“There’s nothing more I can do,” Jenny said philosophically, yanking her attention away from Isaac’s tempting good looks and back to her project. She ran a hand over the cover of her portfolio and tried not to second-guess the final selection of drawings that she and Isaac had just spent hours agonizing over. She squared her shoulders. “I guess Mrs. Silver and your dad will have to decide if I proved that sophomores should be allowed to do solo projects.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or not.”
Isaac’s grin deepened. “I don’t think you have to worry. It’s one small step for you, but a giant leap for all Waverly sophomores. They’ll love you for it.”
Except when they hated her guts, which they seemed to do at the slightest provocation. Jenny walked her portfolio over to Mrs. Silver’s desk and placed it carefully in the growing pile of down-to-the-wire submissions. It was hard to believe that she’d experienced so much at Waverly and still hadn’t made it through an entire school year. Sometimes she almost forgot that she’d had an entirely different life in New York City at her old school, Constance Billard. A school without boys and with required uniforms! The two experiences were as different as night and day, but if Jenny had to compare them, not having to face those two factors alone tipped the scales in favor of Waverly. She fought a smile as she thought about how far she’d come. A year ago, could she ever have predicted she’d be handing in a special project and dating the dean’s son?
She shrugged on her quilted orange Guess jacket and zipped it up to her chin. Isaac wrapped a gray cashmere scarf around his neck and then walked her toward the door. She couldn’t help but throw a forlorn look over her shoulder toward Mrs. Silver’s desk, where her project sat with all the others. She bit her lip, then forced herself to let it go. In her opinion, she’d done some of her best drawings ever, and she had to be okay with that. Her father, Rufus, always told her that no one could expect anything more than her best, and as long as she gave her best, she couldn’t fail. She hoped that wasn’t just his Berkeley-hippie-turned-Upper-West-Side-liberal love-in side talking.
Besides, there were more important things to consider, now that it was February. Namely, Valentine’s Day.
Together, Jenny and Isaac headed out of the art building and into the cold Waverly night. His arm just grazed her shoulder as they pushed through the doors, and the sensation resonated through her body in pleasant waves.
Now that Jan Plan was over, probation was lifted, and her project was handed in, Jenny could give her relationship with Isaac her full attention. Valentine’s Day was just a week away! Her head swam with visions of Isaac dancing with her at the big Valentine’s Day Ball, kissing her tenderly in a sea of red and pink hearts. She and Isaac had only kissed once, just as she was about to run out the door of his father’s house the night of the infamous party. It was a quick, fleeting kiss, on the back doorstep of his house. Not bad, but not exactly the most romantic moment in the world, either. Surely V-Day was an excellent time to change all that.
“Not sure I’m too psyched about classes starting tomorrow,” Isaac said as they headed down the dark path that led toward the dorms. Though Isaac lived in the dean’s house with his parents, he always insisted on walking Jenny to the front steps of Dumbarton.
“I’m happy probation is ending.” Jenny reached into her pockets and pulled out the bright red wool gloves her mother had sent her for Christmas from Prague and worked her fingers into them.
“Sure, but I kind of liked having only one thing to concentrate on,” Isaac replied. He looked at her meaningfully, and Jenny blushed. How did she get so lucky?
“Fortunately, we have something to look forward to,” Jenny said, still picturing her romantic evening with Isaac. At the ball, she would wear a dress to put Cinderella to shame. She could feel the huge skirts swishing all around her as she moved, could see her curls dancing around her face, maybe even a tiara glinting atop her head. Isaac would be dressed in a tuxedo, his green eyes intent on hers. His soft lips—
“Homework?” Isaac asked dryly.
“No, silly,” Jenny said, laughing. “Valentine’s Day. Is it lame that I’m really excited for the ball?”
Isaac didn’t say anything. Suddenly a gust of cold wind wormed its way down Jenny’s back, making her shiver.
“Not that I’m into overdosing on candy or construction-paper hearts or anything,” Jenny continued, a sudden attack of nerves making her talk without thinking. Had she missed something? She and Isaac had been together for more than a month now. Was she not supposed to talk about things like dances or major holidays?
