“Well?” Marymount demanded, a note of impatience in his voice. No one spoke.
Jenny looked around. One of them was guilty, but suddenly, it didn’t really matter who. She just knew she had to get out of that suffocating room.
“I did it, all right?” She pushed her heavy chair back from the table with a screech, her fingertips burning against the wood. She could feel her cheeks flush, and before anyone could stop her, she marched straight out of the room.
Hot tears blinded Jenny as she tore down the steps and sprinted across the quad to Dumbarton. It was over—boarding school, boys, hanging out with the in crowd. She was going to her room to pack her bags and leave, forever.
From:
[email protected] To: Waverly Student Body
Date: Wednesday, October 16, 12:34 P.M.
Subject: Justice
My fellow Owls,
The matter of the fire at the Miller farm has been resolved. A student has come forward and confessed to the crime. She will be removed from campus immediately.
I am counting on you to take this as a serious warning. In the future, you will behave like proper Waverly Owls.
Gratefully,
Dean Marymount
KaraWhalen: I just woke up. WTF happened?
HeathFerro: Some shit went down. Short answer: Jenny confessed.
KaraWhalen: What??? No way!
HeathFerro: Sux, I kno. But maybe U should talk to Brett.
KaraWhalen: Y?
HeathFerro: Just talk to her.
KaraWhalen: OK . . .
HeathFerro: Actually, if you come over I’ll tell you everything. ;)
25
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN GOODBYE AND FAREWELL.
Jenny folded her last pair of Banana Republic jeans into her dad’s old brown Samsonite. The faded hugs not bombs sticker near the handle caught her eye, and she instantly wondered how the hell she was going to explain this to her dad. She hadn’t even responded to his e-mail that was-written in the voice of their cat. Whatever. She had a whole train ride into the city to figure it out. She’d packed her enormous red-and-white polka-dotted LeSportsac with lightning speed, throwing her books and clothes and makeup haphazardly inside, not caring if she was leaving anything behind. It hadn’t seemed that long ago that she’d gotten out of the cab and trudged up the Waverly driveway, hauling everything she owned.
Now she looked back on that Jenny—the Old Jenny who wanted to be New Jenny—with disdain. She couldn’t believe she’d been so naive as to think that her entire life was going to change for the better when she went to boarding school. Back in the city, she’d always managed to get herself into trouble—she’d even wound up on Page Six—but here, she thought she’d be a cooler, more composed version of herself. But she hadn’t even lasted two months. It was a small blip in her life. Someday she’d be a creaky old lady in a creaky old rocker with boobs down to her knees, and she might not even remember she ever went to boarding school.
Jenny felt tears welling in her eyes, and her throat tightening. How could she forget Easy sketching her, or Julian’s kiss at the farm, or manicure nights with Brett? But right now, those things were completely overshadowed by the dark cloud that was Tinsley Carmichael. Jenny still couldn’t believe what Tinsley had done, but even more unbelievable was the idea that Tinsley hated her enough to do it. It felt terrible to be that hated.
Jenny sat down on the top of the overstuffed Samsonite, trying to get the latches to click. She didn’t know where the confession had come from, but a sense of relief had washed over her as she stormed out of Dean Marymount’s office. She was free. No more worrying about who was saying what about her, or what dark forces were conspiring against her.
She whirled around at the sound of tapping on her door, wondering if Tinsley or Callie had come to laugh at her as she packed her things. Instead, Easy was leaning in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his faded green cargos, his dark curls falling over his forehead.
“You really going?” he asked softly. His eyes wandered across the room, landing on her empty bed, the soft sheets already stuffed into her duffel, along with the scratchy baby blue blanket her dad had sent to school with her.
“I’m expelled,” Jenny said flatly. “That’s that.”
Easy scratched the back of his neck. She felt his eyes on her face, but she turned away to concentrate on the suitcase latches, willing them to close. “Yeah, but—” He didn’t finish his sentence and Jenny stood still, waiting. “But you didn’t really have anything to do with the fire, right?”
