Jenny blushed, feeling the camera on her face. “Y-yes,” she stammered, wondering how the mailroom guy knew who she was when she’d probably only picked up a handful of packages. Out of four hundred students, he remembered her? It was kind of flattering.
“Mailroom was closing, and someone left a package for you,” he said, producing a daintily wrapped box the size of an engagement ring. “Just need you to sign for it.”
“Oh, we need to get this on camera!” Izzy nudged Kaitlin in the ribs, even though the handheld camera had been taking in the whole scene.
“I got it,” Kaitlin replied, zooming in on Jenny’s face.
The mailroom guy—kind of cute, in a Nintendo-playing way—eyed the video camera curiously. Jenny signed her name with a flourish on the clipboard in his hand, pretending he’d asked for her autograph. “Thanks,” he replied, holding on to the pen she gave him for a second too long.
“Mailroom guy totally likes her!” Claire whispered to Izzy, who leaned toward the camera screen. The tiny package Jenny held in her hand was wrapped in red paper and tied with a white bow. Her heart raced. Her first Secret Santa gift at Waverly!
“Who is it from?” Claire whispered excitedly, although there was clearly no card or label. Jenny held a corner of the ribbon in her fingers and let the package hang delicately in the air, twirling it around for all the girls to admire.
“It’s from my Secret Satan.” Jenny slid the ribbon off a corner of the box, hoping it didn’t contain something dirty. Ever since the mysterious “Secret Satan” e-mail had gone out last night, Waverly students had been bombarding each other with slightly scandalous gifts. That morning, Jenny had seen Emily Jenkins open an envelope in her mailbox and pull out a pair of panties with a giant bunch of cherries printed on them. At lunch, Kara Whalen had showed her the hot pink feather duster she’d found on her doorstep, with a note that said, For use on naked skin only. Jenny herself had been assigned Yvonne Stidder—boring!—but hadn’t gotten her anything yet.
“Don’t you mean Secret Santa?” Claire asked innocently.
Jenny arched her eyebrow at the camera. “Do I?”
The girls giggled and the camera shook. Jenny waited a beat for Kaitlin to steady it before she pulled off the ribbon. Please don’t be something embarrassing, she thought to herself, recalling the sight of some skinny freshman guy walking into class with a spray can of Whipped Body Cream. She’d die if someone had gotten her something related to her boobs, like an enormous Lady Grace bra.
“What do you think it is?” Izzy asked before stepping away from the camera to blow her nose.
“Perfume, maybe?” Kaitlin guessed, sounding as nervous as if the gift were hers.
“Too small for perfume.” Claire touched her bare earlobes absentmindedly. “Maybe earrings. Diamond ones.”
Jenny laughed. “Somehow I doubt that.” The ribbon fell away and one of the girls surreptitiously picked it up and folded it into her pocket. Jenny opened the lid on the box, slowly, in case something awful sprang from inside.
Instead, she saw a bangle bracelet made from a thick piece of translucent coral. It was beautiful. Jenny lifted it out of the box, half-expecting a note explaining that it was actually some kind of sex toy. But the box was empty. She slid the bracelet onto her wrist.
“Ohmigod, that’s like the sweetest thing in the world!” Claire exclaimed, reaching out to touch it as Jenny showed it off for the camera. “Who could it be from?”
By now, the foyer had started to fill with students loading up on caffeine before heading to the library for the evening. Jenny hadn’t noticed how busy Maxwell had become, but now, dozens of people were shooting curious glances her way. A cute guy in her English class, the grumpy-looking goth girl who sat across the aisle from Jenny in algebra, a couple of senior field hockey girls—they were all looking at her, seemingly impressed.
“Someone who really likes you!” Izzy squealed. “I hope it’s some hot senior.”
Jenny shook her head. She’d had enough of hot seniors after Drew. But maybe her Secret Satan could be a hot junior.
Or just hot.
“Ohmigod,” Kaitlin whispered, the camera still on Jenny. “That totally cute exchange student from Amsterdam just gave you this look. Maybe it’s from him.”
