Sebastian looked down, surprised. “At the Inferno party,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Punch stain.”
“Great.” Brett straightened up. “So you and all the other cool people went to some other cool party while I’m stuck here, talking to Mrs. Horniman and… the guy who keeps telling me Vietnam stories.” Even though she’d suspected that everyone had been keeping the real party a secret from her, it hurt to know it was true. She turned her back on Sebastian, seething, and stomped over to the food tables. She grabbed a strawberry, dipped it in chocolate, and popped it into her mouth.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Sebastian appeared at her side, and she stared at him incredulously. Had he just apologized to her? That was a first. She pressed her lips together and tried to listen as he explained how someone—most likely Heath—had planned a whole alterna-party at Cambridge House, thinking that the official Holiday Ball was going to be tightly policed and boring. “But I didn’t want to leave you here all alone,” he added, glancing around the room.
Brett felt her disappointment and anger start to melt away. The Holiday Ball was really lame. If she hadn’t planned it, she wouldn’t have come, either. “Gee, thanks.”
“No really,” Sebastian insisted. “I thought of you all alone, probably listening to Marymount’s jokes, and I knew it wasn’t right.…” He trailed off, an uncharacteristically shy look coming over his face.
Brett traced her plum-colored fingernails along the white tablecloth. “What about Callie?” she asked softly. “Did you take her to the other party?” It felt weird to mention Callie’s name out loud.
Sebastian coughed into his fist, then rubbed his chin nervously. “Look, about Callie.” Brett’s stomach fell—he was going to tell her that he was in love with Callie, and that he was just being nice to Brett right now because she was Callie’s friend.
“I was only dating Callie to piss you off,” he said sheepishly, after a minute of torturous silence. “I mean, she’s nice and everything.…”
Brett considered this. Taking Callie out to dinner, giving her tacky—but sweet—little presents, sitting next to her in the dining hall, letting her change his cologne. He did all that to piss Brett off? “You did that just to win our stupid bet?” she asked, playing with the Alexis Bittar Lucite bangles on her wrist. She stared right at him, her almond-shaped green eyes searching his face for a clue. “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” was now playing on the speakers. At least the DJ had turned off the Muppets.
“For someone so smart, you really can be dumb,” Sebastian scoffed, touching the stain on his shirt again.
“What does that mean?” Brett snapped. Why couldn’t he ever just say what he meant?
Or, for that matter, why couldn’t she?
He stepped closer to her, and Brett felt her heart skip a couple beats. She felt the way she did in field hockey, the moment she noticed that she had a clear shot at the goal. “You know what that means,” he murmured, his voice low. His dark brown eyes scanned Brett’s face with a longing look that had been there all along—she’d just been too dumb to see it.
She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Sebastian’s lips found hers. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his warm, strong mouth, the slight pot and alcohol taste of his breath giving her a buzz that traveled the length of her body.
“Are you mad at me?” Sebastian asked as he pulled away, his finger tracing her cheek. She’d never seen his eyes from so close before, and she noticed that his dark brown irises were rimmed in black.
“Now who’s the dumb one,” Brett murmured, feeling slightly dizzy. But it was better than she’d felt in a long, long time, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed Sebastian by his tie and pulled him in for another kiss.
Callie Vernon stomped up the steps into the Prescott Faculty Club, annoyed that she had to chase Sebastian down—he really needed to learn how to be a more accessible boyfriend. She was freezing in her thin Michael Kors knit coat. Didn’t he know that going out meant you attended major social events together? No one at the Inferno party had seen him in over an hour, and she’d already tried his room, interrupting his roommate, Drew, and some half-clothed girl who’d hid under the covers when Callie barged in. She suspected the Holiday Ball was the last place she’d find Sebastian, but she was desperate—what good was having a boyfriend if people didn’t see you together and get jealous?
