Part 3 (1/2)

Julian toyed with the frayed edge of his tight-fitting Pearl Jam T-s.h.i.+rt. A charcoal gray flannel s.h.i.+rt was tied carelessly around his waist. ”Well, leave no stone unturned, and all that.” ”Oh, sure.” Jenny raised her eyebrows and played along, wis.h.i.+ng she was wearing something more exciting than her chunky wool Diesel sweater. ”So, uh, what exactly is it you're looking for?” His brown eyes gleamed in the darkness, as if her question surprised him. Jenny couldn't help giggling. It was kind of fun to watch him struggle. He peered over Jenny's shoulder. ”My . . . uh . . . my lighter.” Jenny nodded sympathetically and tapped her nails against the cool bra.s.s doork.n.o.b. ”I'll keep my eyes open for it. What's it look like?” ”A Zippo. Silver, my initials-JPM-engraved on it.” He paused and grinned, revealing a tiny dimple below his slightly chapped lips. ”Have you seen it?” ”Sorry.” Jenny giggled and shook her head, conscious of how frizzy her hair probably looked right now. ”What's the P stand for?” Julian unwrapped his s.h.i.+rt from his waist and stuck his arms into it but left it unb.u.t.toned. His head b.u.mped against the empty shelf at the top of the closet-he was tall. ”Padgett.” ”Padgett,” she repeated, nodding thoughtfully. Must be one of those family names. ”That's cool.” ”Look, don't get me wrong,” Julian started, scratching his head. ”I'm having a good time talking to you and all, but, um, I'm not too crazy about the idea of getting expelled. And you probably don't want people to think you're crazy, talking to a broom closet.” ”Oh, right.” She giggled. ”Let me go do some surveillance.” Jenny closed the door softly and crept down the hall to the lounge. About eight girls were glued to the television, and they weren't going to move until their show was over, not even for commercials. She whirled around and almost ran straight into Angelica Pardee as she came out of the bathroom in a thick, flowered robe that looked like something from her grandmother's closet, her hair wound up tightly into a white towel turban. ”Hi!” Jenny said brightly, stepping to the side to let her pa.s.s.

”Hi, Jenny.” Pardee nodded, her characteristic look of annoyance spread across her damp face. ”Have you noticed that there seems to be low flow in those shower heads?” ”No, uh, I hadn't.” Jenny tried to keep her voice sounding normal, but she could tell from the way Pardee was looking at her that she must sound funny. She'd never won at a game of poker in her life.

”All right.” Pardee sighed and headed back toward her apartment at the end of the hall. ”I guess I'll have to talk to buildings and grounds about that too.” Her flip-flops thwacked against the polished mahogany wood floor, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake. At least she hadn't noticed the muddy leaves. Jenny waited until she heard Pardee's door lock before she threw open the closet door.

”Quick! Pardee's getting dressed right now, so it's the perfect chance.” ”You're sure it's safe?” Julian asked nervously, peeking out into the hallway. ”I'm kind of getting used to it in here.” Jenny giggled again and grabbed his arm, tugging him down the hall. Her heart raced and she felt like she was playing hide-and-seek. ”Just stop talking!” she whispered, slowing down when they approached Pardee's door. The two of them tiptoed past it, then toward the back door. Jenny didn't breathe again until the door was open, and Julian was standing on the gra.s.s outside.

”There,” she whispered firmly. ”Now, get out of here!” She tried to sound stern but a smile crept into her voice.

Julian exaggeratedly wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. ”My guardian angel. You saved my life.” ”Fine. You owe me one.” Jenny made a shooing gesture with her hands. ”I'll keep looking for your lighter, Padgett.” Julian gave her a funny smile that she couldn't really decipher. ”See you around,” he said finally, and then disappeared into the moonless night.

Jenny stood in the doorway by herself for a moment, taking a deep breath of autumn air before bursting into laughter. Her relations.h.i.+p with Easy might be on its last gasp, but suddenly it seemed other boys might breathe some life into Waverly too.

JulianMcCafferty: Hey, where'd you go?

TinsleyCarmichael: OhmiG.o.d, are you out? I forgot all about you.

JulianMcCafferty: I kind of noticed.

