“I thought you were the one who sailed halfway around the world with the America’s Cup when you were, like, eight years old,” Heath tossed back. Tinsley smiled, satisfied that he still remembered random facts about her life. “Why was I the one tying the knots when you’re supposed to be the expert?”
“Aw, Heathie, do you need help with your knots?” Tinsley practically purred. “Didn’t you learn that in kindergarten like everyone else? Or should we get you some Velcro sneakers?”
Heath’s grin widened as laughter swelled around the table. His green eyes met Tinsley’s, amused, and he shrugged as if to say you got me.
Tinsley reached over and picked up one of the strawberries she’d piled onto her plate, feeling oddly pleased with herself. Was she really having a good time with Heath Ferro? Weren’t there warnings about him all over the girls’ bathroom stalls on the Waverly campus? Maybe across all of New York State?
“Why don’t you teach me everything you know about tying knots?” Heath suggested when the jeering had calmed down. He smiled at Tinsley suggestively. “Since bondage is apparently your thing. Feel free to demonstrate.”
Tinsley opened her mouth to deliver a stinging putdown, but before she could get a word out, Heath had turned away.
Isla was sitting down on his other side, letting her tray clatter against the table and slithering into her seat with a writhing motion that had all the boys gaping. Tinsley fought back the urge to glare at the table at large. Had they all missed the lesson about eating with their mouths closed?
“Hey, Match,” Sebastian drawled, smiling at Isla. Tinsley glared at him on Brett’s behalf, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“How did you like the Three-Legged Race?” Heath asked eagerly, like his own personal happiness hinged on Isla’s answer.
“If you have the right cocktails, you can have a good time doing anything,” Isla said, sending her flirty little look from Heath to Sebastian and then back again. Tinsley entertained a graphic fantasy of smashing her strawberry sundae on top of Isla’s so-careless-it-obviously-took-seven-hours ponytail, and watching it drip, cold and punishing, all the way down into the bateau neckline of her emerald green Elizabeth and James tunic, until it ran down her jeans and collected in a frigid pool in her Kate Spade flats.
“That is an evil smile,” Brett said in a low voice, sliding into the seat next to Tinsley. Her eyes shifted toward Sebastian before settling back on Tinsley.
“You’re just in time,” Tinsley said in an undertone. “Her Majesty has just decided to grace us with her presence.” She arched her eyebrows, inviting Brett to join her in the Isla-hate. She felt bad that Brett’s boyfriend was one of the fools slobbering over the girl, but she couldn’t deny that she loved having Brett there to commiserate.
“So,” Ryan Reynolds said, leaning forward and smiling at Isla, flashing his dimples. Tinsley and Brett looked at each other in disgust. “What was Valentine’s Day like at your old school?”
“We make kind of a big deal out of it here,” Lon Baruzza chimed in, training his dark eyes on Isla as if no other girl existed.
“Did you do anything special last year?” Heath asked, with emphasis on the word special.
“Oh, please!” Brett huffed under her breath, and Tinsley rolled her eyes. Talk about a lame attempt to find out about Isla’s love life.
Isla played with the ends of her dark hair. “As a matter of fact,” she said, drawing the words out until all the guys were leaning forward and practically falling out of their seats, “my old boyfriend, Xander, and I got some ink last year.” She smiled a mysterious smile. “His is on his shoulder.” She waited a beat, letting the suspense build. “But mine… isn’t.”
Brett glared at Sebastian, who was too busy sitting there, listening and even smiling, to notice her angry stare. He’d barely glanced away from Isla when Brett had arrived at the table, and instead of a kiss or a smile, she’d received a nod of the head—the kind of acknowledgment Sebastian might give a familiar-looking freshman guy, not his girlfriend.
