Part 7 (1/2)

Kara laughed. ”It's not Heath. But you'll promise not to tell anyone either, okay? I mean, it would be really . . . weird if this got out.” Callie nodded as emphatically as she could in her drunken state. Her stomach was already started to gurgle, and she knew-unfortunately-from experience that once you started thinking about vomiting, that meant it wasn't too far in the future.

”It's, uh . . . Brett.” WOW! was right.

28.

A FORMER ENEMY CAN OFTEN BE AN OWL'S MOST VALUABLE ALLY.

Brandon hesitated outside the door of Easy Walsh's room, not quite confident he should be doing this. He hated Walsh with a pa.s.sion-the way he'd swept in like a vulture last year and stolen Callie away from him, and then the way he'd tossed Callie aside as soon as funky, cute little Jenny Humphrey came along, and the way he was tossing Jenny aside right now. He hated everything about him, including the way his jeans were always just so perfectly splattered with paint, so as to remind everyone in the entire world that he was an artist. Everything about him was just so f.u.c.king effortless-and it drove Brandon absolutely insane.

And yet, they'd had sort of a cease-fire moment when Brandon b.u.mped into him in the woods earlier in the week. Walsh had actually asked for his advice-like he wasn't even aware of the fact that Brandon was waiting for the day when he got expelled so that he could gleefully wave goodbye to him forever. If Walsh could be big about it and ask for Brandon's opinion on something, then, well, Brandon wasn't going to let him be the only mature one. Resolutely, he knocked on the door.

”Yeah?” a m.u.f.fled voice called out from the inside, distractedly. Brandon opened the door and stood in the doorway awkwardly. Easy was lying on his back on his unmade bed, hands cupped under his head, staring at the ceiling. Brandon reflexively glanced up to see if maybe there was something there-a dirty poster, or maybe some of those glow-in-the-dark star stickers, but there was nothing.

”Hey.” Brandon coughed. ”You busy?” ”Dude, do I look busy?”

Brandon bristled, but then Easy turned his head slightly and gave him a half-grin. If he was surprised to see him there, his face showed no sign of it. Thankfully, Easy's pothead roommate, Alan St. Girard, was off somewhere, probably making out with his new girlfriend, Alison Quentin, who was also way too good for him.

”Hey, everyone works in different ways.” Brandon shrugged, trying to look as casual as Easy.

”Definitely not working.” Easy rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He had on his requisite paint-covered jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt that looked like it had once-a long, long time ago-been white. Bob Dylan's harmonica was screeching out of the white iPod docking station. ”What's up?” ”I don't know.” Brandon picked up a notebook off a desk chair and placed it gingerly on the overflowing desk, then sat down. This was totally awkward. He was going to ask Walsh for girl advice? ”This . . . girl. She's driving me nuts.” Easy nodded slowly. ”The one at the party? Leather jacket? Free Tibet?” Brandon felt his chest puff up with pride. ”Yeah, Elizabeth. She's awesome, but she's sort of hard to get, you know?” Brandon played with the French cuff of his navy pin-striped Banana Republic dress s.h.i.+rt. ”The thing is, she's kind of like you-she's like a, you know, free spirit. Doesn't-want-to-be-tied-down kind of thing.” ”So you want my advice?” Easy rubbed his neck, sounding a little surprised.

Brandon bit the inside of his cheek. ”Uh, yeah. I like her. I want to be with her. I don't want to chase her away or anything, though.” ”Well, if she's like me, then you've got to just let her be who she is.” Easy sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Both his white socks had giant holes in the toes. Didn't his parents give him packages of new socks for Christmas like everyone else's? Even if they didn't-was it so hard to buy them yourself?

Brandon tore his eyes away from Easy's socks. He scanned the room, counting five paper coffee cups from Maxwell Hall-he recognized them from the little maroon owl on the white background. Either Easy or his roommate had a coffee problem. And both of them had a cleanliness problem. He tried to focus on what Easy was saying. ”I definitely don't want her to not be who she is-I just want to be with her as she, you know, is who she is.”

”That's cool then. It sounds like you just have to, like, be chill. Don't push. People like us get all defensive when other people try to change us.” Easy yawned hugely, revealing the two platinum fillings in his molars. ”But then, once you're in love, even if they're like me or Elizabeth or whoever, people can be willing to change. You've just got to get there first.” Brandon nodded his head slowly. ”That actually makes sense.” This was definitely the longest conversation with Walsh that Brandon had ever had. Maybe he wasn't such a horrible person after all. He seemed cool enough, willing to help him out. Maybe he was just better at giving advice about girls than following it himself. ”I'm going to give her so much s.p.a.ce to be herself, she's not going to know what to do with it.” Maybe it would work. He hadn't exactly been having a great run of luck with girls on his own. Maybe with the Walsh philosophy of love, he could actually get somewhere?