TinsleyCarmichael: Sorry 'bout that-something came up. I'll make it up to you.

JulianMcCafferty: Yeah? How?

TinsleyCarmichael: I'll see you tomorrow. We can fi nish what we started.

JulianMcCafferty: Think about the ways in which you can apologize.

TinsleyCarmichael: I'm thinking. . . .

10.

PRIVATE OWL CONVERSATIONS SHOULD HAPPEN PRIVATELY. AS IN, NOT IN PUBLIC.

Unbearably early the next morning, Callie stood in the doorway of her Latin cla.s.s, willing herself not to fall asleep on her Chloe knee-high-booted feet. The manage to get out of bed on Monday and Wednesday mornings was to set out a new outfit the night before. Today she wore her Iisli cashmere wrap sweater in the palest pink imaginable, a brand-new Theory black skirt with a kick pleat in the front, a s.e.xy pair of hand-crocheted black tights, and her black leather riding boots. But neither her s.e.xy outfit nor the adrenaline high from last night's girl-talk meeting could keep her spirits up-Latin was mind-bendingly boring, and Mr. Gaston, who, every Wednesday called on one student to recite five lines of the Aeneid from memory, did not make it any more bearable. She paused outside the door to his cla.s.sroom to take five deep breaths.

”Can we talk for a sec?” Easy suddenly stood in front of her, wearing his army-green-and-gold-striped wool sweater-the one with the holes in the elbows. Callie hated that she knew every piece of his wardrobe by heart. And that she had his schedule memorized and therefore knew when she could and couldn't expect to see him. He was supposed to be across campus right now, in Webster Hall. So what was he doing here?

”What's up?” Callie tried to make her voice sound apathetic, but she couldn't help it-the moment she laid eyes on him, she trembled a little. She tried to think about Mr. Gaston calling on her to recite a pa.s.sage from Ovid and that calmed her a bit-but also soured her mood. ”I told you we could talk before bio.” Easy placed his hand on Callie's arm and pulled her to the corner of the hallway, out of the way of people entering the cla.s.sroom, and stared at them knowingly. ”I couldn't wait that long. Look, I . . .” His voice trailed off. He did look kind of awful, like he hadn't been able to sleep last night. But chances were, it wasn't because he was thinking about her or anything-he was probably just playing stupid video games until 3 A.M. again. She steeled herself against him. ”I want to get back together.” With me? Or with Jenny? Callie couldn't help thinking. She stared at the dark circles under his eyes and wound the soft pink sash of her sweater around her fist. ”Wh . . . what?” She looked up just as Benny Cunningham, in an unflattering kelly-green-and-navy-striped polo dress-um, h.e.l.lo, horizontal stripes?-stepped into the cla.s.sroom, but not before giving Callie a giant, totally obvious wink.

”I made a huge mistake.” Easy's dark blue eyes looked sadder than she'd ever seen them. He was wearing a pair of Levi's that were begging to be thrown into the garbage, and he had a splotch of toothpaste at the corner of his lips. ”I really didn't mean to hurt you. I think I just needed some, um, time to think.” He gulped. ”But I love you,” he blurted out, as though he'd said it a million times before.

Callie bit the inside of her cheek, her heart aching in her chest. She'd wanted Easy to love her for practically ever. Okay, well, for months, and it had felt like forever. But his timing could not have been worse. Last night, in front of practically the entire school, she and Jenny had made a pact to put their friends.h.i.+p before Easy. Why couldn't Easy have said this to her yesterday?

”So you broke up with Jenny?” Callie asked suddenly, remembering that last she'd heard-from Jenny-she'd been the one to suggest they take a little time to think.

