Unforgettable

  Perla camisole to be deliciously traceable, she shouldn’t have to be working at all.

  But Julian’s distance made her even more attracted to him, and she knew that was what he wanted. He’d snagged Tinsley Carmichael, after all, and he knew he’d have to stay on his toes to keep her. And so, as they’d lain together on the waterbed, she’d massaged his shoulders, getting increasingly turned on the more he resisted her charms. Just as she’d been about to make a real move, the Hummer had pulled up to the barn. She wished she’d thought to tell the driver to take the long way.

  After setting up the movie, Tinsley had glanced around and seen that Julian had disappeared. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, the fabric of her satiny BCBG cropped jacket cold against her skin. She wished the price of looking so good didn’t have to be freezing to death. Her eyes had scanned the crowd repeatedly over the next hour or so as she flitted back and forth, flirting with guys she didn’t give a shit about and talking to girls who bored her to tears, wondering how hard-to-get Julian was willing to be.

  Finally, her anticipation gave way to irritation, and halfway through the movie, she had had enough of the cat-and-mouse game. She abruptly stood up from the picnic table where she’d been watching Parker DuBois, the sexy senior from Belgium, smoke cloves alone by himself on a blanket, actually watching the movie. Tinsley was tempted to go over and sit next to him, but then she realized she was only interested in doing so if it would make Julian jealous—and since he was MIA, that seemed counterproductive.

  Instead, she strode around the barn, for a moment excited by the idea that maybe he was waiting for her inside there. Maybe he’d been planning on surprising her this whole time, and she’d been stupidly wasting time they could have been using to get it on. But just as she paused at the dark, partly open barn door, she saw movement in the distance, next to the silo. She recognized Julian, sitting down on something in the dark, and just as she was about to call out his name in triumph—she had found him!—she realized that he was not alone.

  And not only was he not alone, his face was glued to someone else’s.

  Only an idiot would have missed the tender way Julian’s hand stroked the girl’s arm. It was straight out of a cheesy date movie—leading guy touches leading girl in intimate, affectionate way that leaves the audience no doubt as to his feelings for her. For a moment, Tinsley could do nothing but stare, trans-fixed. She could practically imagine herself in one of the cozy, reclining chairs of a multiplex, watching this scene, somewhere near the end of a bad romantic comedy. Some corny song would start playing. Cue credits.

  Suddenly, she came out of her daze, her anger flaring through her veins like an electric current. What. The. Fuck. Julian, who she’d been fantasizing about all week, thinking about every spare second—and here he was, sucking face with someone else? How dare he!

  Tinsley’s pulse quickened as Julian pulled back and she could see the girl’s face. Her eyes zoomed in like a camera lens.

  Jenny.

  Something in her snapped. Jenny Humphrey, who thought she could just stride right into Waverly Academy with her puke-yellow suede ballet flats and her tiny upturned nose and her enormous boobs and steal any guy she wanted, regardless of who they happened to be seeing at the moment. She’d stolen Easy from Callie, and now she’d set her hooks into the one boy Tinsley actually cared about. Even in the moonlight, Tinsley could see her flushed pink cheeks with their sprinkles of freckles, her curly hair falling in annoyingly bohemian little braids.

  A wail rose up in Tinsley’s throat, but she somehow found the composure to keep herself from screaming at the top of her lungs. Instead her fists clenched, and, realizing there was something in her right hand, she glanced down. Julian’s lighter.

  She flicked it open absentmindedly, still staring at Julian and Jenny, knowing that the image of the two of them kissing was going to remain in her mind for a long, long time. Disgusted, furious, and far more hurt than she’d ever have admitted, Tinsley swung her arm and sent Julian’s lighter flying through the night air. She spun around on the heel of her patent leather Miss Sixty ankle-strap pumps, not even looking to see where it landed.

  37

  A WAVERLY OWL LOOKS TO SEE WHO IS WATCHING BEFORE THROWING A FIT.