Brett was feeling more and more frustrated. After escaping the Dresden house yesterday, she and Tinsley had stayed up late in their room, doing more Isla “research” to figure out her big, bad secret. But despite combing every Web site they could think of, from Google searches to MySpace to the sites for all her old schools, they hadn’t found a thing. Isla didn’t even have a Facebook page! They’d given up at about 3 A.M., but Brett still couldn’t sleep after that. She’d tossed and turned half the night, finally grabbing a few hours close to daybreak.
Isla laughed again and batted her eyes at Sebastian. Brett felt her temper skyrocket.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and Brett pulled it out. She raised her eyebrows when she saw it was a text from Tinsley, who was holding her own phone under the table, guerilla-style. Brett suppressed a smile, impressed by her friend’s inventiveness. You couldn’t let guys see you being bitchy toward other girls. They lived in a fantasy world where girls were as sweet and as nice to one another as they pretended to be. Which meant that girl warfare had to be taken underground.
Brett clicked open the text.
TinsleyCarmichael: I might throw up.
BrettMesserschmidt: Tell. Me. About. It.
TinsleyCarmichael: But I think we have a clue to Isla’s past, finally… How many Xanders can there be at her old school??
Brett glanced up at her violet-eyed friend. A wicked smile was sliding across Tinsley’s flawless face. Down the table, Isla was still flipping her hair, acting coy as the boys played twenty questions, trying to guess what tattoo she’d gotten—and where.
But for the first time, Brett didn’t even mind. Maybe she and Tinsley would have to speak to every Xander they could find. Maybe they’d have to drive to Isla’s old school and question him personally. It didn’t matter. They’d do whatever it took.
* * *
OwlNet
Instant Message Inbox
* * *
BennyCunningham: Get ready for the Love at Waverly slideshow! I’m totally submitting that photo of you from freshman year when you passed out into your birthday cake.
SageFrancis: You promised me that photo was deleted!
BennyCunningham: Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. Where’s that disgusting photo you took of me dancing last year? The one where I have seven chins and look like I’m about to make out with my own reflection?
SageFrancis: You know exactly where it is: a safe and secure place. Show anyone that cake face-plant picture and I’ll send the one of you in immediately.
BennyCunningham: Right back at you, sweetie.
* * *
OwlNet
Instant Message Inbox
* * *
HeathFerro: I believe that the spirit of Love at Waverly is best represented by that picture of you cuddling up to sleep on Reynolds’s lap in the Richards common room last semester.
AlanStGirard: Dude. I was passed out! You should ask Reynolds why he didn’t move when I fell on him. Homo.
HeathFerro:: It’s because you’re so pretty.
AlanStGirard: Like I can’t find just as many ridiculous pictures of you.
HeathFerro: Go right ahead. You seem to have forgotten that I have no shame.
* * *
OwlNet
Instant Message Inbox
* * *
RifatJones: If I have to sit through one more slideshow filled with all those annoying pictures of freshmen linking arms and hugging when they obviously met five minutes ago, I will scream!
VerenaArvenal: I hear you. But they’re the only ones who can submit anything—all of our pics violate the Honor Code….
19
A WAVERLY OWL EMBRACES GOOD ADVICE.
Brandon slumped against the back of his seat at one of the high coffee-bar tables in Maxwell on Friday morning, wishing he could disappear into the cushion beneath him. He stared at the latte in his hand, not really seeing it.
“She thinks she’s a seven—che
ck out that walk—but she’s really a five. Maybe even a four. Though you have to admire the confidence,” Heath was saying, eyeing a leggy sophomore girl who had the misfortune to walk in front of their table on her way to the coffee bar. Heath had been providing a running commentary about the attractiveness—or lack thereof—of passing Owls since he and Brandon had arrived twenty minutes ago. “So we’ll say a five, for argument’s sake.”
“Uh-huh,” Brandon muttered, shifting in his seat and tugging at the collar of his gray and black color-block Prada sweater. He couldn’t bring himself to check out girls—or even muster up the energy to say cutting things to Heath. All he could think about was Callie’s e-mail. It was pretty much all he’d been able to think about for twenty-four hours straight.