Easy stared down at his shoes. The worn-out toes of his brown Vans looked funny against the freshly polished marble of the hallway floor. ”Yeah, well, I haven't actually done that yet.” ”You've made everything much too complicated.” Callie couldn't look into Easy's eyes-it was too hard. She was afraid he'd be able to see through all her bravado and realize how much she missed him, and how much she longed to just lean into his arms and pretend it was last year. But it wasn't, and Easy couldn't make it all go away by just snapping his fingers. ”Just because you feel this way now doesn't mean you'll feel this way tomorrow. How am I supposed to know that you're not going to just change your mind again?” Callie looked down and suddenly remembered that her Chloe kitten-heel riding boots were the same ones she'd been wearing that awful day when Easy told her it was over. When she'd had to cross the quad, bawling, in front of the entire world, to go back to her room and hide and cry on Tinsley's shoulder, feeling like her life was over. That had been the worst day of her life-and she'd had some bad ones, like when she'd broken her collarbone falling off a horse and her kitten, b.u.t.terscotch, had been hit by a car on the same exact day. But nothing had compared to how completely rejected she'd felt when Easy had dumped her like that, so heartlessly and out of the blue.

Easy opened his mouth to say something, but Callie cut him off, tapping the toe of her boot against the hard marble floor. ”No.” She liked the way the sound of her voice resonated in the now-quiet hallway-it made her feel tough. ”We can be friends. That's it. You can't always get what you want, Easy Walsh, whenever you want it.” She hadn't realized how much she'd let her anger creep into her voice until Mr. Gaston appeared in the doorway of his cla.s.sroom, his black mustache twitching with irritation. ”Is everything all right here?” ”Yes, we were just finis.h.i.+ng up a conversation.” Callie nodded firmly and, with a last look over her shoulder, slid past Mr. Gaston into the cla.s.sroom, leaving Easy alone in the empty hallway.

She was glad she'd told him off and gotten the final say. Except she couldn't quite help thinking about how nice those words-those three gorgeous words-had sounded coming from his mouth.

11.

IT IS COMMON COURTESY FOR A WAVERLY OWL TO SHARE THE CONTENTS OF A CARE PACKAGE WITH FELLOW OWLS.

At noon, the mailroom in Maxwell Hall was pulsing with life as the Waverly Owls scrambled to check their mailboxes before lunch, hoping to find love letters, the new issue of W, or, better than all else, a package slip. Tinsley had to stand on her tiptoes to see into Box 270, on the top row. One would have thought the administration would have enough sense to give the highest mailboxes to the basketball giants and the lower ones to Waverly's less vertical. Normally, Tinsley didn't mind the stretch-she knew she looked kind of s.e.xy standing on her toes, her sweater rising to reveal some skin-but today she happened to be wearing her Miu Miu red velvet skimmers that were as flat as flat could be, with a short black cord Free People frock dress. The dress was sure to flash her behind if she tried to stretch too far. While Tinsley wasn't exactly modest, she wasn't about to give the entire mailroom a free show, either. Frustrated, she hopped up, trying to peek into the slot, her heavy leather Juicy messenger bag thumping awkwardly against her hip.

”Having trouble?” a voice piped behind her. ”I bet you're just praying for someone really tall . . . and handsome . . . and young . . . to come along and help you.” Tinsley rolled her eyes at the sound of Heath Ferro's voice, turning to face him. He was wearing a pale yellow Lacoste polo that looked blindingly new, the collar turned up. He looked like he should be golfing.

”Do you mind?” she asked, faux sweetly, determined not to let her irritation show. Was that supposed to be some sort of crack about Julian? ”Can you grab the mail from my box, or is that too much to ask from a superhero?” ”I could never refuse a damsel in distress,” Heath said gallantly, effortlessly reaching his hand into her mailbox. ”'Cept you have to promise to share.” He held out a coveted yellow PACKAGE TOO LARGE FOR BOX slip over Tinsley's head.

She laughed and rested one hand on her hip, not about to jump through hoops for Heath Ferro. ”Oh, I'm sure it's nothing you'd be interested in. Probably just the new La Perla panties I ordered.” ”You definitely have to share, then.” Heath pretended to faint as Tinsley s.n.a.t.c.hed the slip from his hand. ”I thought girls didn't say 'panties,' though?” ”They do when guys are around.” Tinsley made a beeline for the mailroom pickup window, Heath following like a puppy dog. Didn't he have anything better to do? ”Two seventy,” she said, handing the girl behind the counter her slip. She was quickly rewarded with a shoe-box-size package.

”Adea, huh?” Heath asked, leaning over her shoulder to look.