”Xbox?” Easy picked up a control and nodded toward his television.

”No, thanks, I got s.h.i.+t to do.” Brandon stood up. ”But . . . uh, thanks. This was really helpful.” He realized he wanted to e-mail Elizabeth-nothing fancy, just a little note to let her know he got what she was saying, and that it was cool with him. Why the h.e.l.l not? He was Mr. Open-minded.

SageFrancis: Weird, huh, that Tinsley wasn't at this meeting either? Guess she didn't know there'd be booze.

AlisonQuentin: I def had too much. Would have been good to share!

SageFrancis: Can't believe we've got another partay tomorrow.

AlisonQuentin: Seriously. HTF did Tinsley manage that??

SageFrancis: Think she gave Marymount a little something in return?

AlisonQuentin: Ew! Don't make me barf!

JennyHumphrey: How was the meeting? Sorry I missed it-got distracted at the art studio.

BrettMesserschmidt: Well, Heath's vodka didn't hurt. . . .

JennyHumphrey: The Cinephiles party sounds cool, right?

BrettMesserschmidt: Sure, 'cept for the fact that Cruella de Vil is running the show. Who seems to be MIA tonight.

JennyHumphrey: Maybe she's found some poor schlub to hook up with. Poor guy!

BrettMesserschmidt: 'Kay. I'm going to go see if Kara needs help cleaning up now.

JennyHumphrey: Have FUN!

29.

AN EAGER OWL IS WILLING TO TAKE MATTERS INTO HER OWN HANDS.

Of all the things Tinsley Carmichael had done at Waverly-many involving alcohol, some involving drugs, almost all involving boys-she had not once sneaked into a boy's dorm room-or, at least, not alone. And certainly not a freshman's dorm room, not even as a freshman. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Around nine o'clock, just as the carpet-munching meeting was winding down, Tinsley slipped into a pair of dark Citizens jeans and pulled on her thick black Patagonia fleece over her tissue-thin white T-s.h.i.+rt, zipping it up all the way so that she could sort of disappear in the dark, her cloak of invisibility. As she dropped out her window, her rarely used vegan hiking boots (a Christmas gift from her vegetarian father) sinking softly into the mulchy dirt, she felt a thrill of excitement. All right, so she didn't exactly need to sneak out her window, since it wasn't curfew yet . . . but it made things so much more exciting if she felt like she was being devious.

Wolcott, the freshman boys' dorm, was on the far side of Richardson, and Tinsley felt doubly amused at herself for not only sneaking into a boys' dorm room, but for choosing a freshman over all the other able-bodied uppercla.s.smen who would certainly be more than willing to open their windows for her. Which is kind of why she was even more excited by the fact that she was sneaking over to see Julian when, for whatever reason, he hadn't come to her the past two times-she felt like he kind of, well, understood her. Knew that she got bored easily, and was presenting her with a challenge.

She stood outside his window and tried to peek in, unable to peer over the windowsill. A light was on and the shade was half pulled down. Tinsley broke a thin branch off a nearby tree and stood on her tiptoes, tapping it gently against the gla.s.s. A face appeared and the window flew open-but it wasn't Julian.

Instead, it was some greasy-haired punk kid who was clearly trying to look more grown up than he was by letting a beard grow in. Unfortunately, his face wasn't really up for the challenge, and his growth was patchy at best. His jaw dropped at the sight of her. ”What the?” Then his eyes lit up. ”Hey? Are you-heyyyyyyyyy!” He was abruptly cut off as Julian shoved him aside and looked out the window. He looked fl.u.s.tered, to say the least. ”Hey. What's up? What're you . . . doing here?” Not exactly the reaction she'd expected. Tinsley straightened, feeling a little insulted. Maybe he should bring back his roommate-dork that he was, at least he was psyched to see her. Tinsley took a step backward. ”I thought I'd drop by,” she responded icily. ”But if you're busy, don't worry about it. I'll see you some other time.” A smile broke across Julian's face. ”I didn't mean it like that.” He glanced over his shoulder then leaned forward. ”Look, go down to the corner window, okay? Some kid on the floor left this week, and the room's empty. I'll meet you there in, like, twenty seconds, okay?” Tinsley smiled weakly. ”'Kay.” He was definitely going to have to do some kissing and making up after that reception. But she couldn't help feeling excited as she stealthily walked along the wall and counted down four windows. Almost immediately, the window opened, and Julian stretched out his hand to help pull her in.