Was her Secret Santa out there, watching? She resisted the urge to look up, to wildly search the passing faces for the faintest hint of a knowing smile. Instead, she twisted her wrist, watching as the lights glinted against the smooth, polished surface of the bangle. A couple of girls walked by and whispered excitedly. Just another moment in Jenny Humphrey’s glamorous life, she imagined them thinking. And she did feel glamorous, for once, enjoying the feel of her totally sweet Secret Santa bracelet on her wrist. This is just the beginning, she thought as she felt Kaitlin zooming in on her face.
Jenny couldn’t help it. She brushed her hair back and gave the camera her most glamorous smile.
* * *
Owl Net
Instant Message Inbox
* * *
RifatJones:
Found a tube of Sex Kitten colored lipstick in my box today!
EmilyJenkins:
I see your lipstick and raise you a pair of cherry panties.
RifatJones:
Whatever. I’m psyched to not get another Waverly lanyard this year.
* * *
* * *
Owl Net
Instant Message Inbox
* * *
AlanStGirard:
Yo, my SS slipped a coupon for a full-body massage under my door.
LonBaruzza:
Too bad u don’t know if it’s from a chick or a dude.
AlanStGirard:
Shit. U just killed my buzz.
LonBaruzza:
Come over here then. My little Satan gave me a mini bottle of Absolut and a martini glass.
AlanStGirard:
Who u think’s behind all this SS shit? Ferro?
LonBaruzza:
Who else?
* * *
* * *
Owl Net
Instant Message Inbox
* * *
BennyCunningham:
Fess up. Are you Satan’s Little Helper?
HeathFerro:
I’m not little anywhere, baby.
BennyCunningham:
Sigh. U know what I mean.
HeathFerro:
Don’t know what u r talking about… but I remember there being
a rule not to talk about what you’re talking about.
BennyCunningham:
U r nuts. And the only one dirty enough to get this started.
HeathFerro:
I’m flattered!! Get any lingerie that you want to show off yet?
HeathFerro:
Maybe in my room?
* * *
9
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT PERSISTENCE IS THE KEY TO GETTING WHAT SHE WANTS.
Callie paused at the third-floor landing of Dumbarton Hall, her legs feeling like they were filled with lead. That’s what happens when you get old, she thought, conveniently forgetting the fact that she’d just come from the gym, where she’d spent an hour pretending to read Vogue on a Stair-Master. She’d actually been scoping out the gym for dateable guys, without any luck. They were all either too sweaty, too skinny, or too boring… or too taken. Her mind kept turning back to the image of Sebastian casually strolling into the dining hall, his dark hair falling across his forehead.
Callie paused in the hallway and stared miserably at the dry-erase board stuck to Verena Arneval’s door. A note written in masculine handwriting read, See you tonite, hottie. Fuck. Even Verena, with her ugly, slightly masculine short haircut, had a guy?
The door to 303 was slightly ajar, but the lights were off. “Jenny?” she called out. Nothing. “Hello?” She flicked on the light.
The room was empty save for a small package sloppily wrapped in newspaper, propped up on her desk, absent a bow. Ca
llie’s heart thumped excitedly in her chest. Her first Secret Satan present! It isn’t a present unless it has a bow, her mother used to say. But hell. Now that she didn’t have a boyfriend, even a crappily wrapped present made her heart race. How pathetic was that? The whole campus had been full of chatter about Secret Satan and the progressively tasteless gifts left in people’s rooms, and here she was, looking forward to opening a creepy-looking package that probably contained edible condoms. (Did they even make those? Ew.) She tore into the package and turned over a small box about the size of a pack of cigarettes.
It was a deck of cards. On the front, an old lady smiled over her pince-nez glasses, her hair piled on top of her head in a towering gray bun. They were… Old Maid cards? All the excitement drained out of her and Callie felt her fingers tremble in shock and anger. What the fuck? She hurled the cards toward her trash can. She couldn’t get fruit-scented oils? Glow-in-the-dark condoms? Even the naked cupid-shaped chocolates that Alison Quentin proudly showed off at lunch would have been better than a stupid deck of Old Maid cards. That was just mean. Besides, the gray-haired old maid on the box cover bore an eerily striking resemblance to Callie’s bitchy old grandmother, who lived in West Palm Beach. All she did was play bridge with other rich, wrinkled widows, wear too much jewelry, and drink gin and tonics from noon onward.
