“Usually someone throws up when this much alcohol is involved, so I think we did okay.” Brandon had had a few too many cups of beer himself, and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Heath had been running around in his girl shirt, poking people and telling them to drink up since he needed to get the deposits back on the kegs. But yeah. The game of I Never had sort of spiraled out of control. He'd felt bad for Jenny—she was so sweet, it felt horrible to see her crushed in front of everyone. Another reason to despise Easy, like Brandon needed any more. What was Easy doing, taking Callie out to dinner with his dad? Christ. An idiot could have told him what a horrible idea that was.
“I like your shirt,” Brandon spoke up, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. “Do you save whales too?”
“When I don't have too much homework,” she replied, running her hand along the banister.
Brandon smiled. This girl was pretty sassy, which was kind of fun. If he weren't a little drunk, he'd have tried to be more witty. He wished he didn't have to struggle so much to think of something to say—but he just kept thinking about the beauty mark on her left cheek.
“Um … do you want to see the tunnels?” Brandon asked at last.
“The famous tunnels?” Elizabeth's eyes lit up. “I'd love to.”
“Cool.” Brandon started down the stairs, his legs moving slowly. Elizabeth followed him to the storage room, where the tunnel door was wide open.
“This is like the Underground Railroad—how cool!” she whispered, clearly in awe.
Brandon pulled his flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on. Immediately Elizabeth put her hand on his. “They didn't have flashlights in the Underground Railroad days—shut it off.” She stepped inside the darkened tunnel, carefully making her way down the steps and disappearing into the darkness.
“Uh, wait.” Brandon followed awkwardly. “Didn't they have candles in those days? They definitely had something.” His sneakers hit the concrete floor of the tunnel and he squinted into the darkness.
A tiny flame burst through the darkness, illuminating Elizabeth's face, and an orb of light surrounded her. “Not Zippos, exactly. But it'll do.” If possible, her face was even prettier in the wavering light coming from her lighter.
“Where do you want to go?” Brandon asked. He noticed that they were both speaking kind of softly, as their words seemed to echo in the vast, silent tunnels. It was much cooler down here with Elizabeth than it had been with all his goony guy friends.
Surprise, surprise.
Elizabeth glanced at the concrete ceiling and took a sip from her beer. “I left my Vespa in the bushes by that gatehouse or whatever it was. You know, that crumbly building at the front of campus? We could head in that direction.” She held out her cup to Brandon. “Want some?”
Brandon took the cup as images of Audrey Hepburn from Roman Holiday flashed through his brain, wiping out thoughts of germ-swapping. He sipped her beer. “A Vespa?”
“What, is that too hipster for you, Armani?” She slyly tweaked his sweater. How'd she know it was Armani?
“Actually, I thought you'd drive a hybrid—but the leather motorcycle jacket threw me off.”
Elizabeth leaned in. “Don't be disgusted,” she whispered, “but it's pleather.”
Brandon grinned. He liked that this girl was someone outside the whole incestuous Waverly in crowd. Even if she had a thing with Jeremiah, who had a thing with Brett, who … Brandon shook those confusing thoughts out of his head. “How'd you know Jeremiah was even here?”
She looked a little embarrassed and clicked the top back down on her Zippo, plunging them into darkness. “I'm not, like, a stalker.” Silence. “He told me.”
“So … you guys aren't together now, are you?” Somehow it was easier to ask about this in the dark. The light from the open door in the Dumbarton storage room was far behind them now, and it took Brandon's eyes a minute to adjust to the new level of darkness and be able to find the outline of Elizabeth.
“No!” Her reply came quickly, and Brandon calmed down a little. “It wasn't like that, anyway.” The two of them walked forward, as if they knew where they were going. “We were just really close, you know? And then she—Brett—broke his heart. And then I guess we both got really caught up in the emotions of it all, even though it wasn't exactly about us.”
“You don't have to tell me all this, you know,” Brandon said, although he was psyched to hear she wasn't pining over Jeremiah. Because if strapping, broad-shouldered football players were her thing, Brandon wasn't going to have much luck.
“I know.” The Zippo flicked open again, bathing Elizabeth's face in its warm glow. “I just kind of wanted to … clear things up.”