The first thing she noticed when she entered the ballroom was how empty it was. The decorations were elaborate: a towering Christmas tree nearly as beautiful as the blue spruce they’d had in the Governor’s Mansion ballroom last Christmas, though not as lavishly decorated, dazzled the room with light. A row of white-clothed tables lined the far wall, and Callie could see from where she stood that most of the platters of food were still intact. Where was everyone? The Inferno party was packed, but she hadn’t realized that practically everyone at school was there. Callie had assumed that enough of the less-cooler kids would make it to the ball that no one—except for maybe Brett— would notice the others’ absence.
Apparently that wasn’t the case. She nodded politely at Mr. Gaston, her excruciatingly boring Latin teacher, wondering if she should go over and suck up to him. But she had more pressing concerns. She’d spent two hours in Tinsley’s room with her special curling iron bought at Ken Paves’s Beverly Hills, and her wide, tumbling curls of strawberry blond hair were starting to lose their spring. In her pale pink Carolina Herrera dress with a flouncy skirt and narrow black belt, she accepted many admiring stares from the dorky freshmen gathered near the punch bowl.
Where was Sebastian? Callie wrapped a curl around her finger, trying to revitalize it, as she scanned the room, looking for his tall figure. By missing the Inferno party, they were wasting a perfectly good opportunity for Sebastian to make some new friends—Callie’s friends. Benny and Sage and most of the other girls were already fawning over him, so they needed to establish themselves as a couple. Pretty soon, everyone would be completely envious of them, just like they had been of her and Easy.
Callie spun around toward the exit, ready to give up and head back to the Inferno. Maybe Sebastian had just taken a pot-smoking break. Then she caught the image of a couple standing in the middle of one of the arched doorways that led out to the hallway, kissing. She focused her eyes, half-expecting to see two teachers acting inappropriately, before she recognized the flame-red hair, twisted back at the sides. Sneaky Brett, having some kind of secret, steamy love affair.
But then the couple separated, and Callie realized she knew the guy. It was Sebastian.
“Oh my God!” she squealed loudly enough for everyone in a fifty-foot radius to hear. But Callie didn’t care. This was her pseudo-boyfriend… making out with one of her pseudo-best friends. “How could you?” Callie shouted, not sure if she was talking to Brett or Sebastian.
Brett and Sebastian sprang apart, their eyes wide with surprise and guilt. Callie could feel the blood coursing through her veins, and she whirled around and staggered toward the exit, feeling as if she’d just been slapped. Not even two months ago, at the Monster Mash Bash, Easy had called her a spoiled little bitch in this very ballroom.
And now, she’d been dumped by a guy she’d only just started seeing.
So much for the holiday spirit.
25
A WAVERLY OWL IS ALWAYS PREPARED FOR THE WORST.
After the disaster with the Raves no-show, Jenny had furiously gulped down some spiked eggnog and managed to make her way into the empty unheated den at the back of the house. The cold air was a relief after the sweaty party, and Jenny pressed her forehead against the cool glass sliding door that looked out on a snow-covered brick patio. Outside, the shapes of various lawn furniture and a charcoal grill looked faintly poetic in the snow, and she fought the urge to text her brother, Dan, who was right now probably curled up with his laptop in his dorm room at Evergreen, far away in Oregon, writing an angst-ridden poem.
With a sigh, Jenny
cautiously sipped her cup of Hell Fire, the red punch Heath had spiked with every alcohol in the known universe. She was relieved to be free of Claire and Izzy and Kaitlin—and everyone else. It felt good to be alone for once. She hadn’t realized what a mistake it was to let her freshman fan club film her. It might have made her feel special for a while, but soon she just felt ridiculous, analyzing every little inch of her life. She was self-conscious enough as it was—what the hell had she been thinking?
But it was still wrong to snap at the girls like that, not to mention the poor Michael kid. Now that she’d calmed down, she definitely owed them all an apology. She’d make it up to them in the morning by buying them croissants at Maxwell, and then maybe she’d ask them to abandon the whole film project altogether. Actually, she should do it now.
