“I thought artists were supposed to be daring,” Brett teased, and pressed the little bottle into Jenny's palm, careful not to smudge her still-wet base coat.
Jenny picked up the polish and examined it. She could be pretty boring sometimes. Why not give something new a try? “Do you think it glows in the dark?”
“I guess you'll have to get Easy alone to test it out.” Brett had put the blue color on her toes already, and she wiggled them happily.
“We're supposed to go out to dinner tomorrow night,” Jenny confessed, pressing the tiny brush against her thumbnail and watching the polish spread. It was less Manic Panic, more blackberry glaze, and not bad at all. “It'll be nice—I feel like I haven't gotten to see much of him lately.”
“And how much of Easy do you want to see?” Brett asked suggestively, and shook a lock of her wild red hair out of her face, trying not to use her hands.
At the exact same moment, the door opened and Callie entered, wearing a stunning light blue Michael Kors dress and camel Jimmy Choo leather slingbacks that probably hadn't even appeared in the pages of Vogue yet. Jenny and Brett exchanged glances, but Callie was clearly set on pretending like she hadn't just heard her ex-boyfriend's name mentioned. In fact, to Jenny's absolute shock, Callie even sort of looked at her. It wasn't a smile, exactly, but it wasn't the same you-don't-even-exist-to-me look that Callie had been shooting her for the last few weeks, ever since she'd found out about her and Easy. Maybe she was thawing?
“Hey, Cal,” Brett offered, watching as Callie stepped around the two girls on the floor and headed over to her closet. “I like your dress—and shoes. Are they new?”
Callie threw open her closet door and stood there, deep in thought, as if she hadn't heard Brett. “What?” she said a moment later as, in one motion, she pulled the dress over her head and tossed it carelessly over the rack in Tinsley's old closet, which she had taken over the second Tinsley's things moved downstairs. “Oh, uh, yeah. New.”
Brett and Jenny exchanged a look. Jenny's brown eyes widened and she mouthed the words “Everything's new” to Brett. Brett nodded, looking concerned. Apparently Callie was notorious for overspending whenever she was feeling depressed. Last year, when she'd failed a chemistry final, she'd maxed out her Visa Platinum card at Saks.com, even though it had an unfathomable limit. Jenny could see Brett's eyes running over the stacks of shoe boxes. Enough to build a village out of cardboard. If Jenny's anarchist-communist father had seen them, he would have shaken his head and muttered something cutting about conspicuous consumption. Secretly, Jenny thought it was kind of exotic to treat depression in such an extravagant way.
Jenny leaned against the bed and watched as Callie stood in front of her closet, her bony shoulder blades sticking out even more than usual. Obviously she didn't have to worry about bingeing when she was down. She pulled a flimsy mauve dress, whose Jill Stuart tags still hung off the zipper, from the closet. “Can you zip me, B.?” she said absently, glancing over her bare shoulder, her strawberry blond hair swishing against her neck. She tossed a faint smile in Jenny's direction as Brett zipped her up.
“Hold on—you've still got your tags.” Brett bent over and grabbed the nail clippers from where they were lying near Jenny's toes. “Pretty dress. Where're you going?” Tiny strands of silver thread glittered in the light as Callie spun in a circle.
“Oh.” She examined herself in the full-length mirror next to her overcrowded closet. She wrinkled her nose guiltily, but clearly she didn't feel guilty. “Sorry. Secret Society only.”
Right, Brett thought, her feelings of tenderness for Callie immediately evaporating. If she was going to keep on being Tinsley's stooge, she could go ahead and zip up her own fucking designer dresses.
Brett sat back down on the floor across from Jenny, trying not to show her irritation. She yawned. “Have fun.” She made her voice sound as uninterested as possible, as if they were talking about a Latin class and not a party.
Wait a second … Was that the sound of people walking around on the roof?
“I would ask you to come,” Callie said, pulling a pair of dangling white gold earrings from her satin jewelry box, her voice dripping with fake sweetness that even the most tone-deaf social outcast could see through. “But …” She trailed off.
