It scared her that she had absolutely no idea what his days were even like. Or if he thought of her. Everything on the plane back from Maine had seemed so perfect—her Prince Charming really had come to save her. But her stomach dropped even thinking about how awful Dean Marymount had been out on the tarmac, salivating at his chance to tear apart their happily-ever-after.
“Cheer up,” Jenny pleaded, rubbing her striped Gap cotton mittens together like she was trying to start a fi re. “You're on vacation, remember?” Jenny looked typically adorable and happy standing there in her tiny red peacoat and mittens. As her roommate, Callie was continually amazed that she managed to keep her energy level consistently at “perky” without a steady stream of espresso in her veins.
“Okay, I'll try. Except they say that Thanksgiving is the worst holiday to travel on, ever, and I'm going to be fighting crowds of cranky holiday travelers at JFK.” Callie pressed her gloved fingertips to her temples, already exhausted at the thought of the journey ahead of her: train to Grand Central, cab to JFK, flight to Atlanta, only to have to do the reverse in a matter of days. She hated Thanksgiving. Just another excuse for her mother to drag her back into the South and play Martha Stewart and try to stuff her full of greasy biscuits and turkey gravy. And after the whole accidentally-sending-her-to-rehab-and-almost-getting-her-killed thing, the whole trip seemed about as appealing as a plate of dog food.
Tinsley raised a dark eyebrow at Jenny, rolling her violet eyes conspiratorially.
Jenny winked back at Tinsley, then turned again to Callie. “At least she splurged for first class for you,” Jenny pointed out, still trying to cheer Callie up. She'd never flown first class in her life and imagined it was heavenly.
Jenny kicked at a clump of snow on the ground and glanced at the tracks again. It was still almost impossible for her to believe that Tinsley Carmichael was capable of shooting her something other than death glares. Or that she would be trying to cheer Callie up. After all, just a few weeks ago, Tinsley and Callie had plotted to get Jenny blamed for the fi re that burned down the barn at Miller's Farm—and it had worked, with Jenny facing expulsion. But since then, everything had changed. Unbeknownst to Jenny, Callie had paid off Mrs. Miller to blame the fi re on her cows, not a careless Waverly student. Callie's mother, thinking the giant check Callie wrote had something to do with a drug problem, shipped Callie off to a rehab facility in Maine. As soon as Jenny found the payment stub in Callie's dresser drawer, she realized that her savior was not Drew, the hot senior with whom she'd been locking lips, but her roommate. Then Jenny had run into Tinsley, who'd just received a frantic e-mail from Callie begging someone to save her from her rehab hell, and the two of them had borrowed Drew's roommate Sebastian's car. Which, unfortunately, had died on the highway in Maine before they could get to Callie. Jenny and Tinsley were forced to spend the night huddled together for warmth—not exactly something Jenny had imagined could have any positive results. But that first morning when they woke up and discovered they'd actually been parked on the edge of a country club the whole time, Tinsley had insisted on treating them to a gourmet breakfast of egg-white omelets and fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice.
And things had been different ever since. They weren't friends, yet, exactly, but whatever they were, Jenny would take it.
Tinsley tossed her head, her long, almost black locks falling into place dramatically against her dove gray coat. She leaned back against the bench and stretched her long legs out in front of her, crossing her black Sigerson Morrison boots at the ankle. “Cal, honey, you really need to get laid.”
Callie gave a tiny shriek and pressed her hands to her ears. “I can't believe you just said that.”
Tinsley shot Jenny another glance, and Jenny grinned back. She was just…happy.
The last few weeks hadn't exactly been easy for her, after learning that Drew, the guy she was totally falling for, had tried to completely deceive her by letting her believe—and even telling her straight out—that he was the one who had saved her from expulsion. But it was all a lie—Callie was the one who'd saved her, and Drew was just trying to, well…use her. Jenny had tried to avoid him as much as possible, but Waverly was a small school, and every time she spotted a guy in a lacrosse jacket, she turned and walked the other way—fast.
