Julian just shrugged and stared at something over Jenny’s head. She hoped a tarantula wasn’t crawling down the tree, about to make a nest in her curls. “I’m not too worried,” he finally answered. He took a step closer to Jenny, planting his hands against the tree trunk on either side of her so that she was trapped. Not that she minded. “I’ve got the cutest alibi on campus.” A grin curled the sides of his mouth.
Jenny immediately lost her train of thought, distracted again by the memory of their lips pressed together, alone in the dark. And a moment later, it was more than just a memory.
From:
[email protected] To: Waverly Academy
Date: Saturday, October 12, 10:15 A.M.
Subject: Prospective Students
Dear Students, Faculty, and Staff,
As you’re probably aware, we have a number of prospective students visiting our campus this weekend. These visits are an important chance for prospective students to get a taste for Waverly Academy, and I trust everyone has been making the prospectives feel welcome. Thank you to all those Owls who have graciously taken on the role of host. Prospectives will be on campus until Wednesday in order to sit in on two full days of classes, so please continue your hospitality for the duration of their stay.
A special formal dinner will take place Monday night in the dining hall in honor of the prospective students. Dress according to code.
I also trust that the behavior of students over the next few days will be more restrained than it has been in the past few weeks.
Best,
Dean Marymount
RyanReynolds: You and Kara, huh? So that’s why we’ve never hooked up!
BrettMesserschmidt: No. That would be because I hate you.
RyanReynolds: Oh.
From:
[email protected] To:
[email protected] Date: Saturday, October 12, 11:08 A.M.
Subject: You okay?
Hey,
I know you’re still not talking to me, but I heard about the fire at the Miller farm and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I heard some other stuff, too, but don’t worry, I don’t believe a word of it—I know you. And I know you’re probably pretty upset that there are people talking about you or whatever. Let me know if you want to talk or anything.
Anyway, hope you’re well.
—J.
AlisonQuentin: Hey sexy. Whatcha up to?
AlanStGirard: Think I’ll stay in bed all day. Too much drama for me.
AlisonQuentin: You hear about Julian’s Zippo? He doesn’t act like a pyro.
AlanStGirard: Yeah, but I also heard Tinsley was hanging around the barn.
AlisonQuentin: Thought guys liked girls w/ a wild side?
AlanStGirard: Wild yes, pyro no.
AlisonQuentin: In that case, meet me at the gazebo this afternoon. I’ll show you wild.
AlanStGirard: For that, I’ll get out of bed. Or maybe you’d like to join me?
2
A WAVERLY OWL NEVER DOUBTS HER CHOSEN COURSE OF ACTION.
Brett Messerschmidt stared at the cover of her Latin textbook, the old Flaming Lips song “She Don’t Use Jelly” blasting from her iPod dock. The Doric columns on the cover stared back at her, and she wished she could close her eyes and transport herself back in time. Ancient Rome. The 1920s. Woodstock. Pompeii. Anywhere but Waverly Academy, circa now.
If only Heath had been the one responsible for spilling the beans about her and Kara to the whole world, she could’ve been angry instead of upset. She wanted to take it out on someone, anyone. Anyone but Kara, even though it was, technically, all Kara’s fault for telling Callie they’d been hooking up in secret. She toyed with the idea of being mad at Callie for being a lightweight with a penchant for drunken gossip, but that didn’t exactly satisfy her, either.
She leaned back in her uncomfortable wooden desk chair, pressing her vertebrae against the hard wooden slats. She really liked Kara, but were they, like, a couple now? Would that make them Waverly’s token lesbian couple? She envisioned a Waverly tour guide leading a flock of prospective students and their parents around campus and pointing at Brett’s window. “Welcome to Dumbarton, proud home of Waverly’s only lesbians!”
She let her forehead rest against the cool surface of her desk, her hands gripping the short red pigtails she’d put her hair into that morning. She felt like Pippi Longstocking, except Pippi probably didn’t kiss girls. At least Tinsley had the decency to be gone. Brett had dragged her exhausted body out of bed this morning to be greeted by a pleasantly empty room, only a trace of Tinsley’s Yves St. Laurent Baby Doll hanging in the air.