“That's totally sweet of you.” Brett opened the bottle of Crazy Daizy and took a deep breath. She wasn't going to let Callie piss her off and mess up her nails. Jenny was busy pretending to be completely engrossed in applying a clear top coat to her toes, but Brett could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. “We're actually a little busy here.”
Callie didn't look up as she carefully applied her Dior eye-liner in Precious Violet. “Right. Manicures. Go crazy.” She blinked slowly in the mirror, then loudly slapped the cap back on her eyeliner wand.
Brett's green eyes narrowed, but she kept a playful lilt in her voice as a blob of peach polish dropped off the brush and landed on her bare knee. “Granted, it's not giving Heath Ferro a lap dance or anything über-classy like that,” she observed tersely, getting a jab in about the last society party. “But at least I'll have nice nails in the morning!”
“Yeah, well. Have an awesome time.” When Callie opened the door to the room, dance music flooded in. “Later!” Her voice trilled insincerely as she slammed the door behind her.
“That went well.” Jenny giggled. “I mean, at least she looked at me.”
Brett felt a little nervous. “I don't know. I just hope she's not trying to be someone she's not, you know?” Callie seemed more Tinsley-like just now than Tinsley herself, and the idea of two Tinsleys walking around campus was truly terrifying.
YvonneStidder:What's on the roof? I got a big concert. Can't hear my sax.
KaraWhalen:It's Tinsley, etc. A kegger or something.
YvonneStidder:A keg on the roof? Cool! I'm there!
KaraWhalen:Good luck with that. Bitches only.
YvonneStidder:Hey, we live here too.
KaraWhalen:Do we?
SageFrancis:Get to the roof, stat, you lucky bitch.
EmilyJenkins:About fucking time! What should I wear?? My Marc Jacobs?
SageFrancis:Whatever. Just remember to kiss Tinsley's ass.
EmilyJenkins:Boys too?
SageFrancis:Um, no. And no Parker DuBois, either. Anyway, he's just not that into you.
EmilyJenkins:Whatev. I'm In!!!!!!!!!!!
8
A WAVERLY OWL DOES NOT ALIGHT UPON THE ROOF OF ANY SCHOOL BUILDING.
Thursday night was warm, and as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, the party on the roof started to heat up. Tinsley had kept an eye on the keg on the roof all day, checking to make sure it was securely hidden in the shade and replacing the ice in the cooler when it melted down. Standing on the roof now in her gold metallic leather Giuseppe Zanotti boots and Gold Hawk cream-colored silk skirt with hand-crocheted trim, paired with a simple white tee, the light wind billowing the skirt against her thighs, she felt—peaceful. Which, when translated, meant—bored. The taboo roof of Dumbarton was surprisingly dull: the brick walls shielded the girls from a view of anything other than the tops of some trees. The brightly colored leaves looked quite majestic as they faded into the dusk. Majestic and boring.
Tinsley leaned back in her plastic lawn chair, one of the half dozen that Sage and Celine had snatched from the storage room in the basement, and sipped her cold beer. All the Café Society girls were there, and she had almost forgotten that little Jenny Humphrey and bitchy Brett had once been part of this group. Almost. It irritated Tinsley that Brett Messerschmidt seemed so unaffected by her social dismissal. She'd expected her former friend to be ostracized by everyone at Waverly once it became known she was on the permanent outs with Tinsley Carmichael. But things hadn't happened like that. Brett seemed to be doing fine, still hanging out with the other girls when Tinsley wasn't around as if she hadn't been blacklisted. Tinsley was still waiting for Brett to throw herself down to the floor, kiss the toes of
her boots, and beg her to let them start all over. But Brett seemed so … over it.
Maybe it was because Brett was back in love with Jeremiah. Of course the star quarterback's girlfriend would always be popular—as long as they were together, that is.
The metal door to the roof banged open, interrupting Tinsley's thoughts. It was Callie, wearing one of her gorgeous new dresses. “The natives are getting restless down there,” she said pointedly to Tinsley as she stepped gingerly over a cinder block. “They all want to crash our party. Well, not Jenny and Brett,” Callie corrected herself bitterly, her lips screwed up into a pretty pink pout. “They're in my room giving each other gay manicures or something.”