Jenny pushed open the creaky den door and stepped through the laundry room. Trisha Reikken was sitting on the washing machine, legs wrapped around some senior guy. An old Killers song blasted from the iPod stereo somewhere in the distance, and Jenny already felt calmer. So what if the Raves had blown her off. No one seemed to care. Jenny tipped her cup again, the last of the sickly sweet concoction coating the back of her throat as the alcohol warmed her whole body. No one was paying attention to her, and it felt refreshing. She hadn’t felt this relaxed in what seemed like forever. She wanted to keep it going, but first… she had to use the bathroom.
A girl named Satoko from her art class was sitting at the kitchen table, a Santa hat perched on her head, fumbling with her BlackBerry. “Do you know where the bathroom is?” Jenny asked.
Satoko pointed toward a long line of girls snaking up the stairs. She bit her lip. “Are you going to, uh, brush your teeth?”
“Huh?” Jenny stared at her, wondering if Satoko had been sharing the Venus de Milo–shaped bong that had been one of Alan St. Girard’s Secret Satan presents. She wandered into the next room, pushing her way through the crowd of girls in formal dresses toward the bathroom line. A burst of raucous laughter from the living room caught Jenny’s attention, and as she looked up, she saw a cluster of people staring at an iPhone. Alan St. Girard looked up and caught Jenny’s eye, grinning goofily at her and raising his Hell Fire glass in salute.
She smiled and gave him a wave back. Weird. Maybe the fame business had its perks, after all. Her gold skimmers stepped carefully over a red stain in the rug—she pitied the next Waverly writer-in-residence—and stood in line behind Sage Francis, who was also watching something on her phone.
“Is there only one bathroom in here or something?” Jenny asked, wondering why Sage had to wear so much sparkly eye shadow.
Sage pressed her phone to her chest—most of which was visible in a red flouncy Free People dress with a deep V-neck—and shifted away from Jenny. “Oh, yeah. I think so.” Sage pushed a strand of stringy blond hair out of her eyes and gave Jenny a funny look. Jenny could feel heads turn in her direction. Suddenly, she wished that she didn’t have to wait in line for the bathroom, the way famous people never had to wait in line for anything.
A girl ahead in line pointed at Jenny, and another girl Jenny vaguely recognized started giggling. Jenny just smiled back. The front room was suddenly lit with tiny spotlights as people pulled out their phones, their screens lighting up with whatever the latest attraction was.
“Where is she?” someone cried out, and the sound of bells jingling meant it could only be Heath Ferro. A moment later, he tumbled through the doorway and drunkenly stumbled into the bathroom line. A huge grin crossed his handsome face when he spotted Jenny. He threw his arms around her, enveloping her in his dirty-ashtray scent. His blondish-brown hair was completely disheveled, as if someone had just given him a noogie.
“What?” Jenny demanded angrily, pushing Heath off her and crossing her bare arms over her chest. She felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. What was going on?
“I’d like to see this outfit.” Heath flashed his iPhone up to Jenny’s face, and it took her a moment to realize she was staring at a slow-motion video of herself. In it, Jenny was saying something into the camera, but the sound was off. Her navy J.Crew shirt was misbuttoned to reveal a burst of red bra. Ohmigod. Jenny remembered that day, waxing poetic about her art class as the freshmen interviewed her about some of her favorite classes. But Jenny’s voice was silent as her lips moved on the screen, the Radiohead song “Creep” playing over the image as it cut to Jenny in the dining hall, talking with broccoli in her teeth, again in slow motion. The song looped around and began again as an image of Jenny slipping and falling on some black ice in front of Dumbarton segued into Jenny waking that first morning to find the camera poked in her face, a glob of drool sliding down her cheek.
“Give me that!” Jenny screamed, grabbing for Heath’s iPhone. He snatched it back, out of her reach, but it didn’t matter. Kaitlin and Claire and Izzy had clearly rushed from the party after Jenny’s outburst and quickly edited together the most embarrassing moments of Jenny-film. It wouldn’t have been too hard to find them. Now the whole party was watching the same video, over and over, the room suddenly full of smiling faces and loud cackling.
