Notorious

  “Uh, thanks.” Callie looked up as someone changed the music to dance tunes. She poured herself another glass of wine.

  “Whenever you want a break from this, we can go back to the room I booked. For us.”

  “Brandon.” Callie rubbed her hands across her face, threatening to mess up her makeup. But God, what was Brandon’s deal? Did he really think she was going to leave the party to go back to his empty room and snuggle? Ever since she’d kissed him last week, he was acting like they were back together. She glanced around for Easy. “We’re at a party. Act like it.”

  “Can you blame me for wanting to be alone with you? You look so gorgeous. I just want to … be near you.” Okay, that was sweet. Callie felt a teeny bit better, but not enough to leave with him.

  “Can’t blame you for trying.” Callie patted his face. “But stop.”

  “You guys look like an old married couple.” Alan St. Girard came up and drooped an arm around each of them. Alan puckered his lips at Callie. “Got any lovin’ for me?”

  “Honey … ,” Brandon started.

  Honey? “I am not your honey, Brandon Buchanan.” She waved her wineglass at him. “I am nobody’s honey, all right?” She glared at him, suddenly furious that the only one who loved her was boring, predictable Brandon. She’d show him. She was anything but boring.

  32

  A WAVERLY OWL LEAVES NO DRUNKEN FRIEND BEHIND—ESPECIALLY WITH HER CELL PHONE.

  “Doesn’t it seem so mellow without Tinsley and Callie around? I can feel my blood pressure lowering as I speak.” Brett stretched out her long legs across the arm of the couch in Dumbarton’s upstairs lounge. With all the girls in Café Society out for the night, the whole dorm felt quieter. She wore a lime green cap-sleeve tee with a pair of wide-leg black pants. On her lap was a plastic bowl filled with buttered microwave popcorn, freshly popped and slightly burned.

  Jenny opened one of the dormer windows and waved out some of the burnt popcorn smoke. “I know what you mean.” She breathed in the cold night air, letting it sting her lungs. “The two of them—they sort of make me forget how much I like it here.”

  “Yeah. Just tonight, walking across the quad and looking up and seeing all those stars … I mean, the sky doesn’t look like that in New Jersey.” Brett pulled the bottle of Stoli from her red leather Sigerson Morrison bag. It was already half empty. She poured some more into her mug of cranberry juice. “Need a refill?”

  “Thanks.” Jenny handed over her mug. Brett was from New Jersey? She’d gotten the impression that she was from East Hampton or else Nova Scotia or something. “I really love it here. It makes me feel so—I don’t know—wholesome.” It sounded moronic, but it was true. Waverly, with its groomed athletic fields and state-of-the-art libraries and art studios, its blue-blood student population with their perfect patrician noses and cashmere sweater vests, was strangely like some sort of earthly paradise. And while she’d felt a little awkward at times, something told her she belonged here.

  Brett grinned. “Yeah, it’s probably all the drinking and pot and sex going on that gives you that impression.” She pulled a strand of bright red hair in front of her eyes and expertly scanned it for split ends. “But I know what you mean. I love it too.” Her eyes clouded over a little. “Think how perfect it would be if Tinsley hadn’t come back.”

  Jenny didn’t even want to let herself think about that. Yes, it would be heavenly if Tinsley could just evaporate into thin air, if she’d run off with some rich international businessman she met in the halls of the Ritz-Bradley. “It feels like she’s out to get us both.”

  “Probably because she is.” Brett sat up and set the bowl of popcorn on the table. “But you know, fuck her. Fuck all those other girls. What are they doing right now? Getting shitfaced. Heath’s probably running around buck-naked, trying to grope everyone.”

  Jenny cringed at that unpleasant image. Suddenly she was completely relieved she wasn’t there in Boston, with Tinsley and Callie and the other girls. She was happy to be here, eating popcorn with Brett and gossiping. If only Easy weren’t in Boston. If only Easy weren’t furious with her. “I miss Easy.”