On the plus side, she felt a new appreciation for Callie, her true savior. Jenny and Callie had spent many nights in the upstairs common room, eating popcorn in their pajamas and watching movies from Dumbarton Hall's extensive DVD collection. Sometimes Tinsley would even join them, making fun of their chick flick choices, though Jenny had a feeling she secretly enjoyed a good cheesy romantic comedy even more than the black-and-white foreign films she always chose.
“I can't wait for some turkey,” Jenny spoke up, dreamily staring into space. She was headed back home, back to New York, back to her dad, back to their sprawling Upper West Side apartment with the super-high ceilings and the peeling paint. Thanksgiving meant cozy mornings on the sofa, shuffling through old records on his vintage record player while her brother Dan spent the whole day in the patched-up leather recliner reading a fat book. She was bummed that Dan couldn't make it this year—he'd decided to build houses in Spokane with Habitat for Humanity—but he'd promised to make it up to her at Christmas.
“I can't wait to see our place again.” Tinsley squeezed Cal-lie's skinny knee in an effort to distract her from her mopey thoughts. “They've been renovating the apartment for months, trying to get it all done for my break.” She'd spent the last few weeks imagining improvements to her parents' oak-paneled Gramercy Park penthouse. She hoped they hadn't touched the chandelier in the library, which made her think of a waterfall of tumbling diamonds over her when she sat under it. Thanksgiving at the Carmichaels' was always a grand affair. In previous years she'd met painters and models and artists and writers, including Sofia Coppola, who had turned up one Thanks giving with a gorgeous male model years younger than she. It made Tinsley want to be a world-famous filmmaker one day.
Tinsley wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but she actually kind of missed her parents. She couldn't wait to lie in her queen-size bed all morning, the smell of turkey wafting into the room, before dragging herself out of bed to help her mom and Judit, the cook, fill the Limoges bowls with delicious roasted vegetables and gourmet cheeses. Then she'd scamper off to her bathroom—ohmigod, a bathroom all to herself again!—and pamper herself, and finally step, freshly scrubbed and exfoliated, into the dark green Missoni dress that looked like the one Keira Knightly wore in Atonement. She would sip wine with the adults, and maybe one of them would have brought their sexy young son, home from Stanford, for Tinsley to entertain herself with after the adults got boring. Yes, it was going to be an excellent break.
A rumbling in the distance brought everyone to their feet. Cigarettes were stubbed out under well-heeled shoes and the air filled with excited chatter and last-minute goodbyes. Tinsley and Callie hurriedly gathered up their bags and the three girls made their way to the edge of the platform in a pack. The train screeched to a halt at the station as everyone jostled for position near the doors. “I can't ride facing backwards!” someone cried out desperately, sending the three of them into giggles.
The doors opened with a whoosh and Jenny and Tinsley and Callie boarded the train. “Wait, where's Brett?” Jenny asked, glancing over her shoulder at the throng of people pushing onto the train.
“Is she catching this one?” Tinsley asked, her eyes narrowing. She'd allowed Jenny to rise in the ranks of her approval, but Brett was another story. Her moody roommate had only been moodier since Jeremiah dumped her after finding out she'd temporarily been a lesbian, and even if Tinsley felt a little bit sorry for her former friend, Brett had made no effort to make things up to Tinsley.
Callie leaned back, searching the compartment. “I saw her in the library with Sebastian earlier.”
“She's going to miss the train,” Jenny said, alarm clouding her face.
“
Grab those four seats,” Tinsley instructed, pointing at an open quad of chairs in the middle of the train. “Hey, those are ours,” she called out to two skinny freshman guys who froze in the aisle. At the sight of Tinsley, they gallantly stepped aside. “Thanks, boys.” She tossed them an appreciative smile over her shoulder as she hoisted her bag into the overhead and slid into the window seat. Callie took the one opposite her.
Jenny dropped into the aisle seat and glanced around, expecting to find a frazzled Brett bounding down the aisle at any moment.