Callie threw her gym bag to the floor and jumped into the shower, hoping the hot water would make her feel better. It didn’t. As she wrapped herself in an off-white Egyptian cotton towel and stared at her bare skin and damp blond hair in the mirror, all she could think about was how hopelessly single she was. And if her Secret Satan was right, things weren’t changing anytime soon… or ever.
Until she saw the flyer taped to the bathroom mirror from the Senior Class Activities Fund that read Pizza + College Application Party. Seniors: Buried in college apps? Come to Reynolds Atrium on Thursday night for some pizza and company—you bring your applications, we’ll bring the pizza!
In record time, Callie threw on her clothes: a pair of wide-leg J Brand jeans and a sage-colored St. John Collection fitted cashmere turtleneck that brought out the green in her hazel eyes. She sprayed some Oscar Blandi protein mist on her hair and gave it a shake. She quickly swiped her Nars eye shadow in All About Eve across her lids, grabbed her coat, and was out the door. There was no time to do any more. She was crashing the senior pizza party, and she had work to do.
Her mind raced as she walked through the dark quad toward Reynolds Atrium. The enormous contemporary structure, financed by Ryan Reynolds’s father, the inventor of the soft contact lens, was lit up in the distance like a giant lighthouse. Callie pushed through the enormous revolving glass door into the warm atrium, her eyes immediately scanning the crowd for the one face she was looking for. Seniors lounged on the cushy red Pottery Barn–type couches, pages of papers spread out over the glass-topped coffee tables. The lush potted ferns and ficuses made the whole room feel green and tropical, and the smell of pizza filled the glass barrel-vaulted space.
“Hey, Cal!” Emily Jenkins sidled up to Callie, a tiny zit on her cheek covered by a mountain of concealer that only highlighted the blemish. “Want a sip?” She offered Callie a silver flask engraved with the initials E. M. J. “Whiskey.”
“No, thanks,” Callie declined, mildly annoyed to find Emily, also a junior, at the party. She scanned the horizon and quickly discerned that the senior pizza party was full of crashing juniors: Sage Francis and Benny Cunningham sat cross-legged on the floor, helping seniors Celine Colista and Evelyn Dahlie organize a stack of papers. All four of them drank from lidded Styrofoam cups, and Callie suspected they weren’t drinking virgin hot chocolates. “I might steal some pizza, though.” Callie drifted toward the stacks of pizza boxes in the corner, more interested in getting away from Emily than in having a greasy slice.
She hovered near the boxes, but the collective smell of pepperoni, pineapple, and onions turned her empty stomach. No one had seemed to really notice Callie’s presence at all, besides Emily, who didn’t count. She missed the days when she and Brett and Tinsley would take a party by storm, everyone’s eyes turning to them as they sauntered through the door, fashionably late. And then when she’d been with Easy, they’d been the hottest couple on campus. Now, it was like she was invisible—an invisible old maid. She dislodged a mini can of Diet Coke from a stack on the table and took a sip.
Then she saw him. Sebastian Valenti was kicked back on one of the couches, wearing a pair of tan corduroys and a pale blue Abercrombie & Fitch button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His untouched applications were piled in front of him, serving as a coaster for his most likely spiked bottle of Gatorade. Callie felt a smile coming to her face. How had she never noticed this stunning specimen? Brett had talked about him, of course, as the guy she was tutoring, but she always seemed annoyed with him. Suddenly finding a hot guy at Waverly who wasn’t burdened with a girlfriend or an unkissable face felt as completely incredible as discovering a coveted trunk show item in your size, just when you thought there were none left.