Jenny didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice right now. She turned back to her suitcase so her face wouldn’t betray her emotions. It had been sweet of Easy to try and defend her against Tinsley—she appreciated it, really. But it was too little, too late.
“Hey,” Easy said. She was about to turn around, thinking he wanted her to face him, but she heard Brett’s voice say “hey” back. The Samsonite latch finally clicked into place, and Jenny grabbed the L.L. Bean tote her dad had sent her. He’d had it monogrammed with the letters JAH even though her middle name was Tallulah. He’d told her the reggae-loving stoners would get the joke, even if Jenny didn’t. She stuffed her colorful sock balls inside, thankful that she’d already packed all her underwear and oversize granny bras before any visitors arrived.
“Well, Marymount’s happier than shit.” Brett exhaled, her voice sounding lighter than her worried, pale face looked. “It’s like he solved the Kennedy assassination or something.”
Jenny pursed her lips. “Good,” was all she said.
Alison suddenly appeared behind Brett. “Ugh,” she cried out when she saw Jenny packing. “Are you serious?” she asked, pushing her way through. “You can’t be serious.”
Jenny shrugged and stared helplessly at Alison’s concerned, almond-shaped eyes. It was all she could do to dam up the tears she wanted to spill all over her half-empty dorm room. The truth was, as much as she was trying to convince herself otherwise, she loved these people, and she loved boarding school.
The room grew smaller as Brandon wedged his way through the doorway, the light, airy scent of his Acqua di Gio cologne filling the air. “Don’t leave,” he said to Jenny, his voice soft and sweet, making Jenny kind of wish she’d kissed him once, just to see what it was like. But then, he hadn’t exactly stood up for her at the meeting, either. “We all know you didn’t do it.”
“But whoever did totally sucks,” Brett said, going up to Jenny and putting her arm around her. She was a good five inches taller than Jenny, and Jenny’s head fit comfortably into the crook of her arm. “I can’t believe someone is going to get away with arson and you’re leaving. It’s just not fair.”
“We can go to Marymount and say that you didn’t have anything to do with it,” Alison said shakily, probably feeling guilty about the whole art-class thing, although it hadn’t been her fault. Jenny had the feeling that she’d be where she was right now even if she hadn’t drawn that picture of Easy and Callie in the fire.
“Yes!” Brett agreed, dropping her arm to turn toward Alison. “I’ll go with you.”
“No, don’t.” Jenny was surprised at the authority in her voice. She pulled her suitcase off her bed and let it hit the bare wood floor with a loud, ominous thud. “It doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t believe you anyway.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
“It’s like we have a murderer wandering free among us.” Brett shook her wild, fire engine red hair. Jenny looked at her friend and thought about how much she was going to miss her. They’d still e-mail, right?
No one said anything, and a dark silence enveloped the room.
“Excuse me,” a voice said. Jenny recognized Julian’s voice and her heart skipped. Everyone turned to him expectantly, as if he were the governor calling with a last-minute stay of execution. “Could I . . . uh . . . just talk to Jenny, for a minute? Alone?” Jenny stuffed a couple of J.Crew
sweaters from her last drawer into her tote, trying not to think how nice it sounded to hear her name on Julian’s lips. Easy backed out of the doorway, nodding at Jenny as he disappeared down the hall. Brett and Brandon and Alison shuffled out, too. Julian leaned against the door to close it. His head almost reached the top of the doorway. “How are you doing?”
Jenny shrugged. She didn’t know the answer to that question. Instead, she grabbed another sweater—the thick, oatmeal- colored hoodie her father had sent her along with the JAH tote bag—and shoved it, unceremoniously, into her bag.
“That was some pretty rough stuff in there,” Julian said, and immediately, the image of Tinsley staring her down came back to mind. “But why . . . why did you take the blame? You didn’t do it—you were with me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jenny said, not really meaning it, but she knew talk wasn’t going to change anything that happened. She’d confessed, and Marymount had expelled her. It was over. She was going home. The zipper quivered as she tugged it closed.