Instead, she caught sight of sandy-haired Drew, who jostled onto the train with a couple of senior guys, all chuckling about something. Immediately, Jenny's stomach dropped. Surely they were talking about her, and how Drew had almost persuaded her to lose her virginity to him.
“Don't tell me you can't ride backwards either?” Tinsley asked, her eyes focused on Jenny's suddenly ashen face.
Jenny shook her head and reached up to pull off her hat and take out her ponytail, shaking her long curls and sliding the elastic band around her wrist. She exhaled loudly and stuffed the hat into her pocket. “It's nothing.”
Tinsley wiggled out of her coat, letting it fall casually onto the empty seat next to her. She folded her arms across her chest. “Doesn't look like nothing.”
“I saw him too.” Callie folded up her scarf and stuffed it, like a pillow, between her head and the window. “Drew.”
The mention of his name caused a chill to run the length of Jenny's body and she pressed her nails into her palm to keep from crying. She didn't know which hurt more: Drew's lies, or the fact that she'd almost fallen for them without question.
“Someone started a rumor that he has an STD,” Tinsley said slyly, a smile on her face. “Got it from the guy who…”
Jenny burst out laughing. “Stop it.” She could count on one hand the times she'd seen Tinsley smile. She wondered if Tinsley knew she was even prettier when she did.
“You know what your problem is?” Tinsley asked, fingering the delicate silver hoop hanging from her ear.
“No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me.” Jenny leaned back in her chair, amazed that she could actually joke around with Tinsley and not worry about her snapping back. Callie giggled.
Tinsley wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at Jenny, managing to still look glamorous as she did it. “You fall for guys you hardly know and turn it all into this big dramatic love affair, like you're in a goddamn movie.” She recrossed her legs, smoothing out her dark Earl jeans.
“I…” Jenny started, her mind racing. Easy Walsh. Julian McCafferty. Drew Gately. She'd thought all of them were true love—and look where it got her. She'd even almost fallen for Heath Ferro—her first night at Waverly. Heath? Ew!
Tinsley examined her polish-free nails for imagined imperfections. “You just gotta chill the fuck out. Have fun. Don't take everything so seriously. I mean, you're not looking to get married, are you?” Her violet eyes met Jenny's wide brown ones. “Or are you?” she added, wickedly. Callie, already nodding off next to Tinsley, chortled.
Jenny's face flushed. “Easy for you to say,” she retorted. “You've never been in love.”
A shadow fell across Tinsley's face. She tilted her head and furrowed her brow. Jenny worried for a moment that she'd strike like a king cobra, quick and deadly.
“Right?” Jenny waited for a punchy response, but Tinsley didn't say anything more, gazing instead out of the train window fogged by too many bodies in too small a space. Jenny had heard so many rumors about Tinsley she didn't know whether to believe them all, or none of them. In the moments when she hated Tinsley, she was convinced that Tinsley had slept with most of the male teachers, as well as all the guys at Waverly and neighboring schools like St. Lucius. But she knew this was only to make herself feel better about her own embarrassing hookups. The pained expression on Tinsley's face sparked Jenny's imagination—had Tinsley Carmichael really been in love? If so—with whom?
Jenny settled down into her chair, pulling her iPod mini from her pocket. Well, she thought, anything was possible.
VerenaArneval: So, R U going to miss Alan over vacay?
AlisonQuentin: Uh, we're taking a break, so…NO.
VerenaArneval: What? I never got that bulletin.
AlisonQuentin: Just happened yesterday. Apparently his ex is home for the holidays too, and wants to get together and smoke some J's.
VerenaArneval: So? Alan's a pothead. Big deal?
AlisonQuentin: Yeah…but I know what Alan likes to do when he gets stoned.
VerenaArneval: So why are you on a break, then? Doesn't that give him permission to do it?
AlisonQuentin: Not if he ever wants to talk to me again!
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: Wednesday, November 27, 3:15 P.M.
