“Yeah. Thanks again for lending it to me.”
She waved me off and pulled the dress in question out of the closet, holding it up. “Do you want it?”
Was she offering me her designer dress? “You mean, to keep?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’m selling a bunch of dresses, but if you want this one, I won’t.”
I hardly thought she was hurting for money, but I couldn’t take her dress. “It’s nice, but no, you go ahead.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
She smiled. “Okay. It’s for a good cause and that dress will probably bring in three or four goats.”
“Goats?”
“Yeah, there’s a charity where you can buy people in less privileged countries stuff from a catalog, like a goat or chickens or water pumps and stuff. It’s a smart way for them to itemize donations so people feel like they’re giving something tangible. It’s kind of a crock, but the money still goes where it’s needed.”
“And you’re selling your fancy clothes to donate?”
She shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s my personal Gucci to Goats program.”
I laughed.
But her smile faded when she said, “My parents are so bourgeois, they will think nothing of buying a four thousand dollar dress for their daughter, but wouldn’t give one penny to a needy charity. It’s disgusting, really. But I do my part. I just e-mailed my mother, telling her I needed some gowns to choose from for the Halloween dance. Wait until you see what she sends in a week or so.”
All I could do was stare at my roommate in awe.
“What?”
I shook my head. “You’re going to run the world someday.”
She winked. “Probably.”
~♥~
All the girls who’d had their panties ‘borrowed’ were assembled in the lounge, sitting at the round tables and chatting, speculating on what we were going to do next. There were fourteen of us in all—like Emmie said, just from our floor; we knew Dave and his friends were behind the prank, but not how many of them were involved. We assumed fourteen, but it was hard to know for sure.
Kaylee and Celia sat with me at a table as I tried to catch up on my French homework. They were discussing the upcoming English Lit paper, which was almost identical to one I’d done back in London, so I was going to be a good environmentalist and recycle for that, but the French assignment was new.
Our fearless leader, Emmie of course, breezed in and took her spot at the front of the room beside the microwave and fridge. I closed up my textbook, not that I was getting much done anyway.
“Hi girls,” she said, causing a hush to come over us. “So, let’s get right to it. I think everyone got one of the note cards saying that we’re supposed to be behind the aquatics center tonight. Anyone get anything different?” she scanned the crowd, but no one spoke up.
She continued. “So my assumption is that they wanted to do a prank to get our attention.”
“Uh, yeah. And it worked,” Celia said. We all laughed.
“Yes, but we’re not going to play their little game. Now they want us to meet up with them, laugh and stroke their egos and tell them how clever they are.”
Glancing at some of the girls around me and taking in their expressions, I got the impression they were okay with that. It was, after all, a pretty clever prank, especially the pocket square thing. And any opportunity to hang out with the boys was a welcome one.
“What do you mean?” Celia asked.
“I say we do something unexpected. Show them they can’t just come in here and steal our underwear.”
“What do you have in mind?” Naomi, Chelly’s roommate, asked.
A slow smile spread across Emmie’s face. “I want to give them a taste of their own medicine.”
There was a second of silence as everyone processed this, until Chelly whooped. “GOTCHIE RAID!”
There were a few gasps and lots of laughs, but then everyone started talking at once.
“How do we know whose to steal?” Celia asked.
“We can’t know exactly who’s involved, but I suspect whoever asked you to dance last night for the last song, is the guy who has your underwear.” She pointed at me. “Start a list, will you, Brooklyn? Everyone write down who you danced with.”
“Wait, we’ll still get to see the guys, though, won’t we?” Chelly asked, obviously not wanting to give up a chance to meet up with some boys.
Emmie rolled her eyes, which was funny, since I knew she wouldn’t give up an opportunity to meet up with Dave, but she said, “Yes, Chelly. But we’re not just going to steal their underwear; we’re going to do this right and on our terms. Isn’t that better?”