  Brett popped open the tab of a Diet Coke. “I know. I miss Jeremiah too.” Ever since that day in the cemetery, she’d been thinking about him a lot. She wondered if he was seeing anyone at St. Lucius yet—he hadn’t mentioned any other girls, but it was hard to believe that he could stay single for very long. He was the star of their football team and was sexy in a slightly goofy, natural way that endeared him to all members of the opposite sex. An image of him in his Gap boxers came to her, and she could almost feel her hand running along his sculpted stomach muscles. Mmmm. “Maybe I shouldn’t have broken up with him.”

  “Really?” Jenny liked the idea of Brett with a boyfriend, who wasn’t a teacher, and Jeremiah was hot. “He sounds really sweet when you talk about him.”

  Brett groaned and took a handful of popcorn. “He is really sweet. I don’t know what I was thinking—the whole Eric thing was fucked up.” Brett popped a piece of singed popcorn into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “I guess it made me feel special to have someone like Eric take an interest in someone like me. He’s practically, you know, a Rockefeller. …”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, someone like you? Of course he was interested in you.” It was hard for Jenny to imagine someone as gorgeous as Brett, and as smart and funny, having any self-esteem problems. They were reserved for people like herself!

  Brett sighed and took a long swig from her mug before leaning her head back on the couch. “Yeah, well, if you knew my whole story, you might not think that.”

  Jenny’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? You didn’t, like, murder someone, did you?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that I, sort of, have this totally embarrassing family.” Brett pulled a strand of her hair in front of her eyes again and stared at it, like she was trying to avoid looking at Jenny. “And I can’t help it—I’m just, you know, ashamed of it. But somehow I was able to talk to Eric about it, and he made me feel like it was no big deal at all. He almost seemed to like me even more because of it.”

  “Well, maybe I should have told you about my father earlier because that would totally have made you feel better.” Jenny sank onto the couch next to Brett and placed her feet on the low, glass-topped coffee table. Not the brightest idea for a dorm—Jenny could easily imagine herself tripping over it after a few more drinks. “He once showed up for this awards ceremony at my school wearing a T-shirt under his blazer because all of his button-downs were wrinkled. Not so bad, you say? Maybe even kind of cool? Well, he wore a tie with it. With his IMPEACH NIXONT-shirt.” Jenny hung her head but had to giggle at the memory. “Parents came up to me afterward and actually asked if my father was homeless. Seriously. Beat that.”

  Brett almost snorted with laughter. “I’m so sorry.” She had to take deep breaths to keep her composure. “All right, well, at my eighth-grade graduation, my father actually handed out his business cards with coupons for ten percent off any collagen injections or nose jobs—to my friends. And my mother? She wore a pair of zebra-print boots she’d had especially made for her in Brazil, and everyone could totally see her thong.” She could imagine the splash those boots would make at Waverly, where all the moms wore Ralph Lauren, Chanel, and Marni.

  “But parents are totally supposed to be embarrassing, right? Otherwise they wouldn’t be parents,” Jenny said logically.

  “I guess. … I just feel funny, being this sort of nouveau riche Jersey girl, here among all these old-money debutantes like Tinsley and Callie and Benny, you know?”

  Suddenly, after getting the words out, Brett felt ten thousand pounds lighter. It was like she’d felt after telling Eric: relief. So, maybe it wasn’t Eric who had made her feel that way at all—maybe it was herself? Brett swung her legs onto Jenny’s lap, her mind going back to Jeremiah. “You know, when I talked to Jeremiah, it was like he wasn’t even a
ngry with me. Just sorry I’d been hurt.”

  “Why don’t you call him?” Jenny suggested. “Maybe it would help if you could just hear the sound of his voice?” Something about vodka made her sentimental—it was like when she was PMSing, and if she even thought about Edward Scissorhands, her eyes would tear up. But with vodka, her feelings weren’t always sad, just intense. Like right now, thinking of Easy, she could almost conjure up the smell of him.

  “Nah. He’s busy partying. I don’t want to bug him.” Brett poured the last trickle of cranberry juice into her mug. “Besides, I broke up with him. I can’t just run back to him the second I change my mind.” Her lips formed a delicate pout.

  “Do we have another bottle of cranberry juice in the room? I thought I saw one,” Jenny asked absently, an idea slowly forming in her vodka-tinged brain.

  “All right, lazybones. I’ll go get it.” Brett swung her legs to the floor a little sloppily and heaved herself onto her feet. “I wanted to get a sweater anyway.”