“I… didn’t realize it was so soon,” Isaac said, but he sounded like he was talking to himself.
“Well, it’s the sixth of February right now,” Jenny pointed out. “And Valentine’s Day is pretty much always on the fourteenth.”
Isaac frowned. He stepped farther away from her, leaving space for another person to walk between them on the path.
“But it’s okay,” Jenny continued, “because there’s only one thing I want for Valentine’s Day. I’ll give you a hint. You don’t even have to spring for those chalky little ‘be mine’ heart candies.”
They’d walked to the edge of the quad then, and Jenny was surprised when Isaac stopped. She stopped walking, too, and looked at him, confused.
“Uh, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t realize it was so late.” But he didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I promised my dad we could have some family time before the term starts. I can’t believe I forgot.”
Jenny couldn’t believe it, either—especially since they’d all been on probation for the whole month, and Isaac had just been complaining the other day that he’d had way more Dresden family time than anyone should be forced to endure.
“Okay,” she said. She moved closer to him and put her hands on his hips, tilting her head back to look up at him. Isaac was much taller than her five feet nothing, which made her feel deliciously small. She smiled. “But first let me tell you what I want more than anything for Valentine’s Day.”
Isaac swallowed, and then he stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “But, um, you know how my dad gets.” He looked at Jenny and then at his feet.
“Isaac?” All of Jenny’s confusion came out in her voice. Had she been too… forward or something? She’d never been self-conscious around Isaac. That was good, wasn’t it? She’d thought so… until now.
“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow,” Isaac said, and then he turned and took off, leaving her standing alone and completely bewildered in the dark of the empty quad.
“I just want a Valentine’s Day kiss,” Jenny murmured, but the cold winter wind swept her words away, and there was no one to hear.
3
A WAVERLY OWL NEVER SEEKS TO BE THE CENTER
OF ATTENTION; ATTENTION, ON THE OTHER HAND,
OFTEN SEEKS OUT THE OWL.
Tinsley Carmichael strode into the Waverly Academy dining hall at 8 A.M. Monday morning, more than ready for the unaccountably lame and depressing Jan Plan to be over and the new term to begin. She didn’t even mind that her new Advanced Italian class met at ten in the morning on Mondays instead of the far more reasonable Tuesday afternoons of fall term. She was more than ready to embrace the new—in whatever form that might take.
She, for one, had had a shitty month.
Tinsley eyed the coffee machine and rocked back and forth in her café au lait–colored suede over-the-knee Chloé boots as she allowed a pack of awed sophomore boys to ogle her in her blue formfitting, long-sleeved Kristensen du Nord T-shirt and sleek black leggings. She smiled to herself and swept her long, almost black hair over one shoulder as she plucked an apple from the fruit display. She fixed herself a cup of mediocre but necessary coffee and wandered into the dining area.
The huge stained-glass windows stretched from floor to sky-high ceiling, giving what was actually just a cafeteria the look of a medieval cathedral. Owls were spread out at the long oak tables i
n their usual groups: seniors Celine Colista and Rifat Jones were huddled over their phones, as if expecting some life-altering message to appear at any moment. The repulsive scammer Drew Gately and his senior buddies were harassing Benny Cunningham and Sage Francis, two juniors Tinsley was quite certain would have nothing to do with them, upon pain of death. But then it hit her: it was Valentine’s Day in less than a week, and that, historically, could mean only one thing at Waverly Academy—Perfect Match, where all the usual dating rules no longer applied.
Tinsley couldn’t help grinning. Waverly tended to go a little crazy over Valentine’s Day each year, but why not? Some enterprising members of the Computer Society had seized the initiative years ago and created Perfect Match. It was like a dating game for the student body: once a year everyone filled out an online personality survey, and a week later Perfect Match presented each student with his or her “perfect match” based on the results. Supposedly it was meant to break down cliques and foster Waverly spirit. Whatever. It was fun.