“I just can’t, you know . . .” A quiver worked its way into Julian’s usually calm voice, and his brown eyes looked like a sad puppy’s. “Don’t go like this. It’s not right.”
“Life is full of things that aren’t right,” Jenny said, surprised by how matter-of-fact her voice sounded.
“I know you,” Julian said, regaining his composure a little. He rested his elbow on the top of Jenny’s now-empty dresser. He was too tall for her, anyway, Jenny realized wistfully. “Why are you pretending you’re not devastated?”
“I’m not the one pretending,” Jenny shot back. She heaved her duffel off the floor and tossed it next to her suitcase. The amount of venom flowing through her scared her a little.
“I never pretended anything.” Julian stared down at the toes of his gray canvas Vans. “Okay, maybe I did pretend the whole thing with Tinsley never happened.” He paused. “But only because I really, really wished it hadn’t.”
Jenny sat down on what was left of her bed. She felt as sad and empty as the bare mattress looked. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Julian bit his lip. In his faded blue polo and beat-up khakis, he looked like one of the St. Jude’s boys she used to see playing Frisbee in Central Park. Jenny wondered what would have happened if she’d met him like that—away from Waverly, and away from Tinsley Carmichael. Would they have stood a chance? “That morning after the fire when we were walking in the woods, I wanted to tell you about Tinsley,” he said, pulling open an empty dresser drawer and closing it again.
“So, why didn’t you?” she demanded, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “Why didn’t you tell me about it before we even kissed?”
Julian couldn’t look at her. His head was hanging, and he picked up a stray bobby pin from the top of her dresser and twirled it between his fingers. “Because everything with you just . . . felt so good. I didn’t want to fuck it up.”
Jenny felt herself starting to melt. Julian. But even if she forgave him, what was the point? She was leaving, on the next train out of Rhinecliff.
“And I didn’t tell you later, because . . . because I wanted to protect you from Tinsley.” His brown eyes were bloodshot and sad. A shiver ran down her spine, and she zipped up her H&M knock-off Stella McCartney army green jacket. “I’m pretty sure she started the fire, but I was afraid if she found out about us, she’d try to pin it on you.”
“Why would she do that?” Jenny asked, trying to keep her voice even. The question wasn’t really meant for Julian; it was the question she kept trying to answer herself. She kicked at her suitcase, not caring if she scraped up the hardwood floors.
“Because I like you more than I liked her. I like you a whole lot.”
Jenny hoped those words would be her lasting memory, long after the bitterness had drained from her body. I like you a whole lot. That was a nice going-away present. She could sense Julian’s desire for closure—for whatever, forgiveness—but she couldn’t give it to him. The problem was, she wasn’t even that mad at him—she was just furious with herself for being so incredibly stupid. Time and time again.
“Don’t worry about it.” She hiked her LeSportsac over her shoulder and grabbed her purple suede school bag stuffed with the books she wanted to keep, leaving the rest on her bookshelves for Callie, or whoever moved back in, to deal with. “At least we had some fun, right?” Her voice sounded breezy and false, even to her. She couldn’t look at him again, and instead focused on picking up her overloaded suitcase with her empty hand. In her closet, her maroon Waverly blazer looked tiny and alone.
“Can I . . . help you?” Julian asked awkwardly, standing up to his full height.
“No.” Jenny picked up the L.L. Bean tote and grabbed the handle of her Samsonite. She pushed through the doorway, her bags almost getting stuck, before turning around. Julian stood in the middle of the room, looking lost. Every ounce of her wanted to drop her bags and throw her arms around his shoulders and kiss him. But she couldn’t.
She walked away, feeling resolved. Maybe it wasn’t all for nothing. Maybe she’d learned something from each false friendship and each failed hookup. Maybe at her next school, she would be the cool and composed person she’d always wanted to be.