“I don’t care,” she said, “They can keep my panties and take ten more pairs, for all I care, as long as I get some action tonight.” That caused an eruption of laughter.
I tore a blank sheet out of my notebook and wrote Jared’s name at the top and then passed it to Kaylee, who wrote down Declan’s name. I had been so wrapped up in dancing with Jared, I hadn’t even noticed she’d ended the night with him.
I was about to ask her how it had gone when she looked over at me, suddenly horror-stricken. “We can’t do this,” she whispered. “We could get expelled.”
“Really? Expelled over an underwear raid? That seems pretty harsh.”
She shook her head. “It’s not about the underwear; we’d be leaving campus.”
Right. Leaving the Rosewood campus was a definite no-no. I could hardly blame Kaylee for being reluctant when the stakes were so high. I wondered if Emmie had thought of this. “Do you think it’s such a good idea to leave campus?” I asked. “I mean, won’t we get busted for leaving Rosewood?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked quite smug when she said, “If we left on our own, sure. That’s why we’re going to get the dean to drive us.”
Counterplot Execution
I had to admit, once she explained it, Emmie’s plan was pretty good. Sure, there were ways we could get busted, like if we got caught up in the guys’ dorms, or somehow the dean figured out my backpack suddenly contained boys’ underwear. But if that happened it would be a misdemeanor and result in us getting a talking to—nothing close to getting expelled. And, Emmie explained, they only called home for major things, since most busy parents who shipped their kids off to Rosewood did so because they didn’t want to be bothered with day to day school stuff like silly school pranks, and trusted the Rosewood administration to handle regular non-life-threatening teenage behavior. So the chance of our parents finding out, if we did get caught, was very slim.
So it looked like the first part of her plan was fairly low risk and I did appreciate that. The second part—the part that she had stayed up until almost five a.m. to set up, was pure brilliance.
My only complaint was that Emmie was including me in it as her one and only co-conspirator for the first part. But it was also flattering that she trusted me, and maybe it meant she was really okay with that whole Dave thing and wasn’t holding a grudge or anything.
And anyway, I wasn’t about to chicken out. Girls who want to fit in don’t chicken out on stuff like this. And the new Brooklyn really wanted to fit in.
This was the first part of her plan as she explained it to us: As the school liaison, she knew that Dean Haywood had dinner with Westwood’s Dean Peterson every Saturday to discuss…well, whatever it was deans discussed about their respective schools. She thought maybe it was a hookup, but whatever it was, it meant Dean Haywood would be traveling to Westwood in just a couple of hours. Emmie was going to go to the dean and suggest that she and I go with her on today’s trip. That way, Emmie would reason, she could hand over her school liaison duties to me as I’d be taking over the following week, and she’d be able to formally introduce me to Westwood’s dean and school liaison (Dave) and help me familiarize myself with the school and their procedures. She was going to stress how necessary this orientation wou
ld be, especially for one new to the school, such as myself.
Then, during the deans’ closed door meeting in the Westwood offices, we’d steal the boys’ underwear while they were at dinner.
Simple.
Though simple didn’t mean completely bulletproof.
But like I said, I wasn’t about to chicken out, so two hours later and after some fancy talking by Emmie, we were in the dean’s nondescript sedan, driving over to Westwood.
Thankfully, Emmie sat in the front passenger seat and easily chatted with the dean about her summer in Europe.
I sat in the back, getting more and more nervous. No matter how many times I smoothed my sweaty palms over my kilt, they just got clammy again.
Until, “Ms. Prescott, I understand your dressage is coming along nicely.”
I glanced up at the rear view mirror; the dean’s eyes were on me. I nodded. “Yes, thank you. Coach Fleming has been really helpful.”
“I also saw you dancing with him last night.”
Okay. “Yes, that’s right.”
“May I remind you he’s faculty.”
Huh? “I beg your pardon?”
