Part of her had wanted to hide under her scratchy baby-blue blanket all day, but then she felt like she was going to suffocate breathing the same air as Callie and Tinsley. Now she was outside on the quad, but she still felt the same stifling bubble around her head. If she didn’t get away from here, she was seriously going to flip out. She pulled out her new Treo and dialed the one person she knew could make her feel better.
“Muffulupugus!” Rufus’s deep baritone rumbled loudly through her new phone. His voice made her smile, even though she had to hold her cell phone away from her ear. “How the hell are you?”
“I’m … I’m good, Dad.” Jenny tugged at a long curl of hair. “I was just kind of hoping you could maybe call the Waverly office and get them to give me a mental health day.”
“A what? A mental health day? Are you all right?” Great, make him worry about you getting kicked out of another school.
“I just need an afternoon in the city, but I won’t do any shopping, just go to a couple of museums. You’ll meet me. We’ll get fried dough at the Mexican place on Amsterdam.”
“No can do, sweets. I’m assisting Vanessa on a film this afternoon. … There’s this hugely overweight squirrel in Bryant Park. We want to capture what it eats in an entire twenty-four-hour period, except we’re kind of cheating. Anyway, you’re still doing all right there?” Rufus sounded worried. “I thought you were enjoying it—the As, the field hockey, the horseback riding?”
“I’m doing great, I swear.” Jenny crossed her fingers as she lied. “I just miss the city—it gets a little suffocating … being out here with all this fresh air. I think I might be getting too much oxygen or something.”
He sighed heavily, but Jenny could tell he couldn’t resist. “All right. I’ll call the office and tell them I need you home for the day.”
Jenny squealed and thanked him profusely. The second she hung up, she called a cab to meet her at the front gate and practically skipped back to the dorm to grab her wallet. Suddenly Waverly didn’t feel suffocating now that she knew she could get away from it for the day. Yeah, she’d screwed up, but with any luck, Easy wouldn’t find out about it, and it really was just a little kiss. Plus it wasn’t like she and Easy were dating … not officially. She couldn’t wait to catch the next train out of this incestuous world and into the big, wonderful city.
“Jenny!” She whirled around to see Easy jogging across the grassy quad toward her, and her skin tingled. His long legs caught up to her easily. He looked extra cute in a pair of dark brown cords—she’d never seen him in anything other than Levi’s—and a plain white T-shirt. “Where are you running off to?”
“Oh, um, I’m going to the city for the day. … I need to breathe, you know, polluted air.” Jenny felt herself fidgeting, convinced that Easy could see right through her. She tapped her red boot against the grass.
“Yeah, this much fresh air can’t be good for a city kid.” A dark curl flopped in front of his eyes and he blew it out of the way. “Waverly can feel like it’s got this giant bubble over it, and you forget sometimes that nothing here is really life or death.”
“Exactly.” Jenny smiled. “Hey, do you … want to come with me?” she asked impulsively. Although she had been fantasizing about wandering through the vast halls of the Met by herself, suddenly the picture seemed so much more complete if Easy was in it too. And maybe if she could be alone with him in the real world, the things that had happened last night in the Waverly bubble wouldn’t matter so much. “We could get lunch, maybe go to a couple of museums.”
“Yeah?” Easy looked at Jenny’s face with eagerness, then frowned in disgust. “I’m on, like, double probation from Dalton. And since I don’t know who his spies are, I don’t know if I can risk pissing him off more.”
Jenny’s face fell. “I totally forgot about that. Oh, well, the last thing I want is for you to get kicked out of here—”
“Except …” Easy interrupted Jenny and smiled at her. “Dalton sent out an email this morning saying he was sick. So presumably he’s not around. … Let’s go.”
Jenny’s brown eyes widened. “But …”
He grabbed her hand, and the feel of his warm, rough fingers against her skin silenced her.
The train to the city was crowded, but Jenny and Easy found two seats together, playing tic-tac-toe in her sketchbook and each listening to Easy’s iPod with one headphone until they pulled into Grand Central Station. They took a cab uptown to the Met, but before going in, Easy bought them each a hot dog from a sidewalk vendor and they sat on the steps of the museum in the early-autumn sunshine. She’d done this so many times, hoping that one of the cools girls like Blair or Serena would notice her or that someone famous might sit down next to her and suddenly she’d show up in Us Weekly as the mysterious companion of some famous A-list actor.