  As soon as Brett left the room, Jenny grabbed her friend’s silver Nokia and scrolled through it for Jeremiah’s number. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she knew Brett would be furious with her, but what kind of friend would she be if she wasn’t willing to risk pissing Brett off for her own good?

  Jeremiah’s voice mail picked up after only two rings, and Jenny almost forgot what she was going to say. “Hi, uh, Jeremiah. This is, um, Jenny, a friend of Brett’s. I’m sorry to call you—I really hope I’m not bothering you. But I just wanted to let you know that Brett’s been thinking about you, like, all the time, and she knows she made a huge mistake and she wants to ask you to forgive her, but she’s too afraid to. I mean, she’s totally in love with you, and I totally know because …” Jenny took a giant gulp of air. Was she making any sense at all? “Because I’m in love with someone too. And so I know what it looks like, and she’s got it bad … And people who are in love really shouldn’t let misunderstandings come between them.”

  Brett came back into the room to find Jenny using her phone. “What are you doing?” she shrieked, dropping the plastic liter bottle of cranberry juice and grabbing at the phone. “Are you crazy?”

  Jenny danced away from Brett and tried to hurriedly finish the call. “So, all I’m saying is that you shouldn’t let unimportant things get in the way of you being happy. Really. So, um, I’m going to go because Brett’s going to kill me. But nice talking to you.” She clicked off the phone and tossed it to Brett, who was just standing there with a horrified expression on her face.

  “I can’t believe you did that!”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  Brett thought about it. “Who would I have to talk to then?” A slow, sheepish grin spread across her pretty face. “I just can’t believe you did that!”

  Jenny smiled, proud that she’d taken the initiative. If Brett was so bent out of shape over Jeremiah, it meant she belonged with him, right? And if she felt the same way about Easy, it meant they belonged together too. Right? She blew Brett a kiss. “Maybe you’ll return the favor one day.”

  33

  A SAVVY OWL KNOWS HOW TO (RE) START THE PARTY.

  After a few joints were passed around out on the balcony, the party took a turn toward the lethargic. Sleepy, satisfied bodies were draped in various states of repose across the expensive furniture. “Why does everyone have to act like a zombie after they smoke?” Tinsley demanded of Easy, who was slouched in a corner of the couch, lifelessly flicking through the cable channels. She tapped the toe of her Kate Spade satin-toed espadrille against Easy’s shin. She could feel the ribbon ties around her calf slowly loosening. “Hello?”

  “Why don’t you do something to liven up the party for us, Tin?” Heath came up behind Tinsley and wrapped his arms around her. His whiskey breath stung her nose.

  “That sounds like a dare.” Tinsley flicked Heath’s arms off her and strode across the room. If anyone loved a dare, she did.

  First, off with the television. Tinsley poked the power button and South Park disappeared. Then she twirled the volume dial on the stereo and the new Black Eyed Peas song flooded the room. She narrowed her eyes as she watched everyone watching her—this was what she was waiting for. In one smooth motion, she hopped up onto the tall, mahogany desk against the wall of the living room. A large, gilded mirror hung behind it, and everyone stared as both Tinsley and her image started to swing her hips in sync to the heavy, pulsing beat. She fingered the plunging neckline of her jacket, her hand slowing as she neared the top button. Her thumb pushed it through the buttonhole.

  Tinsley grinned. Suddenly it was a party again.

  “Take it off!” Ryan Reynolds cried out drunkenly, leaping up from the armchair he was sharing with Celine while trying to slide his hands up her teal Betsey Johnson skirt. Celine glared at him. He didn’t notice.

  Tinsley smiled devilishly and tossed her long mane of wavy black hair. With excruciating slowness, she played with the second button, torturing her captive audience as long as she could before sliding it through its buttonhole. Her violet eyes stared down Heath across the room, and he lifted his head from Sage Francis’s lap, where she’d been massaging his scalp. He clapped and hooted as Tinsley suddenly pulled her jacket down to reveal one bare shoulder.