  Heath Ferro must die. Heath Ferro must die. Brett could barely think of anything else besides how badly she wanted to strangle him. Of course they never should have trusted him—just when she was starting to feel like he was a real friend, she had to find out that this whole thing was some sort of amusing game to him, one that he couldn’t resist bragging about to the entire world.

  She caught sight of his familiar dirty blond rumpled head over by the tapped kegs, a thin white joint held to his lips. She stormed over to him, her bobbed hair slipping out of the rhinestone barrettes that held it away from her face. When she got to his side, she edged Alan St. Girard out of the way and pulled the smoking joint from Heath’s lips.

  “Wha—?” Heath started, but Brett cut him off. She pushed him a few steps away from the others.

  “How could you?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice at a whisper. But it was hard when she was so freaking mad. “How could you fucking tell everyone about me and Kara? I can’t believe we were stupid enough to trust you!” “Wait, what are you talking about?” Heath’s face immediately broke into a panic. His cheeks were flushed from the beer and weed, but he wasn’t even glancing at the joint Brett had stolen. His hazel eyes were wide with confusion and terror. “No way did I tell anyone about you guys! I swear on . . . like, whatever you want!” He ran his hands through his hair as if he was trying to pull it out.

  Brett paused. “You didn’t say anything? To anyone?” “No!” It must have been the combination of beer and drugs and frustration, but Brett would have sworn she could see tears starting to form in the corner of Heath’s eyes. “What—what about the photos?” he asked, almost timidly.

  She put her hand on his arm and gave him a little squeeze. He clearly wasn’t the culprit here. But if Heath hadn’t spilled, who had? “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I don’t know.” She handed the half-burned joint back to him. “I didn’t mean to flip out at you. But who else could have told everyone? The only person I said anything to was . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Jenny.

  Brett was suddenly aware of the silence around her. The sound of Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert chattering was the only thing she could hear. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she realized that everyone around her could hear perfectly what she was saying to Heath. If anyone hadn’t known about her and Kara before, they did now. Brett wished the ground would open under her feet and swallow her whole, and she could disappear from this miserable scene without a trace.

  She was about to turn her head and see how many people were actually watching, when Heath pointed at something in the air. “Holy shit. Is that . . . smoke?” Almost as quickly as the crowd had quieted down, it immediately buzzed to life. “Ohmigod.” The acrid smell of burning wood hung in the air, and quickly the party became absolute chaos as everyone scrambled to pick up their things and run away from the barn. Brett stared stupidly at the flames that were starting to flicker into the black night sky. She took a step closer. How the hell had this happened? “Is it on fire?” Around the corner of the barn, Callie and Easy suddenly appeared, Easy fumbling to button up his shirt, Callie tugging down her thick black sweater. Under her short skirt, her legs were totally bare, and she was carrying one shoe in each hand. Uh, hello? Pieces of hay or straw were sticking out of her hair like she’d been rolling around in it, which, judging from the tender way Easy placed his hand on the small of her back as they raced away, she must have been doing.

  “Fire!” Easy shouted at the top of his lungs, as if everyone was too caught up in seeing him and Callie appear out of nowhere, half-dressed, to notice the fact that the enormous red barn behind them was going up in flames.

  38

  A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS
THAT WHERE THERE’S SMOKE, THERE’S USUALLY A WHOLE LOTTA fiRE.

  Callie huddled against Easy in the backseat of an over-crowded limo-no one seemed to care about who rode where now that the fire department was attempting to put out the enormous blaze—still unable to believe everything that had just happened. As the Waverly Owls frantically scrambled to their waiting rental cars, eager to speed away from the scene as quickly as possible, Callie had seen Tinsley manage to turn off the projector and scoop up the film equipment. No one seemed to know what had happened to the barn, exactly. The scene reminded her of something from Gone with the Wind, where Scarlett O’Hara and everyone else had to flee a burning Atlanta. Creepy.