Jenny leaned back against the stone steps and sighed. For years, all she’d wanted was to be one of those girls people talked about. When Socrates said that an “unexamined life” wasn’t worth living, Jenny totally agreed—so what if he was talking about personally examining your life and not, like, Page Six examining. It meant the same to her. She knew it was shallow, but she couldn’t help it. All of literature was filled with the sort of devastatingly beautiful and seductive women whose image became tattooed on the brain of everyone in the room, making them smile or groan in anguish when they thought of her, which they inevitably would. Flaky Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby. Lily Bart from The House of Mirth. Petrarch’s Laura, Dante’s Beatrice. She didn’t want anyone to write a book about her necessarily—but she wanted to be the kind of person that could inspire someone to do that. Was that so wrong?
But now, sitting here with Easy, she suddenly didn’t care if she was the kind of girl Jay Gatsby would remember years later, or Heath Ferro, or Tinsley crazy-scary-bitch Carmichael. Or if she ever showed up on Page Six again. All that mattered was Easy sitting next to her in one of her most-favorite spots in the world, with a small blob of ketchup on his cheek.
“Waverly’s definitely a small place. Especially when you start out like you did—with a big splash.” He took another bite of hot dog. “But people would have known you right away anyway.”
Jenny wiped the ketchup away with her thumb. “Why do you say that?” She nervously thought of her chest—not too many of Waverly’s pedigreed cashmere-cable-knit-sweater-and-tweed-Theory-skirt crowd had the double D’s she sported. She definitely did not want any sonnets written for her boobs.
Easy swallowed. “Because … I don’t know, it sounds stupid … but you’ve got this sparkle.”
“Me?” She looked down at the cement steps, feeling a little shy but totally flattered.
Easy just smiled and requested a “Jenny Humphrey highlights tour” through the museum. They ended up winding back through the galleries several times, looking for the things Jenny loved the most—a Cézanne painting with dozens of apples spilling across a table, the pink Klimt portrait of a pretty young girl that Jenny had always wished was her, the quiet Vermeer of a young woman holding a water pitcher, the misty George Inness of a single girl wandering through an orchard, the beautifully calligraphied Islamic manuscripts. Easy paused in front of each one, silently taking it in and then kissing her.
She knew she’d never see the same pieces of art in the same way again. They were more than her favorite paintings now. They were part of her most-perfect day ever.
24
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS HOW TO KEEP A SECRET, EVEN A JUICY ONE.
“I wish I didn’t have to give it back,” Tinsley pouted. She set down her lychee martini on the bar’s glass top and slid the antique bracelet over her hand. “But thank you for letting me borrow it.”
“My pleasure.” Eric smiled at her, and she held his gaze. They’d arrived at the hotel an hour earlier and taken a seat at the sleek hotel bar while the concierge had their bags sent to their suite. They were already on to their third martini, although they weren’t yet on their first kis
s. “Now. Here’s to—”
“Secrets,” Tinsley interrupted. After their flirtatious emails, she’d assumed they’d rip each other’s clothes off and do it in the back of Eric’s limo as soon as he picked her up. Instead, he’d asked her to tell him stories about her family and told her about his father and the stick up his ass. So far, the day together had been remarkably unsexy. She was ready to change all that, though. “Who doesn’t like a good secret?”
Eric leaned toward her. “Well … I know I do.”
There. That was a little better. “You must have some good ones,” Tinsley goaded him. For some reason, she wanted to hear him tell her that he liked Brett but how that had changed the minute he laid eyes on her. She wanted to hear how much smarter and sexier and cooler she was.
“Me? Nah.” He sat back, taking another sip from his glass. The bartender switched the music to some sultry jazz, as though he’d been reading her mind. “Though I’m sure you do.”