“Hello?” Kara Whalen’s face peeked through the doorway. A pair of tortoiseshell cat-eye glasses magnified her wide hazel eyes as they nervously scanned the room. Her light brown hair just grazed her shoulders. “Tinsley around?”
“She’s out.” Brett sat up in her chair and twisted a pigtail around her finger.
Kara looked relieved. “I thought I heard her out on the quad.” She sat gingerly down on Brett’s bed, wearing a fitted gray NYU T-shirt that hugged her curves, and a pair of faded jeans.
“I’ve never seen you wear glasses before.” Brett pushed her Latin textbook away from her and turned toward Kara. “Very sexy-librarian.” She felt her face flush. Did she have to say sexy?
“Thanks.” Kara grinned and straightened the red bobby pin that was holding a lock of her silky brown hair away from her face. It reminded Brett of when she was little and used paper clips to hold back her dolls’ hair. “All the smoke made my eyes sting. I couldn’t get my contacts in this morning.”
Brett nodded. She didn’t want to think about last night anymore. She’d spent her first two years at Waverly afraid that everyone would find out she was the daughter of a plastic surgeon and grew up in a tacky McMansion in Jersey. Now her gold-plated, leopard-print past didn’t even seem like a big deal anymore. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her white Theory peasant shirt. There had been a fire. She had a girlfriend. Her past was the least of her worries.
“I didn’t see you at breakfast.” Kara picked up a copy of Absinthe, Waverly’s art magazine, from Brett’s night table and flipped through the pages. Brett rarely ever read the magazine, but it was delivered in all of the students’ mailboxes, and she sort of liked to keep it around. She thought maybe it made her seem edgy, in a good way. But given recent events, she’d probably never need to convince anyone she was edgy again. Kara peeked at Brett over the top of her glasses.
Brett stood up and stretched. Her bare toes dug into the soft, mint green chenille rug. She’d purposely skipped breakfast, hoping to avoid all the rumors swirling in the dining hall. She was sort of amazed that Kara had wandered right into the lion’s den. “Did I miss anything?”
“Apple-cinnamon pancakes.” Kara studied the art section, flipping through the portfolio of abstract paintings. She smiled weakly at Brett.
“Did you find out anything more about the fire?” Brett asked. She was still standing in the middle of the room and wasn’t sure whether or not to sit down on the bed next to Kara. She would’ve sat down on Tinsley’s bed, except for the fact that (a) Tinsley was a raging bitch and (b) it was awkwardly far away. As soon as they’d been assigned to Dumbarton 121, Tinsley and Brett had pushed their beds to opposite ends of the room. She’d even considered hanging her baby blue seersucker-print Frette sheets from the ceiling to further divide the space.
“It’s all everyone is talking about.” Kara dropped the magazine on the bed and crossed her legs daintily. “People won’t shut up about Easy and Callie. Oh, and they found a lighter in the remains, with that guy Julian McCafferty’s initials on it. And some people think it was Tinsley who started it. Or the liquor store owner. I don’t know. It could have been anyone.”
Brett finally pushed the magazine out of the way and sat down on the silky fuchsia Indian-print comforter. A blue-and-white etching of a sailboat hung on the wall above them.
Tinsley’s grandfather had sent it, and Brett had rescued it from the garbage. Of course, Tinsley hadn’t even bothered to open more than a corner of the package before tossing it.
Kara leaned in a little closer, and Brett could feel her warm breath tickle her skin. “I heard someone say they saw some boys from St. Lucius near the barn.”
“Really?” A chill ran through Brett at the mention of St. Lucius, and she sat up a little straighter. Jeremiah had e-mailed her this morning, telling her he’d heard about the fire . . . and that he’d heard “some other things.” What would he say if he found out that the rumors about her and Kara were true? And what was she possibly going to say in reply? She glanced over at her open iBook, as if it might hold the answer. She decided to wait to write back until she’d figured out what exactly was going on with Kara.
“What’s the matter?” Kara demanded. She stared at Brett, and Brett looked away, focusing on the piles of yellow and orange leaves on the quad outside her window. “Hey.” Kara placed her hand on Brett’s ankle. “It’s me. Remember?”