But as Celine and Evelyn—both wearing slinky tops far too sexy for a pizza party—moved over to Sebastian’s couch, it became apparent that Callie wasn’t the only explorer on this expedition. They slid down next to him, one on each side, like cheap game show hostesses. Celine whispered something in his ear, and Sebastian smiled and nodded, his dark, floppy hair falling across his forehead. Callie casually made her way over to them, trying to hover inconspicuously in the background.
Chandler Dean, a senior guy sprawled in an armchair, stopped talking about how he’d taken his dad’s Porsche for a spin over Thanksgiving when he noticed all the girls paying attention to Sebastian. “Dude, you haven’t even started,” he snapped, nudging the foot of his John Varvatos loafer against Sebastian’s stack of applications, still lying untouched on the table.
Sebastian ignored him and smiled at the ladies surrounding him. “Anyone like another slice?” he asked politely before slipping away. The girls watched admiringly as he left.
“Isn’t he incredible?” Evelyn Dahlie asked. With her pale, bleached blond pixie ’do and red cat’s eye glasses, she looked kind of like an Icelandic pop star. Not Sebastian’s taste, Callie could tell. She was a little more worried about Celine, with her perfectly smooth olive skin and perky boobs.
“I saw him first.” Benny giggled, coming up behind Callie and slinging her arm over her shoulder. “Don’t you remember, Sage? I told you I saw him studying with Brett and thought she should get on that.”
Sage furrowed her brow. “Yeah… but I thought you were joking.”
“He drives a Mustang,” Evelyn added. “How retro is that?”
Callie stared at her, wondering if she really was from Iceland or someplace where they didn’t have Mustangs.
“I’ll let you know,” Celine said casually, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. Even in the dead of winter it was easy to pick Celine out of a crowd of students. Jealous freshmen spread rumors that she used a tanning booth in town, but Callie knew her father was Lebanese and guessed that was probably why she looked so good when everyone else was winter pale. He was a big-shot director and Celine always bragged about the Hollywood stars she got to lunch with over breaks. “I told him about being an extra and he said he’d love to meet my father. Said he was going to be in L.A. over Christmas anyway—which may or may not be true, but who cares?—and I told him to look me up.”
“Wait,” Benny gasped, her pink-tinted mouth dropping open. “Where did he go?”
They all turned, none too subtly, toward the food tables, but Sebastian’s tall, dark figure was nowhere in sight.
“Shouldn’t waste this,” Evelyn said, unscrewing the top to Sebastian’s Gatorade bottle. She took a sip, then passed it to Celine.
The chatter in the room seemed to increase, and Callie touched her forehead, feeling suddenly overheated. She knew Sebastian would be back soon—he’d left his stuff here—and she n
eeded a plan.
She decided to step outside for some fresh air. Just as she entered the revolving door, Sebastian appeared on the other side, coming back into the atrium, a package of Marlboro Reds in his hand. He smiled casually at Callie through the glass and she felt her skin get even hotter as the two of them shuffled through the glass door. In another second he’d be back in the lion’s den. While Callie was only an average math student, she was smart enough to know that once Sebastian retook his seat amongst the overeager groupies, her odds would decrease dramatically. She needed to act now.
Without another thought, she pulled on the metal bar in front of her, stalling out the revolving door and causing Sebastian to crash against the glass.
“What the hell?” he asked, his voice muffled by the glass. He touched his hair reflexively, as if checking his body for bullet holes. Then he turned around and saw Callie, grabbing the metal bar and leaning away from it, anchoring the door closed.
Callie giggled. “Hey,” she managed to say.
Sebastian sensed a game was being played, though he couldn’t guess what. A slight look of confusion crossed his face, but he continued to smile at her. Even though there was a sheet of inch-thick plate glass between them, Callie could see the glint of mischief in his dark eyes. “What are you doing, blondie?”
“I’ll let you out if you have dinner with me tomorrow night,” she said boldly. She felt like a wild game hunter, snaring Sebastian in her trap.
“You know I’m stronger than you.” His muted voice filtered through, a sexy smirk on his lips. “I could just push my way through.”