”How'd you-oh.” Tinsley looked down at the package, realizing her mother had included her middle name in the address: Tinsley Adea Carmichael. ”It was my Danish grandmother's name,” she mumbled, the rest of the address catching her eye. In her mother's elegant backwards-slanting cursive, it was marked to Box 207. Jesus, this was her third year here, and her mother still didn't have the right address. This had better be something good. The return address was her parents' Gramercy Park penthouse. Hmm. She'd thought they were in Amsterdam-her father was orchestrating some fancy business deal-but of course they hadn't kept her up to speed on their plans.

”I'll buy you a mochaccino if you show me what's in the box,” Heath bargained as Tinsley slid the package under her arm.

”It's your lucky day, Ferro.” She shrugged, and the two of them headed toward the coffee bar. She always needed a little pick-me-up around this time, or else she found it impossible to make it through her afternoon cla.s.ses.

”So, Julian, huh?” Heath glanced at Tinsley out of the corner of his eye, a perfectly angelic expression on his handsome features. The two of them carefully stepped over an abandoned J.Crew catalog as they made their way out of the mailroom.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He definitely knew something. And if Heath knew about it, then the entire campus wasn't far behind. She quickly put her hand on his forearm and gave it a squeeze, lowering her voice to the throaty register she knew made boys think about s.e.x, and nothing else. ”You know you're the only one for me, H.F.” ”Ha!” He pretended to eye Tinsley suspiciously but she could see that gooey look come into his eyes. Heath was so h.o.r.n.y that a little dose of the signature Carmichael charm was all that was needed to make him forget about Julian. For now. ”You're such a tease,” he said, holding open the door to the coffee bar and following her as she made her way toward the line. He ordered and paid, and Tinsley went to pick up the drinks from the barista.

”So, get this.” Heath followed her as she strode over to a booth in the corner. She dropped her box onto the table disinterestedly and slid onto one padded red-leather bench. Heath glanced around him-like that wasn't suspicious-before continuing in a hushed voice. ”My connection at the liquor store says he can get us some killer cheap kegs and even offered up his family's barn somewhere in town.” He stretched his arms into the air so that his s.h.i.+rt rose to reveal his tanned, tight abs. ”Think there's any way we could bribe Marymount to let us all go off campus?” Tinsley raised her eyebrows and dug into her purse. She pulled out the miniature Sephora nail file she kept with her at all times, prying the tape off the package from her mother. Not only did the nail file come in handy for manicure-related emergencies, it made her feel like Nancy Drew. Or MacGyver. ”What if I bring the idea to him?” The wheels were already turning-Marymount definitely owed her for keeping his secrets to herself. The Boston weekend had been weeks ago, and she and Heath and Callie had all managed-somewhat amazingly-to keep mum about catching him canoodling with the equally married Angelica Pardee. Now it was definitely Marymount's turn to thank her for it.

”Sweetheart, you're pretty, but you're not that pretty.” Heath grabbed for the package, but Tinsley pulled it away from him. ”You think if you ask him to let you have a keg party off campus and show him a little leg, he'll say yes?” ”No, dips.h.i.+t.” Tinsley peeked into the package, glimpsing the s.h.i.+mmery gold box with the word Teuscher on it. Mmm. Swiss truffles. These were definitely for sharing. She pulled out the box, opened it slightly, and removed the five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills that were neatly placed on top of the padding inside. Her mom always sent her cash, as if she didn't have an ATM card-and as if there were anything in Rhinecliff to spend money on besides tie-dye s.h.i.+rts and weed. Still, it was a sweet gesture. ”I'd be a little more creative than that. Spin it as something more legitimate . . . like a Cinefiles outdoor screening.” She was impressed with her own quick thinking. She really was like Nancy Drew, with a naughty streak.

Heath pounced on the chocolates, stuffing two in his mouth at once. Tinsley stared at him, a little impressed that he could simultaneously be so gross and still so handsome. ”Think that'll work?” he asked through a mouthful of praline.

Tinsley plucked a double-chocolate raspberry truffle from its delicate tissue bed and placed it on her tongue, allowing the luxurious flavors to slowly melt into her mouth. She leaned her head back against the booth and closed her eyes. Only when the round chocolate had completely disappeared could she be bothered to open a single violet-colored eye to respond.

”I know it will.”