Brandon's heart pounded.
“Anyway,” she continued, tracing her empty hand against the wall. “I really came to sort of check Brett out—make sure she wasn't just toying with him again.” Elizabeth paused. “Unfortunately, I think I might have fucked everything up for him.”
“That's not your fault.”
“Well, I didn't have to be honest—it's not like playing I Never means you're under oath or anything. Then maybe he could have lied, and …”
“I don't think that would've helped. He would've had to tell her the truth sometime.” Suddenly Brandon realized he didn't exactly want to be talking about Jeremiah and Brett anymore—they would figure things out.
What he wanted to do was kiss this girl.
“And what about you? And that Jenny girl?” Elizabeth asked coyly. “You jumped up really quickly after she left, like you wanted to run out after her.”
He did? Brandon didn't even remember that. “Well, she's cool. I mean, she's a friend.” And it burned him up that Easy would fuck around with her too, not that it surprised him. That kid had no scruples—if he wanted Jenny one week, he got Jenny. If he wanted Callie the next, well, he'd just try and get her too. “I just, you know, felt bad for her. Her boyfriend's a dick.”
“So I don't have anyone to be jealous of?”
Jealous of? Right. Like Brandon could keep his mind on anything besides how he was alone in a dark tunnel with this exciting girl in a pleather jacket and funky hair who made him feel so totally uninhibited. “I don't want to talk about other people anymore,” Brandon said, taking another gulp of Elizabeth's beer as if it were some sort of electrolyte-enhanced power drink.
“Oh?” Elizabeth raised her right eyebrow as she played with her lighter, closing it and opening it and closing it again. She kept it closed. “What do you want to talk about?”
Brandon put the beer down on the floor and stepped toward where he thought Elizabeth was. It wasn't too hard to find her. He smiled in the darkness, sensing that her face was only a few inches from his. “I don't know … nuclear war?”
He heard her giggle, and as her mouth opened to say something, he kissed her. She kissed back eagerly, and all Brandon could think was how different and exciting it felt. His hands slid around to her lower back. He didn't even notice how dark it was because his eyes were closed.
29
A WAVERLY OWL ALWAYS TELLS THE TRUTH, EXCEPT WHEN IT'S WISER NOT TO.
Jenny felt like a drama queen running out of the common room the way she had, but she couldn't help it. She would have suffocated if she'd stayed in there one second longer—with Easy, who had lied to her. And with the rest of them, all staring and smirking and making her feel like such a moron for thinking that Easy could be in love with her. Why did all this have to happen? Couldn't anything ever be simple?
Because really—why would Easy take Callie out to dinner with his father if he was in love with her? It didn't make any sense. Was he ashamed of her? That she was too short? Too young? Too New York for his father? Only Callie, with her perfect blond hair and southern pedigree, was good enough?
Once she was back in her room, Jenny felt a tiny bit better. At least everyone wasn't staring at her now. And at least she didn't have to face Tinsley, who must really hate her if she was so eager to
embarrass her in front of all her friends. Or maybe they weren't her friends, Jenny thought glumly as she turned on her stereo. Her palms had stopped sweating, although she still kind of felt like she might vomit at any second.
There was a light knock at the half-closed door—Easy? But Kara poked her head in. “Can I come in? Do you want some company?”
Jenny was actually kind of glad it wasn't Easy—she wasn't in the mood to talk to him, not really. Not if he couldn't tell her it was all untrue, he'd never taken Callie out to dinner. Then maybe she'd listen. But since that wasn't going to happen, Jenny wanted to figure some things out for herself first. “You can come in, if you don't mind me changing into my comfort clothes.”
Kara let out a low whistle and sat down on Callie's bed. Jenny pulled her flannel Calvin Klein pajama bottoms and black tank top from her top drawer. “Tinsley certainly has a way with words, doesn't she?”
Jenny almost laughed as she took off Verena's strapless dress and her boob-crushing bra. She quickly pulled on the black tank top and her cozy pajama bottoms. There was something about flannel that was so comforting, even if the gray plaid pants were almost completely worn out at the knees. “You can say that again. It's like she gets off on humiliating other people.”
Kara tucked her feet up underneath her. “You shouldn't feel humiliated. Who cares what everyone else thinks?”