Her eyes darted up to the mirror again. “His coaching you is not an invitation to hook up, as you kids call it.”
There was no way to hide the blush on my cheeks. But I wasn’t sure if I was blushing because she was onto me or because she’d just mentioned a hookup. “No ma’am,” I choked out.
“And just to make sure, I’ve said as much to him. I don’t need my stables used as a brothel.”
Emmie snorted and then covered it up with a cough.
The dean looked over at her. “Something wrong, Ms. Somerville?”
“No, ma’am. Just a tickle in my throat.”
But wait, the dean had spoken to Brady? About us using the stables as a brothel? Oh my God, I was never going to be able to look him in the eye again. As though I hadn’t been humiliated enough by that almost kiss that was most definitely not an almost kiss.
I felt like I should say something, but my brain seemed to be uninterested in joining the conversation in any coherent way. And really, what could I possibly say? Brothel? Really?
“Ma’am,” Emmie said, coming to my rescue. “I can assure you that Brooklyn has not used the stables or any other location on the Rosewood grounds in any such way. Her relationship with Coach Fleming is strictly professional.”
“It’s true,” I said, thankful to Emmie for getting the ball rolling. “Our relationship is purely professional.” Especially since he’s obviously not interested, I didn’t say out loud. “When we danced last night, he was just being friendly.”
I kicked Emmie’s seat when she snorted again. At least this time, she was quieter about it.
I saw Dean Haywood’s knuckles begin to loosen up on the wheel; she must not have heard the snort. “Well that is what he said when I spoke with him last night, but I’m happy to hear the same from you as well.”
Ugh. So she had already spoken to him about this when we had our practice? No wonder he was so weird. And maybe it explained why he’d seemed to lose his feelings for me.
If he ever had any in the first place.
As the conversation drifted to other topics (thank you again, Emmie) I looked out the window and tried to figure out what I could possibly say to Brady now that things were going to be so awkward between us.
A few minutes later, we pulled up to Westwood and the dean pulled into one of the marked visitors’ parking spots out front. I got out and looked up at the building that seemed so different than it had just last night. Amazing how much can change in one day.
“Let’s go, girls,” Dean Haywood said after she got out of her car. As we fell in line behind her, I looked at Emmie. She nodded back and I took it to mean something like ‘stay cool’ and ‘I’ve got this’. At least, that’s what I hoped she meant. I was way out of my league on this underwear thieving expedition.
~♥~
Eight minutes later, after some super-smooth talking from Emmie (she was so convincing, I almost believed her story) we were on our own, sneaking down some back service hallway of Westwood. I’d met Dean Peterson and then Emmie had told them we were off to meet up with Dave, so he and I could officially meet—although Dean Haywood had remembered quite clearly that I’d danced with Brady, she seemed not to have noticed that I’d also danced with Dave. Meeting with Dave was the weak link in our plan—he didn’t even know we were on campus. Emmie assured me it was a non-issue, but it felt like a dangerously loose thread to me.
“How do you know where we’re going?” I asked.
She shot me a look over her shoulder. “Please. When you are the liaison and you have a boyfriend here, you find the unused hallways.”
“For what?”
She rolled her eyes. “Um, making out?”
“Right,” I said, feeling stupid.
Emmie shrugged and kept walking. “It’s not like we can sneak up to his room. He has a roommate, and if we got caught with me up there…”
She didn’t need to finish her sentence; surely Westwood had strict rules about entertaining members of the opposite sex in dorm rooms. In a few minutes we got to a set of back stairs and started up them to the second floor. “Do you know where Dave’s room is, though?”
“Yeah, look,” she handed me a folded piece of paper from her pocket. It was a rough sketch of the building with stars in several locations—underwear targets, I figured. “They’re on the second floor.”
“You made a map?”
“Well, yeah. We don’t have a lot of time. And I really would rather get in and out and then just go hang out by the Dean’s office so the guys don’t see us up here.”