Tinsley’s black Nokia vibrated in her pocket. That should be cupid in the form of her Perfect Match e-mail right now—right on schedule to liven up the new term. She set her coffee down on the nearest table and smiled vaguely at Alison Quentin, Kirin Choate, and Emily Jenkins—not that any of them were paying attention to her. They were all concentrating on their own phones.
Tinsley remembered freshman year’s Perfect Match, when she’d scored a “perfect match” with none other than Bennett Styles, the hottest senior on the Waverly campus. Turned out he was a film buff, too. The previous year she’d deliberately filled out her survey to make sure she would get matched with Easy Walsh, just to mess with Callie’s head—all in good fun, of course, not that Callie had found it too amusing at the time. And wasn’t fun exactly what her life was sorely missing these days?
It had not been fun when adorable golden-eyed freshman Julian McCafferty had dumped her last month. The fact that she might have had it coming didn’t lessen the pain, though she’d decided not to think about it anymore—a task that had not been easy, thanks to her extra-special punishment after being busted at the party at the dean’s house. Everyone else had gotten strict probation, which was bad enough. But that lying Isla Dresden had blamed the entire fiasco on Tinsley when, really, it had all been Isla’s idea. And guess who Isla’s father, the dean, believed?
Which was how Tinsley found herself performing acts of community service around campus every day with Ben Quartullo, the surly middle-aged groundskeeper. Talk about not fun. This was the same man Heath Ferro had once bribed into silence with a Cartier watch, which hadn’t improved the old guy’s disposition any. Tinsley’s only way to pass the time was the extended revenge fantasies she’d plotted out in her mind—because Isla would pay for what she’d done. If she hadn’t been spending all of her time with Isla, Tinsley wouldn’t have grown so far apart from Julian, and they might still be together. The fact that Isla had trashed her own house and blamed it on Tinsley was really just the icing on the things-she-needed-to-pay-for cake.
“Who’s your match, Tinsley?” Alison asked, holding her phone to her chest, her face flushed with excitement. “I got Parker DuBois!” Her dark almond-shaped eyes glowed with pleasure. Parker DuBois was a gorgeous, half-French senior with to-die-for blue eyes and golden brown hair that begged to be tousled by willing female fingers.
“Congratulations,” Tinsley said. She was building the suspense for herself by not checking her phone immediately, though she could hear groans and squeals echo throughout the dining hall all around her. She took a sip of her coffee as if she couldn’t be bothered with something as silly as Perfect Match, and only when she’d made that clear did she pull out her phone.
“Rifat Jones got Teague Williams,” Emily was telling the table, her Pilates-toned body stiff with tension as she leaned forward. “Didn’t you hear her scream his name like a banshee?”
“That actually makes sense,” Kirin replied, frowning. “They’re both, like, athletic. But what do I have in common with Zachary Webster?” She looked baffled. “Who is Zachary Webster?”
“A freshman,” Tinsley said matter-of-factly, and smirked when Kirin groaned. Freshmen were supposed to be off-limits to upperclassmen. Obviously. If she’d followed that simple law, Tinsley wouldn’t have been in a position to be dumped by one as a junior.
Tinsley flipped open her phone and scrolled to the e-mail that read Perfect Match. She opened it, wondering whose name it would reveal. Julian, maybe, to show him how wrong he’d been to leave her? That could be satisfying. Or—much more exciting and probably less painful—someone hot that Tinsley hadn’t gotten around to really flirting with yet? Like maybe Waverly’s star football player, Lance Van Brachel, who was sitting at a nearby table with a handful of his other senior buddies, exchanging high fives over someone’s iPhone.
Congratulations, Tinsley Carmichael! the e-mail read. Your perfect match is… Heath Ferro.
Tinsley choked on her coffee. She almost spit it out but somehow managed to get it down without spewing.
Heath Ferro?
Really?
Tinsley scanned the dining hall until she finally located his dirty blond head in the crowd. He was lounging in a chair at a table with Lon Baruzza and Ryan Reynolds, looking as lazy and foulmouthed as ever. His air of self-confidence was complemented by his maroon Waverly blazer slung across a white Hugo Boss dress shirt. Ever since he’d had the not-so-bright idea to spend his Jan Plan camping in the icy, cold winter woods like Waverly’s own Bear Grylls of Man vs. Wild fame—except less British and much, much dirtier—Heath had been even more obnoxious than usual.