On some level, he’d known that she was pulling away from him, but he’d thought that was because they were all on academic probation. He hadn’t thought she would actually dump him. He’d really thought they’d connected in that early part of Jan Plan, when it seemed like she was really, finally giving them the chance they deserved. Had she just been faking that? Or had it all been in his head? Had he made it all up because he’d been crazy about Callie Vernon since he first met her freshman year?
He’d tried every single thing he could think of to be the perfect boyfriend, and it still wasn’t good enough for her. He couldn’t help thinking the dumpage had to do with Easy Walsh, because with Callie it was always about Easy Walsh. Had Callie only given Brandon a chance because Easy was gone? He hadn’t wanted to believe that. He didn’t believe that.
Brandon was jolted out of his bitter little spiral when Cora threw herself into the seat next to him.
“Hi!” she exclaimed. Her dark auburn hair hung down from beneath her multicolored homemade-looking knit cap, and her huge brown eyes looked way too hopeful behind her dark-rimmed glasses. She wore a puffy pink jacket open over a bright turquoise sweater and jeans that bagged in the wrong places even while she was sitting down.
Brandon forced a polite smile. The irony. Callie had to be coerced into spending time with him even when she was his girlfriend, but his stalker wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Hey, Cora,” he said weakly, all too aware of Heath’s sudden intense interest. He’d actually stopped leering at girls to watch Brandon deal with his Perfect Match.
“Cora!” Heath cried in evident delight. He smiled wickedly and leaned closer, propping his elbows on the table. “I have heard so much about you,” he continued sweetly.
“Oh,” Cora said, blinking at Heath as if he were a different species. Which pretty much showed that she was far more discerning than Brandon had given her credit for. “You have?”
“Of course I have,” Heath assured her, gazing at her intently. “My roommate’s Perfect Match is obviously someone I need to know. Intimately.”
“Ignore him,” Brandon told Cora. “Seriously. He’s mentally deranged.”
“Brandon’s just a little cranky,” Heath said, still smiling innocently. “He’s really not much of a morning person.”
“I’m not, either,” Cora said. She swept her lashes down to cover her eyes, then snuck a look at Brandon. “I think it’s weird and unnatural that we’re expected to leap out of bed and attend classes according to some schedule that was just, you know, imposed on us. What about our biorhythms?”
“See! You two are totally on the same page. This is why I love Perfect Match so much,” Heath said warmly, resting his chin on his hands and practically wriggling in delight, like a golden retriever. “Everyone knows it doesn’t lie. It tells you exactly who you’re meant to be with.”
Brandon tried to ignore Heath’s syrupy tone. He knew Heath just wanted to get under his skin.
“Well,” Cora said, looking from Heath to Brandon and then back again, “it must mean that you have a certain amount of things in common, based on the questionnaire.”
“Yes,” Heath said, his shit-eating grin practically taking over his face. “Exactly. Things in common. That’s the reason I believe that Perfect Match is basically the Waverly fortune-teller. It knows.”
Brandon was seriously contemplating throwing his latte into Heath’s face. Not that he could be sure that would shut him up. Nothing ever could. Then Cora surprised him by turning in her seat, away from Heath, and looking straight at him, her eyes thoughtful when they met his.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look upset.”
Brandon stared at her for a moment. “Um, I’m fine,” he said, and pretended he didn’t hear Heath’s snort from across the table. But Cora continued to look at him, and there was something about her expression that seemed… interested. Concerned.
“Something’s wrong,” she declared. “Maybe I can help.”
Heath smirked at Brandon from across the table while Brandon considered it. It wasn’t like Heath had been any help. Brandon’s single attempt to talk about Callie the night before had resulted in Heath blaring Sarah McLachlan from his iPhone and asking if Brandon needed to be held.
