Amanda placed a hand on Callie's forearm. “I promise, this experience is going to be exactly what you need.” She waved a thin arm and pulled her parka up around her neck, then disappeared down the hall. Callie pushed open her door, ready to experience the full plushness of the spa. She'd take a hot bubble bath and curl up in bed with the TV on.
Callie flipped on the light, illuminating the single low-wattage lamp in the corner, a brass base with a simple white shade. Elegant simplicity was clearly the vibe here. A draft whistled from under the windows, which Callie was slow to realize didn't have curtains. She held herself as she shivered, goose pimples running up and down her arms. The bed in the corner was small, and the mattress seemed a little thin—in fact, there was something monastic about this whole place. Callie investigated the bathroom, switching on the fluorescent light, a little horrified to see some toiletries already on the bathroom sink. Had they given her the wrong room?
Then she noticed the door to the adjoining room and realized the spa's mistake—they'd given her a room with a shared bathroom. She thought of the time her mother took them to Mexico, and they were put into a junior suite instead of the master suite they'd booked. It had been an absolute nightmare to share a bathroom with her counter-hog mother. Callie turned off the bathroom light and traipsed over to the bed. No need to freak out. Maybe the old Callie would've rustled Amanda out of bed to point out the error, but Callie patted herself on the back for being such a trouper. See, Easy, she wasn't a princess at all—everything could wait until morning.
She kicked off her flip-flops and crawled into bed fully clothed, pulling the woolly blanket over her head and burrowing her cold toes into the sheets. It was sort of like camping out. A little deprivation before being spoiled rotten would just heighten the sensations that awaited her in the morning, which was only a few hours off anyway. She dozed off and dreamed of fluffy clouds floating by under bright blue skies.
The clouds began shaking in the sky, the scene turning black, Callie started awake to find a large, Eastern European-looking woman hovering over her bed. The woman had a tight grip on Callie's arm and didn't let up even though Callie was clearly awake.
“Sunrise,” the woman said in her thick accent. “Time to get up.”
Callie blinked her eyes. “Huh?”
The woman clapped her strong-looking hands together and didn't move away from Callie's bed. Why hadn't Amanda warned her about the insane storm trooper who shared the adjoining room?
“What time is it?” Callie asked groggily. She hadn't packed anything, and without her sleeping mask or her portable alarm clock she felt completely disoriented.
“Time for the morning march,” the woman answered, grabbing the top of Callie's blanket and tossing it at her feet.
The first light of day seeped into the room and Callie heard the ominous fall of footsteps in the hallway. Morning march? Was there going to be weird chanting involved?
And what had she gotten herself into?
From:
[email protected] To: Dumbarton Residents
Date: Friday, November 1, 6:25 A.M.
Subject: Water Damage
As some of you must have noticed, the heavy rains led to an unfortunate incident last night. The large oak tree outside the dorm crashed into the building, breaking several windows, rupturing a water pipe, and causing flooding to several rooms. For the next few days, while the damaged rooms are under repair, we appreciate whatever you can do to accommodate our displaced students. I’ll be making rounds to check on these students and their hosts.
Many thanks for your cooperation,
Angelica
11
A WAVERLY OWL ALWAYS HELPS A FRIEND IN NEED—EVEN IF SHE'S AN EX-GIRLFRIEND.
At the sound of the door to her room opening, Brett lifted her head from the Latin book she'd been dozing on. Her hair fluttered dangerously close to the coffee-scented candle on her desk. It was still early on Friday morning, and she'd been too lazy to get her morning cup from Maxwell Hall, hoping instead to get some caffeine vibes from the candle.
Jenny poked her head into the room, her brown eyes wide with glee. “Ready for the recap?” She scooted into the room, dressed in a white button-down under a sleeveless red sweaterdress and thick wool tights, looking like a totally adorable Gap ad.
“All in all, a pretty good night.” Brett smiled. Despite the queasiness in her stomach—did Jenny never get hungover?—she couldn't keep the smile off her face as she thought, for the millionth time since last night, about how Jeremiah had appeared out of nowhere and swept her away. “And that's aside from the fact that you won.”
Jenny giggled and slid her oversize LeSportsac tote to the floor. She sat down on Brett's Indian-print fuchsia comforter. “That was crazy, right?” She looked relaxed, her skin flushed a healthy pink.
“Not at all—you absolutely glowed.” The moment Brett had seen Jenny in her sexy white Cleopatra dress, she'd known it meant trouble for Tinsley's winning streak. It was about time someone made Tinsley realize everything wasn't going to be handed to her on a silver platter.