Tinsley adjusted her tiered cream-colored skirt around and inhaled deeply. She surveyed the scene—Alison Quentin and Verena Arneval were dancing to the music coming from Tinsley's iPod. Benny Cunningham and Celine Colista were huddled around the keg, trying to design a new drinking game—one that hadn't been played ten thousand times before. Sage Francis was chatting with Emily Jenkins, their newest member, something Tinsley began to regret the second Emily appeared on the roof wearing what looked like a Macy's prom dress from 1991.
Tinsley sighed heavily. She didn't want to admit it out loud, but this party was … lame. She was bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. “Well, hell.” She stood up. “Let's invite ’em in.”
Callie's pink mouth opened in surprise. “Are you serious?”
“Why the hell not?” Tinsley strode carelessly toward the door, downing her beer on the way.
“Because it's like … Yvonne the British band geek, and that stringy-haired girl who has, like, a picture of Jewel on her door, and these …”
Tinsley paused and patted her hand against Callie's cheek. “Don't be such a snob, honey.” Her violet eyes sparkled with amusement. This could be interesting. “There's plenty of beer for everyone.”
“Whatever.” Callie rolled her eyes.
Feeling unpredictable and magnanimous, an SAT word she never thought she'd use to describe herself, Tinsley pulled open the creaky metal door. Several girls scurried out of the way, but a few others hung back, eternally optimistic. Well, why not give them a thrill?
“Hey, girls.” Tinsley's eyes expertly scanned the vaguely familiar faces—girls she had seen in classes or the cafeteria or maybe even in the bathroom, brushing their teeth at the next sink. Girls she didn't really know and girls she wasn't terribly interested in knowing. She recognized Yvonne, the nerdy band girl in her Italian class, who, with her tiny bird-like body and long blond hair, might be pretty if she didn't wear such dweeby clothes.
Magnanimous. Tinsley forced a smile to her red glossy lips. “Why don't you come up to the party? It's such a nice night.”
“Really?” Yvonne piped up. “You don't mind?”
Christ, Tinsley thought. Did she have to beg? “Sure,” Tinsley said through gritted teeth. “Come on up. Invite all the others—it'll be an all-dorm bonding thing.” Immediately she remembered that Callie said Brett and Jenny were having a mani-pedi party, one of the things the three of them used to do in better days. Days when they actually spoke to each other. She'd be dammed if those traitors were going to come to this party, all-dorm or not. “I'll go tell the third floor.”
Yvonne and a couple of her dopey friends ran downstairs, eager to spread the good news to the other Dumbarton dorks. Tinsley smiled to herself as she strutted down the third-floor hallway, deliberately ignoring room 303. She couldn't resist pausing for a second in front of it, however, just to see if they were talking about her. The room was quiet except for the low hum of a hair dryer. How disappointing.
An hour later, approximately twenty-five girls were crowded on the roof and sprawled out in lawn chairs, chatting excitedly. The more the girls drank, the quieter the music seemed—so the volume on the iPod sound deck had crept steadily higher. But everyone was too happy emptying the keg and dancing around the central air-conditioning unit to notice. The stars had come out, and Tinsley lay on her back on one of the padded lounge chairs next to Callie.
“You have to admit, this was a great idea.” Tinsley's voice was dreamy, and she couldn't help thinking that maybe the party would have been even better if some boys had been there. Namely, a tall, sexy freshman with bleached-out dirty-blond hair that hung to his chin. A perverse smile came to Tinsley's lips just thinking about Julian.
Callie opened her mouth to reply sarcastically, but whatever she was about to say was cut off by a sudden shout from below, somewhere near the front door of Dumbarton.
“Freeze! Who's up there?”
The girls stopped dancing, immobilized by fear.
“Don't move! We're coming up!”
Immediately, as if a fire had broken out or someone had announced a clearance sale at Neiman Marcus, the girls pulled open the roof door and flew down the stairs, desperate to return to their rooms before Marymount or Mrs. Pardee or whoever the hell it was out there managed to reach them. Looking almost gleeful, Tinsley scooped up her iPod sound deck and joined the mad rush down the back stairs, only remembering the nearly empty, abandoned keg when it was too late to retrieve it.