“Hmmm …” She pretended to think. If he wasn’t going to come out with it, she could help him along. “Well, I have this friend, Brett. …”
Eric cleared his throat. A six-foot model Tinsley recognized from last year’s Blumarine fashion show walked into the bar, but Eric didn’t take his eyes off her. “Tinsley, I—”
“So it’s not my secret, exactly,” she went on, prying her eyes away from the model. “But she told everyone at Waverly her family saves puffins or something in Newfoundland, even though her dad is actually a liposuction specialist in New Jersey! Can you believe?”
“She mentioned that once.” Eric looked around the dimly lit room nervously. “So I guess that’s not such a big secret.”
Wait, what? That was Brett’s biggest secret ever, and she’d told Eric? Eric Dalton? Tinsley was suddenly seized with a panicky feeling that maybe there was more to his fling with Brett than she’d thought. Maybe he didn’t think she was sexier and more beautiful than Brett. “I didn’t realize you were so close,” she murmured coldly.
“Don’t be like that,” he scolded her, which she was surprised to enjoy. She felt suddenly like the naughty schoolgirl that she was. He reached over, cupped her chin in his hand, and met her gaze. “I’m sure people must tell you this all time, but you have the most beautiful eyes.”
And with that, he leaned in to kiss her. As their lips met, she couldn’t help but think that yes, people did tell her that all the time. She was forever waiting for someone to tell her that the beauty mark hidden behind her ear was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, but so far, no one had ever even noticed it. But as Eric slipped his hand down her neck and fingered the opening of her delicate navy wrap dress, she swept her thick dark hair behind her. She might as well give him the chance to see it, right?
“Should we check out our suite?” he whispered breathily.
“Let’s do that.”
25
A GOOD OWL DOES NOT SCHEME … ALTHOUGH A NAUGHTY OWL JUST MIGHT.
By early evening, Jenny and Easy were nestled into a cozy table at Balthazar, a posh and bustling Soho brasserie where the waiter didn’t bat an eyelash when they ordered a carafe of pinot noir. Jenny leaned back on the red leather bench seat, enjoying the way Easy looked next to her in the high-ceilinged, dark, oak-paneled room. The tables were close together and filled with well-dressed hipsters enjoying aperitifs and gearing up for a night on the town. A giant, antique Parisian brasserie mirror hung above their heads. They ordered a plate of steak frites. Jenny sipped her glass of wine.
“I’m going to run outside and check my messages. Make sure Dalton hasn’t called to check up on me or anything.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right back. Don’t eat all the fries without me, okay?”
“I’m not promising anything.” Jenny touched her hair, making sure her barrettes hadn’t fallen out, or it would be a mass of frizzies. “I dream about these fries.”
“I’ll hurry.” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips. She was so kissable! It was nice to get off campus for once and to be alone with Jenny without having to worry about Callie hearing about it. He made his way through the tiny spaces between the crowded tables, thinking how nice it would be if he and Jenny could go to a real Parisian brasserie. His heart pounded as he started to think of her in his parents’ Parisian garret apartment, lying on the small French bed, completely naked.
As he stepped into the busy Soho street, throngs of evening shoppers bounded down the street carrying Bloomingdale’s signature brown paper bags and sleek black Barneys Co-op shopping bags. It took him a moment to recognize the girl standing in front of him, wearing a bohemian-looking long-belted cashmere cardigan over a navy blue chiffon wrap dress that was on the verge of unwrapping.
Easy imagined the look on his face to be similar to the shocked one on Tinsley’s when she turned around and saw him. What the hell was she doing here? Tinsley quickly regained her composure, however, and pulled the cigarette out of her grinning red lips. “Thought you were on probation.”
Easy stared at her and in a flash of memory recalled seeing Tinsley when he and Jenny walked out of the woods together. So she had seen. “Are you going to tell on me again?”
Tinsley narrowed her carefully made up eyes. She took another drag on her cigarette and thought for a moment, determined to choose her words carefully. “I know you’re here with Jenny. I see her inside. But you know what?” Tinsley’s face quickly assumed a self-satisfied expression, and Easy clenched his fist in his pocket. “Jenny just hooked up with somebody else last night. How’s that for a sweet little girlfriend?”