  Callie poured herself another glass of wine at the bar, irritated by Tinsley’s antics. Did she always have to be the center of everything? She took a big gulp and looked around for Easy—she couldn’t help it; she’d been doing it all night. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, counting how many girls he was talking to. It was pathetic, and she knew it.

  But when she saw his eyes tracing the movements of Tinsley’s body, she’d had enough.

  “Help me up,” Callie demanded as she slipped off her jeweled T-strap Jimmy Choos and took Tinsley’s hand. “Oof.”

  “You’re killing me!” Alan crawled on his knees over to the desk and bowed several times to the two girls, as if they were some sacred altar.

  “Hey, baby.” Tinsley pushed Callie’s hair back behind her ear and whispered in it, “Work it.” Tinsley stepped back and casually slid her jacket off to her elbows, revealing a sheer black La Perla bra, with strategically placed lacy embroidery to keep it from being entirely see-through. She tossed back her head and gave a throaty laugh that seemed to say she was perfectly comfortable dirty dancing on top of a bureau at the Ritz with her top off.

  Callie wanted—no, needed—to be that carefree. And so it seemed like a good idea to slip first one spaghetti strap, then the other, off her shoulders and start to shimmy out of her red slip dress. She glanced at Easy, but he was no longer on the couch. In fact, he wasn’t even in the room. What did she have to do to get his attention, damn it!

  “What are you doing?” A face separated itself from the crowd. Brandon. He reached up to pull Callie down. She danced backward, out of his reach.

  “I’m dancing, Brandon.” She put her arm around Tinsley’s waist, and the two of them moved their hips together. Maybe Easy would walk back in?

  Heath, wearing Easy’s fedora and a white terry-cloth Ritz-Bradley robe, came up behind Brandon and tried to pull him away. “Dude, you’re ruining a good thing.”

  Brandon pushed him away. “You’re drunk, Callie. Please, just … just come to our room.”

  “Brandon!” Callie shrieked, whirling around so fast she almost slid off the desk. “It’s your room, not our room. Why don’t you just go watch a gay porno on pay-per-view or something?” She glared at him before turning back to Tinsley, still dancing with a smirk on her face. “At least Heath is fun,” she whispered to Tinsley, loud enough for Brandon to hear.

  “Fine. Make a fool of yourself.” Brandon shoved Heath away from him and stomped out the door. It looked like he was going to have more champagne and more chocolate-covered strawberries for himself.

  34

  A WISE OWL UNDERSTANDS THAT A DRUNKEN MESSAGE IS OFTEN THE MOST SINCERE.

  “Walsh.” Jerem
iah grabbed Easy’s arm as it reached for the almost-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. “You’d better slow down. You are wrecked.”

  Easy had stumbled over to the makeshift bar as soon as the girls had hopped onto the desk. Sure, he enjoyed a good show as much as anyone else, but ever since realizing Tinsley had tried to get him kicked out of Waverly, everything about her seemed so calculated. Yeah, she was gorgeous and exotic and exciting, but she was also a giant bitch. And Easy didn’t have time for that. Besides, the way Callie fell all over herself trying to keep up with Tinsley made him a little sick. Why’d she even give a shit about what other people thought of her? That was one of the things about Callie that had always driven him insane. “Thanks, bro, but I’m good.” The bottle clanked against his glass, and the rest of the liquid splashed against his melting ice cubes.

  “I’ve got something that’ll make you feel even better.” Jeremiah had a weird smile on his face, like he’d just discovered Keira Knightley naked in one of the suite’s many closets.

  “I don’t really want to smoke, dude.” Easy had dragged himself to Boston even though he wasn’t in a partying mood. All he’d wanted to do tonight was bring a couple of blankets out to the clearing in the woods and curl up with Jenny, watching the stars. But he was too proud to stay home from Boston after what Jenny had done.

  “No weed.” Jeremiah pulled his black Motorola from the pocket of his Diesel jeans. “I just got this really sexy message on my voice mail about how much Brett is in love with me.”

  “That’s awesome, dude.” Easy threw back his glass of rum. “Good for you.”

  “No, good for you too.” Jeremiah patted Easy on the back. “It was from that girl, Jenny. And she said some other pretty interesting stuff too. You’ve got to listen.” He punched some numbers into his phone and handed it to Easy.