How exactly was Heath Ferro her perfect match? She had pretty clearly put smart and funny in her likes column, not horny and gross. On the other hand, Heath had wanted her desperately since freshman year. She considered the possibilities. She could definitely do with being wanted desperately at the moment. Maybe this was exactly the boost she needed.
She took her time walking over to Heath’s table, knowing that the slower she walked, the more attention she drew. And Tinsley was nothing if not a fan of attention.
“Hey, Ferro, guess what?” she said when she reached him, bumping her hip into the back of his chair and gazing down at him with her violet eyes. “Your dreams came true.”
“Unless you’re about to tell me that Jessica Alba is waiting for me in my room, preferably in a bikini, I’m thinking not,” Heath replied, glancing up from the remains of his breakfast to bump fists with Ryan and Lon. His plate had leftover pancakes and the fatty remains of bacon in an Olympic-size swimming pool of maple syrup.
Tinsley gazed at her supposed “perfect match” critically. Heath might have been obnoxious, but the truth was, he was also pretty hot, with those chiseled cheekbones and green eyes. There was a reason so many otherwise smart and choosy girls had succumbed to the wiles of a guy who was proud of his man-whore status.
“Even better than that,” she purred.
“Better than Jessica Alba?” Heath asked. He looked at her then, his dirty blond hair falling into his eyes. “Unlikely, Tinsley. Very unlikely. Alba is currently ranked number one on my To-Do list. And it’s a short list.”
“According to Perfect Match,” Tinsley said, ignoring the typical Heath commentary, “we are a perfect match.”
She expected one of his usual smarmy remarks—something about sexual positions, maybe, or about how many times he’d imagined this very moment while alone in his room, with only his right hand for company. She was prepared to issue the usual cutting retort—but with a little flirtatious edge, because why not? Why not play the game?
But all Heath did was nod. Like he was distracted. Or like he didn’t care?
“Cool,” he said.
Tinsley followed Heath’s gaze and had to bite back a particularly nasty curse when she saw where—and at whom—Heath was staring.
Isla Dresden, that treacherous, two-faced bitch, was taking her sweet time walking acro
ss the dining hall, sporting a flashy gold-sequined Nanette Lepore minidress, black tights, and black Cole Haan ankle boots, her dark hair deliberately tousled into wildness. She looked like she should be headed out for a night of VIP room clubbing, not carrying a plastic cafeteria tray across the dining room at breakfast time.
Tinsley wanted to scratch the smug smile off Isla’s pale, heart-shaped face. That might go a long way toward making her feel a little bit better about what Isla had done—and do something about the oddly deflated feeling Tinsley was currently experiencing.
“And, gentlemen, let me direct your attention to number two on the list,” Heath said. He let out a low whistle. As the rest of Heath’s Neanderthal friends laughed appreciatively, Tinsley could only stare with them at Isla, well aware that if she was even on Heath’s list anymore—something that should have gone without saying—she was now ranked below the dean’s attention-craving daughter.
She let out her breath in a huff. Was Isla always going to steal her thunder?
4
A WAVERLY OWL IS ABOVE JEALOUSY—
UNLESS PROVOKED.
Brett Messerschmidt crumbled a slightly stale blueberry muffin between her fingers and idly wished she’d gotten herself a bagel instead. A glance at her nails confirmed that her Vernis Please! Purple by Night polish was starting to chip. She looked across the table at her dark-eyed, dark-haired senior boyfriend, Sebastian Valenti. He was sprawled back against his chair, his vintage-looking John Varvatos long-sleeved T-shirt with the word BOWERY emblazoned across the front hugging his lean, muscular chest. His long legs were kicked out under the table, touching Brett’s sleek black Stuart Weitzman knee-high boots while he toyed with the remains of his omelet. She only just barely kept herself from sighing with smug happiness.