“I guess I don't—I just really don't have any clue what Easy is thinking, which is the real problem. I mean, am I missing something? Why would he take Callie out to dinner?” She plopped herself down on her bed and hugged her pillow to her chest. “And not tell me about it?”
“Maybe you shouldn't overreact. Or at least, not until you talk to him. Let him explain himself. Maybe he's got a great explanation—like, he hates his dad and couldn't bear to subject you to him.” Kara shrugged. “And because he doesn't really like Callie, he didn't mind taking her.”
Jenny laughed dryly. “Right. Except I'm starting to think that the problem is maybe that he likes Callie too much.”
“He's crazy about you,” Kara insisted.
There was another gentle knock on the door. Callie pushed it open all the way, hesitantly, like she wasn't sure if she was going to get something thrown at her. Immediately Jenny softened—it really wasn't Callie's fault, any of this. Except maybe the going out with Easy in the first place part, and no one could really blame her for that. “It's okay—you can come in. I'm not mad.” But the sight of Callie in the doorway—so skinny and elegant and gorgeous—made her voice quaver a little. Like she was about to burst into tears.
“Jenny, I'm so sorry.” Callie rushed over toward her, looking like she kind of wanted to give her a hug but didn't know how to, exactly. “I didn't … want you to find out like that.”
“It's okay. Easy was the one who should have told me, not you.” Jenny shrugged. She felt like a kid in her black tank top, with her tiny shoulders and baggy flannel pants. “And it's not your fault Tinsley's a giant bitch.”
Callie bit her lip. “I really don't know why she's like that. Maybe it's like a PMS thing.”
“I've never met anyone before who has PMS twenty-four/seven,” Kara put in.
Jenny shot Kara a pleading look and moved over toward the end of her bed to make more room for Callie, who was still standing in front of her. “So …” Her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath. “So, did anything, um … happen at dinner? With Easy?”
“No!” Callie replied vehemently. “It was just totally a friend thing. Things are weird with his dad, you know.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I think it was just easier because I already knew him.”
Kara gave Jenny a smile that seemed to say “I told you so.” Jenny smiled kind of weakly. It didn't really make her feel much better. Callie was always going to have known Easy for longer than she had—there was no way to get around that unless she figured out a way to reverse time. It just didn't seem fair.
One look at Jenny's face and Callie could see she was already on the verge of a breakdown. No need to mention their in-the-closet hook-up. What would be the point of telling her something that would upset her even more? Something she didn't ever have to know about?
Callie tried to sound natural. “Tinsley was just … being a bitch. She always wants to cause as much trouble as possible, you know?” She hoped she wasn't asking for bad karma by lying again. But really. It would have been cruel to tell Jenny about the kiss.
“I'd say she succeeded.” Brett flounced into the room, eyes all red and puffy. Her hair looked stringy, like she'd been running her hands through it over and over. She threw herself down on Jenny's bed. Jenny put her hand on Brett's shoulder, making Callie realize how much she missed having actual friends. Not like Tinsley, who only seemed to want to hurt people, or like Benny, who just wanted the juicy gossip.
“Are you okay, Brett?” Kara asked with concern. She was still wearing her party clothes—a romantic-looking blouse and dark flared pants. Cool clothes.
“I'll live. For now.” Brett kicked off her shoes and they clunked against the floor. “But if you guys are talking about how much guys suck, it would definitely be helpful.”
“Did you really throw a drink in Heath's face?” Callie asked Kara abruptly.
“Only because he really, really deserved it,” she replied. “He's such a skeeze. He was a complete asshole to me for an entire year, and now that I'm—whatever, not fat anymore—he thinks he can just turn on the charm and I'll fall all over him?” Kara's cheeks were pink with irritation.
Callie nodded slowly, not really understanding. Someone was going to have to fill her in. But throwing a beer at Heath was pretty funny. Heath always seemed to get everything handed to him on a silver platter—from grades he didn't work for to girls he didn't deserve. About time someone threw it back in his face. “Do all guys have such short-term memories?” She was, of course, thinking of Easy as she said this. Had he forgotten that he'd dumped her? That he'd had her for a whole year and then decided he didn't want her anymore? And then two weeks later, thought, What the hell? I might as well take her out to dinner, and kiss her, and Jenny who? Grr. It wasn't right to treat anyone that way, and Callie felt stupid for letting it go so far. “Is it, like, a testosterone thing?”