EmilyJenkins:Was that really Marymount? Are we screwed?
CelineColista:Totally.
EmilyJenkins:My first society party and Tinsley let all the losers come up? Hello?
CelineColista:Um … three hours ago you were one of those losers!
EmilyJenkins:Don't remind me.
YvonneStidder:Just wanted to give you a heads-up—Marymount and Pardee are knocking on all the first-floor doors. Asked why you and Brett aren't in your room—I said you were upstairs in Callie's. K?
TinsleyCarmichael:Are they asking about the party?
YvonneStidder:Not really. Pardee looks trashed. I think Marymount crashed her girls-night party.
TinselyCarmichael:Interesting …
To: Dumbarton Residents
From:
[email protected] Date: Thursday, October 3, 10:16 p.m.
Subject: Disciplinary Committee
Residents of Dumbarton dormitory,
I am extremely disappointed to announce that tonight, after a teacher reported a noise disturbance in Dumbarton Hall, I discovered a keg of beer on the roof of the dormitory.
All residents of Dumbarton are to appear before the Disciplinary Committee. The meeting will take place in board room 3 on the first floor of Stansfield Hall tomorrow morning, at 10 a.m.
Attendance obligatory.
Dean Marymount
9
A WAVERLY OWL ACCEPTS HER PUNISHMENT WITH GRACE AND APLOMB.
Brett was irritated about the last-minute Disciplinary Committee meeting, even though she did appreciate getting pulled out of her mind-numbingly dull chemistry class with Mr. Frye. At quarter to ten, just when the other students were strapping on their sweat-inducing plastic goggles and chemical-proof aprons, Brett, Benny, and Celine all gathered their things, and Professor Frye gave them an absentminded nod, his hands already full of clattering glass test tubes.
“This bites,” Celine grumbled the second the lab door closed behind them. “But at least we missed out on the goggles.” Celine's black hair slid in front of her eyes and she touched her fingertips to her smooth olive skin. “Those things leave indentations on your forehead for, like, an hour.”
“Today was my turn with Lon Baruzza as a lab partner,” whined Benny. “You know I've been waiting for that forever.” She gripped her stick-straight light brown hair in her fists and tugged in anguish.
“He does have a really nice ass.” Celine pushed open the front door of the science center and the three girls headed down the steps and toward Stansfield Hall. “But you could get close to that without having to be his lab partner,” she pointed out with a giggle.
Brett rolled her eyes, her mind on other things. It had sounded like the whole freaking dorm was on the roof last night. Not that Brett wanted to be there or anything, but it still would have been nice if someone had
asked.
Whatever. At least now she wasn't the one in trouble. As Benny and Celine prattled on, Brett kept her face composed, knowing she looked completely innocent in her pale pink Nanette Lepore baby doll dress, black leggings, and pale gray Sigerson Morrison ballet flats. She smiled to herself. Even her nails looked nice.
Once inside the Stansfield board room, Brett headed over to the committee side of the enormous table with Benny and Celine right behind her. Rows of girls in uncomfortable-looking folding chairs stared out at her from across the room, their knees pressed together primly, maroon blazers neatly buttoned. It was weird to see so many defendants for a DC case—usually it was one or two stray delinquents, although once the whole Thespian Society had been summoned after they famously performed Our Town wearing only Saran wrap.
Dean Marymount, wearing a tie with Van Gogh sunflowers splattered all over it, entered the room and immediately stopped short at the sight of Brett and the other DC girls sitting on their accustomed side of the table. “Ladies.” He made a shooing gesture with his hands. “Please take a seat with the rest of your dormmates.” He gave them a withering look as if they should have known better.
Brett's jaw dropped, and she glanced at Benny, who looked equally surprised. “Sir?” Brett spoke up. “But we … I—”
Marymount cut her off. “You three live in Dumbarton, don't you?” Marymount didn't wait for an answer and sat down at the end of the table, shuffling through the papers in his hands.