Brett felt herself soften under Kara’s touch. She leaned her head closer to Kara’s. They sat without saying anything for a while, and Brett again found herself drawn to the leaves outside. A yellow Frisbee flew into view. Benny Cunningham ran across the quad after it, laughing.
“I have an idea.” Kara’s hazel eyes perked up behind her glasses. “Forget this whole fire mess. How about we get into our pj’s and go watch movies in the common room? I’m in the mood for something totally cheesy and ridiculous . . . like Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. It’s so eighties, I love it.” Kara eyed Brett hopefully.
Brett nodded noncommittally, tracing a finger over the fuchsia paisley print on her comforter. Watching cheesy movies with Kara sounded like the perfect thing to do. Except . . . in the Dumbarton common room? In their pj’s? Wouldn’t everyone assume they’d just, like, spent the night together? She found a loose thread in the fabric of the comforter and pulled it a little, watching as the fabric bunched up around it. Would Kara be totally offended if she suggested hanging out in private instead?
Before she could say anything, the door swung open, knocking against the Degas print of ballet dancers on the wall behind it. Tinsley blew into the room, looking innocent in a baby blue oxford shirt and white eyelet skirt. Brett knew her roommate had dressed for calculated effect, because if there was anything Tinsley Carmichael wasn’t, it was innocent.
“Hope I’m not disrupting anything, girls—or should I say girlfriends?” she sneered cattily. Her dark ponytail bobbed as she opened and closed her desk drawer, quickly pocketing something that Brett couldn’t see. She was gone again before Brett could even think of a nasty comeback to lob at her. The door slammed shut with a sound like a gunshot.
“Let’s go.” Kara stood, seemingly unfazed by Tinsley’s catty jeer. “Girlfriend,” she added with a teasing grin. She must have seen the dismayed look on Brett’s face, because her hazel eyes filled with concern. “Oh come on, are you really going to let her get to you?” She emphasized the word her, as if Tinsley were some sort of disagreeable pest that had yet to be exterminated.
“No . . .” Brett shook her head slowly, then more definitively. Tinsley was just being her usual bitchy self. But the problem was, it wasn’t just Tinsley who was getting to her. It was the whispers at the party last night, the e-mail from Jeremiah, the jittery feeling in her stomach.
“She’s just trying to get under your skin. And don’t worry.” Kara approached the doorway and turned to face Brett. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “We don’t have to use that title if you don’t want to.”
“Oh,” Brett said automatically, before she could think of anything else to say. “Um, okay.”
Kara shrugged easily, and Brett envied her composure. “No need for things to get all dramatic. We’re seventeen—we don’t even know what we’re doing,” she said matter-of-factly. “Anyway, should we go see if anything’s on TV before we leave to get a movie?” She tilted her head in the direction of the common room, the relationship portion of the conversation now apparently over. Brett loved the way Kara could transition so easily from heavy subjects to light. She made everything seem so simple.
Brett stood and pulled down on the waistband of her black J.Crew drawstring pants, which had ridden up. “Maybe we should just hang out in your room instead,” she suggested. “We could play Boggle. I’m an ace at Boggle,” she added with a small smile. She felt a thousand times more relaxed at the thought of being alone. Kara had a single down the hall, which meant they could hang out in peace, without sneering roommates or nosy Dumbarton girls.
Kara shrugged her shoulders. “Sure,” she agreed, leading the way out.
Brett followed, smiling. Kara was so easy to be with. And they were lucky she had a single. Living in a dorm with three hundred gossip-hungry girls wasn’t exactly conducive to privacy. But so long as they were able to keep a low profile, this could end up being the best relationship she’d ever been in.
3
A WAVERLY OWL RESPECTS HER ELDERS—ESPECIALLY WHEN SHE’S MANIPULATING THEM.
Tinsley Carmichael stood in the waiting area outside Dean Marymount’s office, eyeing Mr. Tomkins’s desk. She’d never seen it deserted before. The prematurely bald administrative assistant was like a guard dog—always there, and extremely, almost stupidly loyal. Tinsley opened the top drawer of the dark oak desk, which was empty except for an open pack of spearmint chewing gum, a Sacagawea gold dollar, and a silver Tiffany charm bracelet with only one charm, a tiny teapot. Weird. Tinsley unsheathed a stick of gum and popped it into her mouth, wondering what else of interest there might be in the room. The space looked as though it had been decorated with pieces from the Masterpiece Theatre collection, with its heavy oak paneling and tall bookshelves filled with green, red, and black books with gold lettering. She could only imagine how intimidated other students must have felt standing at the gateway to Marymount’s office. She herself had stood here many times before. But today, her mission was graver than ever.
