shrugged and smiled at Callie. “But there were just so many ups and downs. Like, we were always fighting—always misunderstanding each other. It was like we were… I don’t know. Speaking different languages or something.”
Immediately, Callie thought about her tumultuous relationship with Easy. They’d broken up about eight hundred times. There were plenty of ups, of course… but they always seemed to be followed by an even bigger down. And even though the making-up part of fighting was really, really fun, the fighting part sucked. Just this September, Easy had broken up with her to date Jenny, her roommate. Talk about a down. That made Callie want to drive a sharpened pencil into someone’s eye.
“And now, with Sebastian…” Brett bit her lip to keep from smiling. Her cheeks colored a little. “It’s not what I expected, but it’s amazing.” She absentmindedly touched her cheek, and something about the gesture told Callie that she was thinking about Sebastian, about how he kissed her.
“Do you believe in soul mates?”
Brett tilted her head to the side. “Yes and no. I believe we connect with people in different ways—and sometimes it’s not the kind of person you thought it was, but it’s so much better.” She shrugged. “I mean, I think everyone’s always going to have a special place in their heart for their first love—you know, the one who made them realize what love is and all that. But I don’t think that means you can’t find it again—or something better.”
Callie found herself nodding in agreement. She glanced over at Brandon, who was watching Brett through the video camera. In profile, he looked so serious. Then, as if he felt Callie’s eyes on him, he looked up. The moment their eyes met, Callie felt a connection.
Brett had told her everything she needed to know. People can have more than one love. And maybe, just maybe, here was the first sign that she wasn’t doomed post-Easy.
Brandon smiled back at her, a curious half-smile that made heat rush to Callie’s cheeks. She didn’t know exactly what this was between them, but she’d never know if she didn’t give it a real chance.
Instant Message Inbox
AlanStGirard: U going to the party at the dean’s
house?
BennyCunningham: Hell, yeah. I wanna make a move on that hot son.
AlanStGirard: Mmm, might have to move fast. Heard he likes Jenny. And they’re behind the party. Sounds like it’s serious.
BennyCunningham: He just hasn’t met me yet!
AlanStGirard: Don’t worry, I’ll be there to console you when it doesn’t work out.
Instant Message Inbox
LonBaruzza: U know that fantasy I’ve always had about doing it on Dean Marymount’s bed?
RyanReynolds: Yeah, and it’s pretty sick. Plus, I bet he took his bed with him.
LonBaruzza: I’m willing to break in the new dean’s bed. Think his daughter’s up for it? She seems wild.
RyanReynolds: Dunno. Can’t hurt to make an offer.
20
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS HOW TO BE A GOOD HOSTESS.
Jenny Humphrey opened the stainless steel Sub-Zero freezer in the Dresdens’ state-of-the-art kitchen and grabbed a plastic bag full of cubed ice. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filtered in from the living room, which was filled with happy Waverly Owls, relaxing and lounging on the dean’s furniture. The party was a huge success. That morning, she and Isaac had typed up invitations and slunk around campus, trying to slide them beneath dorm room doors without anyone seeing them. It was fun, and strangely romantic—Jenny felt kind of like Harriet the Spy, with an extremely sexy accomplice. They’d kept the guest list on the smaller side, hoping it would make the cleanup go faster when the evening came to an end.
She poured a bag of ice into a crystal bowl from the Dresdens’ pantry, then used the knife to slide the chopped kiwi, oranges, and apples from the cutting board into the bowl. The sounds of an old Coldplay song spilled through the surround-sound speakers.