Cora, meanwhile, was someone Brandon barely knew. She couldn’t possibly have any agenda or any hidden allegiances. She probably had a whole life at Waverly that he knew nothing about. A rich, full life that didn’t involve Callie Vernon or Easy Fucking Walsh. In fact, Cora might be the most perfect person in the world to talk to about this.
“My girlfriend broke up with me,” he said, looking into Cora’s calm, steady eyes. She frowned.
“Dumped him by e-mail,” Heath added, leaning even closer across the table and making a wounded face like that e-mail had hurt him, too. “Before class the other day. Just like that. Pow.”
“That’s awful,” Cora said, her eyes widening. She shifted in her seat, and Brandon noticed, almost absently, that she wore a gold chain bracelet around one delicate wrist.
He blinked. “It is,” he said. “I mean, it was.”
“Sure,” Heath interjected. He sat back and raised his voice slightly, like he wanted the table full of sophomore girls next to them to overhear. “But it could be a lot worse. Like when you were with her the last time, and you walked into the rare books room in the library and found her with Easy Walsh’s tongue down her throat. Remember that?” His green eyes were brimming with laughter. “Beginning of sophomore year?”
“Yeah, Heath.” Brandon glared at him. “I remember that. Jesus.”
“So she’s broken up with you before,” Cora said matter-of-factly but not unkindly. Brandon had the weirdest sense that she was like some kind of therapist, processing what he said but not judging him.
“It’s like… she has this addiction to this other guy,” Brandon said, the words sort of spilling out of him. “Whenever he’s near her, she turns into the kind of person who would do something like cheat on her boyfriend or break up with someone by e-mail, but she’s really not like that. She changes around him. Like she thinks that someone being awful to her and treating her like shit is actually some big, romantic thing, and she can’t help herself.” He shook his head. “But she’s so much better than that. She’s kind and sweet and funny, and when this guy isn’t around, everything is great between us. Like, really great. Perfect.”
There was a slight pause as he stopped talking, and he could feel his face get hot. He deliberately avoided looking in Heath’s direction. But Cora met his gaze and smiled slightly.
“You really love her, don’t you?” she asked quietly.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Heath said with a snort. But when Brandon looked at him, he was grinning.
Brandon rolled his eyes. What was the point in denying it? “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
Cora nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I know exactly what you have to do.”
“You have a cure for Easy Walsh?” Heath asked, amused. “I think it might be terminal.”
“You know there’s this heart scavenger hunt thing going on this week, right?” Cora asked Brandon, ignoring Heath. Brandon stared at her. Scavenger hunt? Was she serious? “All you have to do
is collect the most hearts, win the competition, and then prove your love to Callie at the dance.”
“Wow,” Heath said. He paused for a moment, like he was pondering it. Then he let out a laugh. “That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Cora turned to look at Heath. Her eyebrows rose a little bit as she stared him down. Brandon couldn’t help being a little impressed.
“No, it’s not,” she said firmly. “It’s romantic.”
Heath made a scoffing noise.
Cora rolled her eyes at Heath and looked at Brandon. “What’s more romantic than a guy making a grand, kind of goofy, but sweet gesture just to tell you he loves you?” she asked. “If Callie’s as romantic as you say she is, she’ll love it.”
Heath laughed again, but Brandon’s mind was racing. He found himself nodding. Callie was a total romantic. He could picture it suddenly—presenting her with that Sweet Heart thing, and then declaring his love in front of the whole school. He could practically see the soft look in her eyes. Didn’t she cry at almost every chick flick with a sappy ending? This would be exactly like one of those movies. But better, because it would be real.
Brandon stood up suddenly. “Thanks, Cora,” he said as he gathered his things. He meant it.
“Sure,” she said, looking the slightest bit deflated. Probably because he was leaving her alone with Heath.
As he made his way out of Maxwell, Brandon felt better than he had in the twenty-four hours or so since Callie had sent that e-mail. He wasn’t going to sit around and mope anymore.