After seeing Jenny and Julian kiss last night, she’d been too furious to sleep. She’d stayed up most of the night, staring out at the Hudson River through her window, feeling stupid for falling for Julian in the first place. As the sky started to lighten, she fantasized about building a little raft out of branches and twigs or whatever and floating down the river to Manhattan, where people were probably still awake, and where there were guys even hotter than Julian, who was only a freshman anyway. It would serve everyone right if she mysteriously disappeared. What would they do without her?
But fantasizing about leaving was the stuff of late-night desperation. Today was a new day. She took out her phone and tapped at the buttons with her unpolished, nicely buffed nails.
“Hello?” Callie’s voice sounded far away.
“Where are you? We’re supposed to be meeting now.” Tinsley kept her voice down so Dean Marymount wouldn’t hear. His assistant might be out enjoying the weekend, but Marymount was a workaholic, so she knew she’d find him in his office on a Saturday—especially given last night’s events.
“Oh, right.” Callie’s voice was lazy and slow, as if she had just woken up from a nap. “I’m with Easy. Is it okay if we do it later?”
She heard Easy murmur something in the background, and then Callie giggled.
Tinsley rolled her violet eyes. “But I’m here now. Are you even listening?” She tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. Outside the enormous bay window a heavy, rain-bloated cloud passed overhead, and a few tiny sprinkles of rain scattered on the windowpane. She hoped Easy and Callie were out in the open somewhere so that they’d be forced to get the hell off each other.
“Yes, I’m listening.” Whisper, whisper, shuffle. Giggle. “I just can’t meet up with you right now. Stop it.”
Tinsley checked her silver Movado watch impatiently. “Stop what?”
“I was talking to Easy,” Callie explained with ano
ther stupid giggle. “I said stop it!” she shrieked.
“Are you going to help me out or what?” Tinsley demanded angrily, forgetting to whisper. She wished she had her Blue-tooth with her, but she hadn’t had time to grab it from her room, not wanting to linger and make small talk with Brett and her lesbian lover.
“Yes. I said yes, okay?” Callie snapped in a hushed whisper, as if she didn’t want Easy to overhear. “I just can’t come right now. You can go ahead and do it without me. You’ll probably be better off on your own anyway.”
“Fine.” Tinsley turned off her phone and shoved it into her tan suede Calypso purse. As annoying as it was to have Callie bail on her, she was right—she probably would be better alone. She took a deep breath before taking a step toward the walnut door of the dean’s office.
“Come in!” he bellowed in response to Tinsley’s hesitant knock. Dean Marymount didn’t look up when she entered. His sandy comb-over fell loose as he bent over his desk, examining the sheet of paper in his hand. Wearing a bright yellow argyle sweater vest, he looked like Mr. Rogers’s evil twin: utterly suburban, yet somehow menacing.
“Dean Marymount?” Tinsley used her best little-girl voice. Her straight dark hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail at the nape of her neck, and her face appeared makeupless and innocent—or at least, that was the idea. Of course, she had thrown Julian’s lighter on the ground outside the barn after seeing him with Jenny, which had started the infamous fire. And that made her decidedly less than innocent. Unless she convinced Dean Marymount otherwise, her ass was toast. Even if it was the most perfect ass at Waverly. “Don’t you ever take a day off?”
Marymount patted down his scraggly hair and sighed wearily. “Governing this student body is a full-time job, Ms. Carmichael.” He gave her a long, disapproving stare. His normally organized desk was a mess of files and papers. Behind him, the enormous, second-floor bay windows gave way to an expansive view of Waverly’s campus. She briefly wondered if the dean had purposely designed it that way, so he could watch his students like a hawk from dawn till dusk. She pictured him swooping down and snatching up an unsuspecting student with his angry talons, before pecking away at his flesh with his carnivorous beak.