I wasn’t arguing. “No, I think it’s great. I’m totally impressed. So you’re sure they’re at dinner?”
She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen to wake it up. “Yeah. Dinner started like five minutes ago.”
We got up to the second floor and she peeked out through the small window in the fire door. “Looks clear,” she said, gently pushing the bar across the door to open it out to the hallway. We froze and listened, but the only sound was the buzz of the fluorescent overhead lights. And my blood rushing through my ears, but maybe only I could hear that.
“Let’s go,” she said, unnecessarily; I was eager to get this over with. Sure, it was exciting, but the idea of getting caught by a teacher, or maybe worse, one of the guys, was enough to get me into near panic mode. “We’ll start with Dave’s room—if we have to bolt, I want to make sure I at least have his.”
I followed her down the hall to the third door on the right. She grabbed the knob, but it didn’t budge: locked. I glanced at her face to see if this was going to be an impediment, but she just looked more focused as she dug around in her pants pocket and pulled out some sort of tiny screwdriver. She shoved it into the lock, jiggled it around and the next thing I knew, we were inside.
“You’re amazing,” I whispered, seriously impressed by my cat burglar of a roommate.
“I only use my powers for good.” She waggled her eyebrows at me and nodded toward a dresser. “You get from there, I’ll grab Dave’s.”
I glanced around the room, taking in the posters and other things that made the room feel very masculine. On the side where Emmie was focused hung posters of guitars and people playing them. In the corner was an actual guitar case. “Does he play?” I nodded toward the case.
“Yeah. He’s pretty good, actually. But come on, Brooklyn, focus.”
I took a last look at Dave’s nightstand and saw a framed photo of the two of them together. They looked really happy. They are happy, I said to myself. Turning away, I looked toward the other side of the room.
“Whose is this?” I asked, quickly opening the drawers in the dresser, looking for the underwear.
“Abe, the guy who had yours.”
“Well that’s convenient,” I muttered and looked up at the photos tacked on his wall. Upon cl
oser inspection, I realized they were of him and other actors. And based on how young he looked, they were probably taken on the set of Lady Parts. Some of the photos were just of him.
Weird. “Kind of into himself, isn’t he?”
“What?” Emmie asked.
“All these pictures are of him. Kind of conceited, no?”
She shook her head. “He’s the least conceited guy I know. He hates those pictures, actually. He hates that time of his life.”
I glanced back at the photos, confused. “So why…”
“Dave says he’s writing his memoir and the pictures take him back to that place. He thought it was weird that he put up the pictures too, so he asked him about it. But seriously, we need to get out of here. Take a picture with your phone for later or something.”
I refocused on Jared’s underwear drawer “So what are we looking for, here? Tightie whities? Boxers, what?”
“You’re overthinking it, just grab a pair and let’s go.”
I scanned over the drawer full of…well, drawers and grabbed a black pair of boxer-briefs. Maybe the idea was to embarrass the guys, but there was very little about these that was embarrassing: this pair probably looked way sexy on Jared and just thinking about his muscular body in his underwear had me blushing fiercely.
“Ha, look at these!” Emmie said. I turned; she was holding up a pair of leopard-print bikinis.
“Oh my God. Does he wear those?” I asked, my face growing even hotter.
She shrugged. “I have no idea, but they’re hilarious. Turn around.” I did, offering my back to her, and handed her the pair of Jared’s so she could stuff both of them into the backpack over my shoulders.
Nodding at me, she said, “Come on, we have plenty more to get.”
With a grin, I nodded back and followed her to the next room.
Success
We managed to collect fifteen pairs of underwear (Emmie took two from Phillip, “just because he was such a douche to Kaylee”) and get back down to the first floor completely undetected. We slipped into the women’s bathroom, the same one Kaylee and I had chatted in the night before, and Emmie texted Dave to come meet us in the hall.
Within moments, there was a soft knock at the door. “Em?”