Wait, what? For a minute, Easy’s stomach fell, but then he realized where this information was coming from—scheming Tinsley, bitter that she wasn’t the one everyone was talking about at the moment. “Fuck you. I don’t believe anything you have to say.” He pulled the door open to go back inside. “You’ve got some real issues, you know that?”
“I’m not the only one.” Tinsley smiled sweetly at him, a smile that made his toes curl.
Making, his way back to Jenny, Easy forced himself to calm down. He just wanted to enjoy the rest of the day and forget about that jealous bitch outside. Of course she’d say something like that about Jenny. She was sweet and kind and honest—three qualities one would never attribute to Tinsley.
“Quick, sit down.” Jenny grabbed Easy’s hand and pulled him into the booth. “Look!” Easy turned his head and looked out the window, expecting to see Tinsley’s lying eyes staring back at them. Instead, he caught a glimpse of Tinsley walking down Spring Street on someone’s arm. Dalton. “Do you think they saw us?” Jenny asked, clearly worried about Easy’s probation.
Easy nodded, still staring out the window. “They may have seen us, but I have an idea.” An idea he was definitely going to use to take Dalton down.
26
A WAVERLY OWL MUST REPORT ANY INAPPROPRIATE FACULTY BEHAVIOR.
Easy always looked forward to his Wednesday morning Advanced French Literature, but today it was because it was the one class he shared with Brett Messerschmidt, and he needed her help. He had to get Dalton busted before Dalton got him expelled. Enter Brett. She was class prefect. If she accused Dalton of something, everyone would listen.
Madame Claubert stood at the front of the room, her long gray hair pulled into a clip at the back of her head. She was one of those older women whose beauty just seemed to sharpen and intensify with age. Her cheekbones were perfectly chiseled, her neck long and swanlike, her body as taut as a ballerina’s. French women were so sexy.
“Monsieur Walsh, entrez.” She stood inside the door, waiting to close it.
“Bien sûr, madame.” Easy scooted inside and slid into the empty desk in front of Brett. She gave him her typical raised eye-brow half smile. Her skin had more color to it than it had for most of the past week.
“Thank you for joining us. Now we may get started.” She held a stack of papers and passed them out to each row. “Please pair up and answer the ten questions in this examen petit.” She c
lapped her thin hands together. “Dix minutes.”
Easy spun around in his chair. “Mademoiselle Messerschmidt. Will you do me the honor?”
“Mais oui.” Brett was wearing an army green sweater that made her eyes glow greener and a khaki skirt that came to midthigh. She looked totally cute and completely young and innocent. Easy could see why Dalton would be attracted to her, but how could he be slimy enough to act on it?
“Listen … ,” Easy said when they had answered half the questions. He glanced at her sideways, trying to be subtle. He didn’t want to embarrass her or anything. “I heard stuff. … But did anything ever actually happen between you and Mr. Dalton?”
Brett’s jaw dropped, revealing a platinum filling in one of her bottom molars that Easy had never noticed before. She pulled herself together quickly and gave Easy a withering glare that looked more defensive than angry. “Go to hell.”
“No, no, I’m not trying to get you in trouble or anything,” Easy said quickly, his fingers twirling his fountain pen. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”
Brett eyed him suspiciously. What did he want, then? He looked so eager. Easy wasn’t normally much of a gossip. She bit her lip and pretended to scan the list of questions as Madame Claubert left the classroom. “So why are you asking?”
“You’re probably not going to enjoy hearing this, but I ran into Tinsley in Soho yesterday.” He paused. “She was with Mr. Dalton.”
Brett let the words make their way to her brain slowly. She felt sick as their meaning registered. She knew it. She knew Tinsley was wearing Eric’s platinum link bracelet that night. How could she do that? Why? And Eric—she’d meant so little to him that the second Tinsley strutted along, he’d dropped her like last year’s Prada pumps? She was such an idiot.
“What … jerks.” Brett couldn’t think of anything stronger to say. The image of the two of them in bed in the penthouse at the Soho Grand filled Brett with rage. What if she’d actually lost her virginity to Eric? Then suddenly all of her confusion quickly metamorphosed into pure fury. He had lied to her. He didn’t think what they were doing was unethical—he just wanted to be doing it with Tinsley. “He should be arrested.”