”Thanks.” She dusted off her jeans as she surveyed the dark single. It was completely empty except for the dorm room staples that furnished every room: desk, dresser, nightstand, bed. ”This kid get kicked out?” ”Nah.” Julian shook his head and, to Tinsley's disappointment, pulled out the desk chair and sat down on it. If he wanted to play that way, fine. She scooted onto the desk and let her feet dangle just out of reach of his. Why wasn't he jumping all over her? Was he just teasing her? Since when did freshman boys have those kinds of skills? She was a little confused but also determined not to give in and just ask him what the h.e.l.l was up. If he was acting like he didn't care, then she might as well too. ”It was this kind of weird thing-I guess he had this girlfriend back home, in Montana or something, and you know, they'd like talk for about ten hours every day.” Julian leaned his chair back on two legs. ”I think he'd even flown home twice this year. But whatever. Eventually he dropped out. Back to Montana, I guess.” ”For a girl?” Tinsley asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows. Granted, the kid sounded like kind of a loser. But still-it was sort of a sweet story. She swung her leg out in a wide arc, trying to brush against Julian. But he was just out of a reach. ”She must be really hot.” He laughed. ”There are other things besides hotness.” Tinsley pretended to be shocked. ”Like what?” ”I don't know.” Julian yawned and stood up. He seemed anxious, like he couldn't really decide what to do with himself. He wandered over to the closet and opened the door, peering inside at the emptiness. ”Like, well, it's nice to have someone you can feel comfortable talking to.” He stepped inside, put his hands on the bar, and bent his knees like he was going to do a pull-up. ”There's just something very . . . s.e.xy about just talking to a girl.” ”Talk is s.e.xy,” she agreed. So that was what this distance was all about. She was surprised she hadn't thought of it sooner. Julian wanted to talk more. She thought back to the last few times they'd seen each other and realized that it had been pretty physically aggressive-they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. Relief flowed through her veins. She knew what the problem was, and how to fix it. Apparently he was the one-in-one-hundred-thousandth guy who'd rather talk than make out. Or at least talk and then make out. Well, that was what they were doing now, wasn't it? Tinsley gave a little sigh of happiness and lay down on her back on the desk, staring up out the window at the navy blue night sky. ”What else is important to you? In a girl, I mean?” Julian stepped out of the closet and exhaled thoughtfully, then bent over to retie his shoelace. When he stood up, his cheeks were flushed. ”She's got to be able to make me laugh . . . and she can't be afraid to make a fool of herself.” She smiled coyly at him. He was clearly trying to tell her something by saying he was interested in a girl who wasn't afraid to make a fool of herself-like maybe that she needed to throw herself at him for once. She pushed herself off the desk, feeling almost giddy and wondering if maybe it would be a good idea to make their relations.h.i.+p public after all? She walked toward him slowly, enjoying the way he watched her hips as they swung back and forth. That was more like it.

Talking and laughing was all well and fine, but there were definitely other parts to a relations.h.i.+p too.

Just as she was about to stretch her arms up and throw them around his neck, a horrible, piercing siren broke through the quiet night air, sending them both jumping apart. Tinsley looked up in disbelief at the flas.h.i.+ng red light in the corner of the room-fire alarm. The acrid smell of burnt popcorn suddenly stung her nostrils.

”s.h.i.+t.” Julian tugged her toward the window. ”You've got to get out of here-now.” ”One kiss before I go.” She threw one leg over the windowsill but stopped, waiting. Over the shrill screeching of the fire alarm, she could hear the sounds of loud freshmen boys jostling through the hallway. Any moment they'd be outside, and it would be too late. ”Hurry,” she hissed.

Julian pressed his lips to hers for a quick kiss, but before he could pull away, she kissed him back pa.s.sionately, clasping her hand to the back of his neck. After a few seconds, she pulled away, satisfied, and dropped to the ground outside. She dashed away, looking back to see if he was watching her leave.

Unfortunately, he wasn't.

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: Thursday, October 10, 9:20 P.M.

Subject: It Happened Tomorrow Night?