Maybe.
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: Wednesday, October 16, 12:41 P.M.
Subject: RE: RE: How’s it going?
Hey kid,
Hope you enjoyed your stay at Waverly. Thanks for all your help. You did the right thing.
Tinsley
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: Wednesday, October 16, 12:50 P.M.
Subject: RE: RE: RE: How’s it going?
Hi Tinsley!
Thanks for showing mae such a good time at the party last night . . . the train ride home this morning wasn’t so fun though. ;) But I’m so glad things happened with Sam. I think he really likes me!
Anyway, can’t wait to hang with you at Waverly next year.
XOXO
Chloe
TinsleyCarmichael: Hey, Julian. Too bad you’ll have to say goodbye to your artsy little girlfriend—she was really, um, talented.
TinsleyCarmichael: If you’re too heartbroken to reply, I understand.
KaraWhalen: I heard about what happened. It’s so awful.
BrettMesserschmidt: Yeah, poor Jenny. But where were you?
KaraWhalen: Passed out. Can’t believe I missed the meeting.
BrettMesserschmidt: Well, it’s prob. better you weren’t there. Guess you had fun last night huh?
KaraWhalen: About that . . . I am so sorry. Can we talk about it?
BrettMesserschmidt: Honestly, there’s not much to say.
KaraWhalen: Oh.
BrettMesserschmidt: I mean that in a good way.
KaraWhalen: Oh!
BrettMesserschmidt: Friends?
KaraWhalen: Absolutely.
BrettMesserschmidt: So does this mean I’m going to be spending a lot of time with Heath? ;)
KaraWhalen: We’ll see. . . .
26
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT TEXT MESSAGES ARE PRIVATE.
Easy stood outside Dumbarton, kicking his toe against the hard stone step. He looked up to see Callie headed toward him up the walk, the flouncy skirt of her blue-and-white dress swirling around her knees in the wind, smiling as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“What’s going on?” Callie asked, teetering a little on her skinny navy heels. She tilted her head in concern, as if she had no idea what could possibly be wrong.
Easy just stared at her. He’d always known Callie would make a wonderful actress—she was excellent at coming up with her own versions of the truth and sticking to them. “I just came from Jenny’s.”
Callie tensed up, gripping the strap of her distressed black bag with the oversize silver bu
ckles. “Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘Why’? I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Oh.” A look of relief washed over her pale face.
“Aren’t you going to go see her before she leaves?” he asked. He recognized his father’s demanding voice in his own, but so what? He was angry, and there was no use pretending he wasn’t.
Callie shrugged, staring down at her hands as if trying to decide whether she needed a manicure or not.
“Didn’t she used to be your friend?” Easy asked, kicking at the edge of the step with frustration. The sun had come out, and he had to squint to see her.
“She used to be,” Callie spat back, suddenly animated. Her hazel eyes flashed with anger that must have been lurking right beneath the surface. “Before she started spreading rumors about us.”
“But you didn’t start any rumors about her, right?” Easy ran a hand through his messy curls. He had wanted that question to come out a little softer than it did, but it was too late.
“What are you talking about?” Callie crossed her arms over her flat chest.
“How did Tinsley know about Jenny’s drawing?” Easy was afraid to hear the answer. If Tinsley and Callie were getting people to spy on Jenny, that was beyond low. Especially somewhere like art class, which Easy had always thought of as a sanctuary, a place safe from all the gossiping and backstabbing that went on at Waverly.
“Why?” Callie’s voice shook, and she bit her pink, glossy lip like she was on the verge of tears. All for show, Easy thought, bitterly. “Are you still in love with her?”
“What?” Easy shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargos to hide the fists of fury that had involuntarily formed. He couldn’t even think about answering that—not after he and Callie had spent the last five days together every chance they had. She knew better than to ask a question like that. “Just answer me this: Did you get someone to spy on Jenny?”