Subject: Fwd: Flight info
So you won't forget—see you soon, love. We'll talk. Xox Mom
Wednesday, November 27
Depart 8:15 P.M. New York (JFK)
Delta Nonstop Flight 399 to Atlanta (ATL)
3
A WAVERLY OWL ALWAYS ENJOYS A GOOD SURPRISE.
Brandon Buchanan tried to stuff his last bottle of Acqua di Parma shaving gel into his bulging John Varvatos distressed leather duffel bag, but the zipper wouldn't close. Heath Ferro, with whom he'd been unlucky enough to share a room for the past two years, had kept him up half the night with his drunken, incoherent ramblings about how much he hated Thanksgiving until Brandon said, “I'd be thankful if someone would shut the fuck up.” Instead, Heath had taken that as an invitation to list all the things he was thankful for, starting with string bikinis and going all the way to string cheese.
But Brandon hadn't been able to sleep, anyway. He was completely dreading Thanksgiving break. To be honest, he dreaded every single break—having to take the train out to Connecticut, to his father and stepmonster's soulless house and his two incredibly annoying twin stepbrothers, who, by this time, had learned how to walk and would wobble around the house, pulling out drawers of silver and knocking over bookshelves as his stepmother cooed about how brilliant they were. But this time, it was even harder to leave, because he'd be without Sage Francis, his girlfriend of a little over a month now. The past few days, he'd dreamed up wild scenarios that included them hopping a plane to Paris for Thanksgiving or jetting down to Florida to his parents' winter place in West Palm Beach for a sunny holiday. But it was too late for any last-minute heroics—all the flights were booked.
A knock at the door startled him—Richards Hall was almost empty at this point—and he looked up to find Sage herself standing in his doorway in a new kelly green belted wool coat, her silky blond hair pulled back from her face in a French braid, a few strands sliding out glamorously. The top of her head was covered in melting snowflakes. “Hey,” he said, immediately feeling ten times better. “Sorry it's such a mess.”
“Heath's side is a mess,” Sage quipped, her wide, ocean blue eyes staring at a pair of Heath's gray Calvin Klein boxer briefs hung precariously from a stack of textbooks on the corner of his desk. “Yours is always…immaculate. It's like there's a line going through the middle of the room or something.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.” Brandon lightly touched Sage's waist, fingering the fabric of her new coat. “I like this. Is it Michael Kors?”
“How did you…” Sage nodded, her voice trailing off. Her eyes flitted around the room, as if searching for something. “Never mind. You always know.”
Brandon hesitated, wondering if this was the moment to give her his little going-away present. She seemed kind of…annoyed with him, although they'd stayed out until curfew last night, sitting on one of the overstuffed couches in Maxwell and complaining about their families. It was probably just because she was nervous about spending time with her older sister over break. The sister who Sage claimed had always been the family's pretty and smart one (Brandon found that hard to belie
ve.) But wasn't Sage relieved to have a boyfriend who actually enjoyed hearing her thoughts, and wasn't trying to get in her pants all the time?
“Do you have room for this?” He reached under his pillow and pulled out the small package wrapped in newspaper. He knew wrapping the gift was too much, but he hoped the fact that it was wrapped in newspaper would negate the elaborate gesture.
Sage leaned against the door frame, tilting her head slightly. “Depends on what it is, I guess,” she said slyly. Brandon held out the small, newspaper-wrapped package to her, and, after staring at it for a minute, she took it. She tore an edge of the newspaper and peered inside.
“Open it,” Brandon encouraged her. “It's just something little, so you'll know I'm thinking of you.” He felt the heat rising to his face. Over the past few weeks, he'd slipped sweet notes into her mailbox, sneaked into Dumbarton to leave a single rose at her doorstep for their one-month anniversary, taken her up to the bluffs to hold hands and watch the sun rise.
“I remember this kid in grade school wrapped up his pet turtle once and gave it to a girl he liked,” Sage said suspiciously. “This better not be a turtle.”
That's a weird thing to say, Brandon thought. “Uh, I wouldn't even know where to find a turtle,” he offered, wondering if maybe Sage had an unnatural fear of reptiles.