“You mean, testosterone makes them think with their penises?” Brett sat up in bed. “Well, that's completely obnoxious. It's not like we think with our ovaries.” Her hands were gripped into little fists. In fact, she looked even angrier than when she'd stormed out of the party.
“Let's not talk about reproductive organs,” Callie piped up. “It makes me a little squeamish.”
“Penis. Testes. Fallopian tubes. Uterus,” Kara barked out quickly as Callie pressed her hands to her ears. Everyone burst out laughing, even Jenny and Brett, who'd been looking like death.
“Can't we just agree that all guys are jerks? At least sometimes?” Callie rubbed the back of her neck, which was all in knots after the long stressful evening.
“Guys only act like jerks when someone lets them,” Kara pointed out, tracing her finger along Callie's quilted bed-spread. “What if every girl just agreed to stop letting them get away with it?”
“Then they'd have to learn to behave like human beings.” Brett twirled a lock of fiery red hair around her finger.
“Let's make a pact,” Callie suggested, suddenly interested in doing something to ensure that she wasn't going to let Easy jerk her around anymore.
“Okay,” Jenny said quickly, from out of her long silence. “How about we all agree to respect ourselves so guys will respect us?” She bit her lip. “I mean, if we all do the first part, the second part will just … happen.”
“Maybe we can work it into the responsible Owl essay,” Brett suggested, tapping her chin with her peach-polished finger. “You know, a responsible Owl doesn't let boys push her around, et cetera. It can be kind of a girl power thing.”
“Do you think we can all hand in the same one?” Kara asked hopefu
lly. “I mean, they probably saw The Breakfast Club in theaters when it came out. Giving us a collective detention is sort of, like, asking for it.”
“It could be kind of symbolic—like we have only one answer because …” Jenny gave a sheepish grin and paused. “We're kind of all the same, you know, underneath.”
Right. As ridiculous as that sounded, and it sounded pretty ridiculous, the girls glanced around at each other and considered how true it was. Jenny, in her pajamas, with her dark curls pulled into a messy knot at the back of her head. Brett, her eyes bleary but determined. Kara, who was almost a complete stranger, with her enormous greenish brown eyes taking in the scene, her cheeks flushed like she was actually excited about this whole weekend. And Callie—well, for once, she didn't care what she looked like. All she knew was that this felt kind of nice.
“A pact,” Callie repeated.
Grinning like they meant it, the four of them leaned forward and put their hands in a pile, like they were getting ready to do a field hockey cheer. It was kind of hokey, but like a cheer, it made Callie feel, at least for a moment, that she was really part of something. That maybe she wasn't so alone anymore.
30
A RESPONSIBLE OWL KNOWS HOW TO KEEP A SECRET—ESPECIALLY IF IT MEANS HE GETS TO KEEP THE GIRL.
“I can't believe Heath and I dragged a keg up here!” Julian exclaimed. He was standing at the edge of the roof, looking over the stone wall and down at the wrought iron fire escape.
“A half keg,” Tinsley pointed out teasingly from behind him. “And why'd you do that, again?”
“A pretty girl told me to.” Julian picked up a pebble from the gravelly roof, blew on it, and swung his arm back and forth a few times before flinging it out over the quad below, like he was skimming a stone across a pond.
“Do you do everything pretty girls tell you to do?”
“What can I say? I was raised right.”
He was certainly doing something right. After the party disbanded, Julian and Tinsley and a few others had wandered upstairs to the smaller common room that housed the TV and DVD player. Julian, a little shyly, had pulled from his messenger bag the library's copy of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. “Since your film meeting had to be postponed,” he'd whispered. Tinsley, at that moment, was thankful they weren't alone—otherwise, who knows what would have happened. Instead, while Lon and Benny snuggled up on the chintz love seat, the two of them sat a comfortable distance away from each other on the oversized sofa. Which sagged in the middle, meaning that they were slowly sliding toward each other, and at the beginning of each scene Tinsley had to move away or else she'd end up in his lap.