Jenny bolted out of line, heading for the kitchen, or the back den—anywhere to be out of the glare of those staring eyes. Callie and Tinsley would never let themselves be filmed with food in their teeth, or with drool on their chin. The sickening thought that she would never be able to escape her loserdom made her gasp for air in the crowded kitchen. She didn’t see any friendly faces, only averted glances and half-smiles as everyone cleared the way.
Like her lameness was somehow contagious.
* * *
Owl Net
Instant Message Inbox
* * *
CelineColista:
OMG. Did you see the Jenny video?
VerenaArneval:
Didn’t watch the whole thing yet—poor J!
CelineColista
Remind me never to let anyone make a film about me….
VerenaArneval:
Um… don’t think you have to worry about that!
* * *
26
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT WHAT HAPPENS IN JUNIOR HIGH STAYS IN JUNIOR HIGH.
Back at the Inferno, Callie miserably held two empty plastic cups while some random freshman she’d never seen before filled them with red punch, chattering on about his car, or his friend’s car—she couldn’t be sure. She muttered her thanks and sauntered into the living room, drinking from both cups and not caring if anything spilled down the satin bodice of her expensive dress. She elbowed her way over to the iPod stereo on one of the white built-in bookcases and fought the urge to scroll through the playlist for some Alanis or Avril or some other angry chick rocker. She couldn’t believe her rebound boyfriend had cheated on her—and with Brett no less. Didn’t Sebastian know his job was to make her feel better about herself, not worse?
She ran her fingers through her limp strawberry blond curls and pretended to read the book titles on the shelves. A cheap paperback copy of Wuthering Heights reminded her of the first time she’d hooked up with Easy, in the rare books room at the library. She’d seen him running his fingers across a rare first edition of the book and then minutes later, he was running those same fingers lovingly across her collarbone. It gave her a chill just thinking about it.
She had virtually no more guy options at Waverly. Maybe she would have to start dating townies. Or the wannabes from St. Lucius who weren’t cool enough to attend parties on their own campus. Brett—and Tinsley—had already tried teachers, and that hadn’t worked out. She furiously drank a full cup of Hell Fire and set it down on the mantel, next to a framed photograph of a gravestone. Weird. She squinted at it, and saw that it was F. Scott Fitzgerald’s grave. Still weird.
“In it to win it, eh?” Tinsley appeared suddenly at Callie’s side, blowing smoke up over their heads. A Virginia Slim hung lazily from one hand. She looked annoyingly stunning in a slim-fitting yellow dress that would have made anyo
ne but her look like a lemon.
“Something like that.” Callie scrunched her hands in her hair to bring the curls back to life, but to no avail. She noticed that Tinsley kept twisting the silver Celtic band she wore on her right ring finger nervously. “Still avoiding Julian?”
Tinsley’s blue-violet eyes narrowed slightly as she continued to casually assess the party—and not answer. She blew a puff of smoke into the air. “It’ll take an army of underpaid cleaning ladies to put this place back together. Someone punched a hole in the bathroom upstairs. And the toilet seat is missing.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” Callie plucked a copy of Alice in Wonderland from the shelf and flipped through the pages, wondering why a childless middle-aged writer would have it on his shelves. Maybe he had a weird obsession with young blond girls. Maybe Callie could date him.
“So.” Tinsley grabbed the book from Callie’s hands, scattering ashes from her cigarette across the leather, and popped it back into place on the shelf. “Did you like my gifts?”
“What?” Callie asked, leaning in to hear as the music shook the room. Gifts?
“You know. My Secret Satan presents.” Tinsley had a self-satisfied grin on her red lips. “Did you like them?” Tinsley squinted as she took a long drag from her cigarette, burning it down close to the filter. She exhaled a torrent of smoke, making Callie’s eyes water.
Callie’s pale pink mouth dropped open in astonishment. “I can’t believe that was you!” Tinsley—her supposed best friend—had been laughing at her this whole time. Brett, meanwhile, her other supposed best friend, was busy stealing away Sebastian. “Old Maid cards? A knitting kit? You’re a fucking bitch!”