“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 space 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 shit 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 hell 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-shirt, 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 upperclassmen 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 glass. 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 flustered, 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 hell 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 . . . sexy about just talking to a girl.” “Talk is sexy,” 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 relationship 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 relationship 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 flashing red light in the corner of the room—fire alarm. The acrid smell of burnt popcorn suddenly stung her nostrils.
“Shit.” 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 passionately, 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?
Elizabeth,
Waverly’s film club is having an outdoor screening of It Happened One Night tomorrow at 7 P.M. at the Miller farm in Rhinecliff. Don’t know if you can get away from campus, but it should be a lot of fun. (Popcorn, old movies, and beer—what more could you ask for?)
About what you were saying today—I get where you’re coming from. I just like being with you, and I’m happy to do it on your terms or any terms. Call me Mr. Open!
Hope you can make it tomorrow . . .
Brandon
BrettMesserschmidt: Just e-mailed you the pic. Did you open it yet?
HeathFerro: Hell yeah! It’s pretty close up—I can’t really tell what body parts are there, though.
BrettMesserschmidt: What, you don’t like it??
HeathFerro: R U kidding? I love it! It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen—next to the two of you, in the fl esh. It’s going to bring me sweet dreams tonight.
BrettMesserschmidt: Excellent. You can look forward to many more, as long as you keep your mouth closed.
HeathFerro: I promise, I promise, I promise. Just tell me: is that a belly button?
30
A WAVERLY OWL NEVER TAKES CRITICISM TO HEART.
“I have a surprise for you today, my little peanuts,” Mrs. Silver announced at the beginning of drawing class on Friday afternoon. “You’ve all been working so hard, so instead of having a regular class today, we’re going to have an art show. Hang up what you’ve been working on—let’s say, the favorite three things you’ve done in the past few weeks—so that we can all see how talented you are.” Her eyes twinkled as she picked up a large Tupperware container on her desk. “And everyone, please—take a cupcake!” “She’s always trying to fatten us up,” Alison grumbled good-naturedly as she picked up a chocolate cupcake topped with brightly colored sprinkles. She licked a bit of frosting off her thumb. “Just like Hansel and Gretel.” “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Jenny chided. Alison was like a size nothing. She picked up a cupcake with gooey pink frosting and set it down on her desk. “Come on—hang artwork first, eat cupcakes later. Otherwise you’ll get frosting on your beautiful drawing of Alan.” Alison giggled. “That’s for the figure-drawing class. Do you think we can hang those up now?” Jenny nodded. “Sure. They’re due today, anyway.” Jenny thumbed through the stack of drawings on her shelf. Ones from both classes, portraiture and figure drawing, were mixed in with each other. She plucked out one Crayola portrait of Alison she’d done the other day. And then she pulled out two of the drawings that she’d completed last night: one of Julian perched awkwardly in the armchair, pretending to be comfortable, and another one just from his shoulders up, his head thrown back in laughter. It made Jenny smile just to look at them.
“How did you know Alan was my subject?” Alison asked suddenly, unrolling a sheet of thin newsprint paper.
“Lucky guess.” Jenny gave her a little hip-check before walking over to the white, smudged walls, filled with hundreds of thumbtack holes from previous art class presentations. She tried not to glance at Easy’s shelf, with his sloppily written label, or wonder who he had chosen as his subject for the advanced figure-drawing assignment.
After the girls had thumbtacked their drawings to the wall, they stood back to admire them. Alison’s was a dreamy-looking charcoal drawing of Alan lying on his side, smiling a sweet, stoned smile. “That’s really good.” Jenny tilted her head objectively. “He looks so sweet.” “He is so sweet,” Alison cooed under her breath. “I love yours too. Julian just looks so . . . happy.”
After reclaiming their cupcakes the girls wandered around the room, examining the portraits intently. They stepped up close to peer at the brushstrokes or lines, then stepped back to absorb the full effect. Jenny felt like one of those old ladies who travel to art museums in pairs and always have something to say about Monet or Hopper. As the sugar from her cupcake raced through her veins, and she and Alison congratulated their classmates on their portraits, Jenny felt relaxed and happy. Mrs. Silver had put on some kind of Motown music and she was feeling a little swing return to her step.
And she kept smiling to herself thinking about how just last night, she and Julian had been alone in here, flirting and laughing. It gave the whole art building a kind of charge, like she knew something about it that no one else knew. Just thinking about Julian made Jenny feel better about everything. She wondered what this past week would have felt like if she hadn’t had him as a distraction. He’d definitely managed to help take her mind off Easy, off Callie, off everything except how nice it was to be at Waverly and to be an artist and to be alive.
“Wow,” Alison said under her breath. “Look at this.” Jenny didn’t have to glance at the sloppy signature in the corner to tell that the next painting, propped up on an easel, the oil paint still slick and glistening, belonged to Easy. It was hard to say what it was, exactly. It was abstract, and certainly not like any of the other paintings or drawings in the room. Jenny felt a little stab of pride for him—Easy was such a good artist. The painting was a hard-to-define system of swirls and thick brushstrokes, of pinks and peaches and pale green highlights, but somehow it pulled together to actually kind of feel like a portrait, of someone or something.
“He’s crazy talented,” Jenny agreed. Just then, a familiar looking-shape off to the right side of the painting caught her eye, and, like one of the museum ladies, she squinted her eyes and stepped closer. It was a strawberry-shaped mark and it made Jenny think of something, but the more she concentrated, the more that something slipped away from her. She tried to shake her head clear of the thought. Maybe it just reminded her of a strawberry.
“Jenny? Come over here a second, please” She turned at the sound of Mrs. Silver’s voice and saw that she was standing in front of her drawings of Julian. She hurried over, and Mrs. Silver placed a doughy hand on her shoulder. “I’d just like to congratulate you, darling. The way you’ve posed your model emphasizes his extreme height, and the way you’ve chosen this sort of moment to represent—something as ephemeral and difficult to capture as laughter—wel
l, you do it quite extraordinarily.” “Really?” Jenny’s cheeks flushed pink with pride, thrilled to have her work complimented by Mrs. Silver, who, although always encouraging, was never insincere with her praise. She only said things she really meant.
“Oh, yes, dear.” Mrs. Silver squeezed her shoulder gently. “And this drawing truly captures the rapport you have with your subject.” She patted her frazzled gray hair absent mindedly, reaching for a pencil behind her ear that wasn’t there. She focused her gray-blue eyes on Jenny. “It also reveals that you’re very fond of him. It’s absolutely wonderful that you can translate that emotion into art.” Mrs. Silver talked to her a few minutes longer, giving her a formal critique of her lines and contrasts and perspectives. Jenny jotted notes down in her sketch pad but her brain was still fuzzy.
Her portrait of Julian revealed how fond she was of him? Really? Well, wasn’t that interesting. She had always thought art was the window to her soul. Maybe it was. . . .
To: Undisclosed recipients
From:
[email protected] Date: Friday, October 11, 1:45 P.M.
Subject: Pimpin’ your rides
Fellow partyphiles,
I’ve taken the liberty of organizing a shuttle service from the front gate to the Miller farm on behalf of our gracious hostess, the ever-charming and sexilicious Tinsley, who so kindly put together this event. Complimentary beverages included.
Cars are as follows:
Mine—Kara/Brett/me
Next—Callie/Benny/Jenny/Sage
Next—Easy/Alan/Allison/Brandon