  As Easy stroked her smoke-scented hair, all Callie could think about was what had happened between them. They’d actually . . . had sex. Made love. Whatever. Everything between them was different now—they were somehow connected in this totally intimate, personal, incomparable way. She leaned into his shoulder, not caring how obvious it was that they were together. After all, pretty much everyone had seen them running from the barn half-clothed, and now Callie felt like everyone in the car was staring at her bare legs. Thank God she’d remembered to shave.

  She was kind of in a haze after what had happened—the sex part, not the fire. In sort of a twisted, dramatic way, it seemed kind of satisfying that the barn had burned down. It felt like something out of a novel, though Callie couldn’t have said which novel. But now the place where she and Easy lost their virginity no longer existed—which was far preferable to knowing that some day some dirty cow could be standing in the exact spot where they’d proved their love to each other.

  After the car dropped everyone off at the front gate, Easy walked her back to Dumbarton. They held hands and kept saying things about how crazy the fire was and how lucky they were to have gotten out before it took off, but the whole time they talked, the secret of what they had just shared was lingering right beneath the surface, and they kept exchanging sheepish, happy glances at each other.

  “I love you,” she whispered into his ear, standing on the marble steps of Dumbarton. It felt delicious to say it, and to know he was going to say it back.

  He touched her chin and kissed her roughly on the forehead. “Love you, too.” She wished he could have stayed forever.

  But he couldn’t, as she had a dorm room and a roommate to go back to—one who wouldn’t be too pleased to see her and Easy together. So she reluctantly parted from him and made her way upstairs. She pushed open the door to her room. Jenny was already changing into her pajamas, which were red waffle knit and covered with little goldfish. Callie smiled at the sight of her, still feeling on top of the world and flush with goodwill for everyone on the planet. She flopped down on her bed, enjoying the feel of her ultra-soft down comforter on her chilled legs. “God, that was totally insane, wasn’t it?” Jenny turned around to face her, a strange expression on her face. “What, you mean the fact that you’ve been lying to me all this time?” Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence, the way it did when she was about to cry, and Callie wondered if she was going to burst into tears. But she didn’t.

  Callie sat up in bed, confused. Why was everyone always mad at her all the time when she was just trying to be nice? “What are you talking about?” Jenny’s huge brown eyes almost bugged out of her head. “What about the pact we made—that both of us were going to put Easy behind us?” She shook her head slowly, her eyes not angry so much as puppy-dog sad. “Did that mean nothing to you?” Callie stood up awkwardly. She was horrible at dealing with disappointment—even though she’d lived with her mother long enough to get good at it. Whenever someone told her she’d let them down, she couldn’t help feel defensive. She strode over to her mirror and pretended to brush her hair, but really she was searching for hickeys. “I really don’t understand what the big deal is.” The words came out a little more icily than she wanted, but she wasn’t going to back down. “I thought you’d moved on to Julian by now, anyway. You were all excited about him the other day.” “You don’t even get it, do you?” Jenny’s eyes flared up with anger and she stalked over to her dresser, not letting Callie avoid her. “It’s not even about Easy. It’s about you.” Her voice softened as she played with her metal tray of barrettes, picking one up and then dropping it back into place. “I thought we were really friends now, but obviously I was wrong.” That pissed Callie off. They were friends—or at least, they had been until she had to go and get all judgmental on her. Callie narrowed her green eyes right at Jenny. “Don’t you think this is a little ironic? You yelling at me for being with Easy, who was my boyfriend before you stole him away!” Jenny gasped, reeling backward, her cheeks flushed with fury. “This is not about Easy!” she shouted.

  “Funny,” Callie spat back, tugging off her sweater and really hoping there weren’t any hickeys in any other spots. It had felt like Easy was kissing every inch of her body an hour ago. “That’s not what it sounds like.” “I can’t believe I even expected you to be a person about this.” Jenny threw back the covers to her bed and fluffed her pillow with vicious force. “I should have known better. And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, either, by the fact that you and Easy would be so stupid and selfish as to light the whole barn on fire with your gross smoking habit!”

  It was Callie’s turn to gape. She pulled on her pink-and-red-striped Ralph Lauren pajama top. “What are you talking about?” she demanded, feeling panicky. “We definitely did not start that fire.” “Really?” Jenny’s hands were placed on her curvy hips. She looked ready to rip Callie’s head off—or get her expelled or something. She’d never looked so passionate before. “Well, I saw the two of you in the barn, smoking. So it doesn’t sound like it’s that impossible.” “You saw us?” Callie gasped, tightening the drawstring bottoms around her slim hips. “Then how do I know you didn’t start the fire to try and kill us because you were so jealous?” It suddenly made perfect sense to Callie. Jenny had started the fire and was only pretending to be upset about something else, when really she felt guilty and scared that she might get busted. “That sounds like motivation to me.” Jenny stuffed her feet into her thick crocheted slippers with the faux-shearling lining that looked like they’d been around since the eighties. “Yeah, it probably would.” And then she flounced out the door, her curly boho braided hair bouncing behind her.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  BennyCunningham: That was so scary. I can’t believe we almost, like, went up in fl ames. . . . I felt so vulnerable.

  LonBaruzza: You were nowhere near the barn, you tease. You just like to be the damsel in distress.

  BennyCunningham: Whatever. Still can’t get over the sight of Callie and EZ running half-naked from the barn. So much for their secret affair.

  LonBaruzza: You know the saying: there’s no girlfriend like an ex-girlfriend! Think their fl aming passion set the barn on fi re?

  BennyCunningham: Gross. Everyone knows they smoke like fi ends. . . . I wouldn’t be surprised. I hope they don’t get expelled!!

  LonBaruzza: Dunno. I saw Tinsley sneaking around back there too. Maybe she did it.

  BennyCunningham: Hmph. Why were you watching HER?

  LonBaruzza: Doesn’t everybody?

  AlanStGirard: Think Callie and EZ fi nally did the deed? They really got caught with their pants down!

  HeathFerro: Pretty sad if Walsh couldn’t manage to seal the deal. Had my money on him ending up w/Miss Boobs, tho.

  AlanStGirard: Come to think of it . . . I DID see Jenny back there too. Think they had a threesome on?

  HeathFerro: Insert H.F. in Walsh’s spot, por favor.

  AlanStGirard: Speaking of threesomes—you and Brett and Kara? Are they just lezzies or do you have something kinkier going on?

  HeathFerro: Please. There’s not a girl on campus not interested in going for a pony ride. . . .

  AlanStGirard: What kind of answer is that?

  HeathFerro: The only one you’re getting.

&nb
sp; SageFrancis: Wacked-out party. Don’t even know how to begin to digest all the juicy shit that hit the fan. Can you believe our prefect is a lesbian?

  AlisonQuentin: So what? Kara’s hot. If I weren’t into Alan, who knows, maybe I’d go for her.

  SageFrancis: As if. You’re as straight as they come.

  AlisonQuentin: Did you see poor Brandon’s new girlfriend making out with skeezoid Brian Atherton? HTF did that happen?

  SageFrancis: Poor BB. Girls always seem to treat him like dirt. At least the ones he picks.

  AlisonQuentin: Oh yeah? Are you volunteering to cheer him up?

  SageFrancis: Maybe. But I don’t know if I can date a guy who’s prettier than me!

  AlisonQuentin: BTW, did anyone watch the movie?

  SageFrancis: What movie???

  39

  HAVING A TRUE FRIEND MEANS NEVER HAVING TO SAY YOU’RE SORRY—BUT A GOOD OWL SAYS IT ANYWAY.

  Jenny stormed out of Dumbarton in her pajamas, wishing she had one of those rubber balls you’re supposed to squeeze when you’re stressed or frustrated or angry. She stomped down the stairs, her slippers padding softly against the marble, making her wish she still had her big, heavy boots on—she wanted to stomp and be loud and make noise. Although maybe that wasn’t the best idea, as it was almost curfew. But she couldn’t have stayed in her dorm room for one more second, not with Callie lying to her face and trying to make it not seem like a big deal because of Julian.