Jenny's blush deepened as she leaned back on an elbow. “That was just your body glitter.” She played with the mix of chunky bracelets on her wrist. “But it was kind of cool to be up onstage.”
Brett smiled at her friend and picked a fleck of lint off her dark blue Earl jeans. “But you know I want to hear the juicy stuff.”
“What juicy stuff?” Jenny asked innocently.
Brett tilted her head and looked out the window. Even in the gray drizzle, Waverly looked beautiful to her. The damp quad was covered in brilliant leaves, and students in brightly colored rain gear rushed off to classes. “I saw you talking to some mysterious stranger.”
Jenny bit her lip, like she was trying not to grin too much. “You mean Zorro.”
Brett sank down on her bed, eager for the details. “Has he been, you know, watching you from afar?”
“I don't know.” A long chestnut curl fell into Jenny's face and she quickly brushed it away. She squeezed her small hands together, like she was trying to keep her excitement from bubbling over. “I mean, I don't want to get too excited or anything, but we had this totally charged conversation.”
“So, who is he?” Because of his dark costume and mask, Brett hadn't been able to tell much about the boy—besides that he liked the looks of a certain Cleopatra.
“He wouldn't give me his real name.” Jenny held her hands up. “He was totally mysterious. Like the real Zorro.”
“Like, a bandit?” Brett arched an eyebrow.
“He just seemed so … perfect.” Jenny, looking like she'd had her fill of talking about herself, quickly switched the focus to Brett. “But what about you, Miss Scooby-Doo? … I saw at least one person appreciating your outfit.”
Brett blushed. After the party, she and Jeremiah had wandered around the soggy campus, holding hands and talking about the billion things that had been going on since they'd last been together. Finally, the rain had started coming down harder and they'd managed to take cover in the gazebo, where they'd lain down and kissed each other's wet lips and faces passionately, like they couldn't get enough. It was a perfect night.
“He looked good.” Jenny grinned wickedly.
Brett ran the pads of her fingers over her lips, trying to keep her grin under control. “I had no idea he'd be there—I thought he was still upset over the whole Kara thing.”
“Yeah, but …” Jenny sat up straighter on the bed. “It's not like you guys were together then, right?”
“I know.” Brett was starting to feel less guilty about her little white lie. It was for Jeremiah's own good, anyway. “But when he came back for me, after everything”—Brett waved her hand in the air by way of explanation—”it just made me realize how much I love him … and I want him to be the one, you know.”
Jenny raised her eyebrows. “Really? Do you think you're ready?”
Brett nodded. A month ago, she'd thought
she was ready to sleep with Jeremiah—and then out came the news that he'd already slept with someone else. But now she meant it. The fact that she'd forgiven Jeremiah for sleeping with that skank Elizabeth, and that he'd forgiven her for Dalton, must mean that they really, truly loved each other. It was easy to think you loved someone—but after they hurt you, intentionally or not, and you could still take them back, that was something much deeper.
She'd been hoping that this weekend they'd have a chance to sneak away to some romantic hotel. But Jeremiah was leaving for an away game against Elrod College Prep, and would be gone the whole weekend, meaning no illicit little jaunts away from campus.
Jenny stared at the ceiling. “Wouldn't it be great if Zorro was the one for me?” she asked dreamily.
“You don't even know his real name!” Brett laughed, plopping down on the bed next to Jenny. She stared up at the ceiling, where the remnants of a Flaming Lips poster she'd hung up and then decided to take down still clung, two torn corners taped defiantly to the white paint.
Jenny cracked a smile. “What does his name have to do with it?”
Their laughter was cut short by a ding from Brett's laptop.“Oh, maybe that's Callie?” Jenny looked over at the computer. “It's totally weird that she didn't come home last night—do you think she and Easy made up?”
Brett furrowed her brow as she checked her e-mail. “It's just Yvonne Stidder. She wants to know about the next Women of Waverly meeting.”
“Is there a next meeting?” Jenny asked excitedly, sitting up on Brett's bed.
Unexpectedly, the image of her and Kara kissing at the first WoW meeting flooded Brett's brain. She could feel Kara's lips on hers, and she could almost taste her cherry lip gloss. An enormous guilt fell like a curtain over her happiness about Jeremiah. She'd lied to him about Kara, after all.
The door pushed open suddenly and Brett was semi-relieved to see Tinsley in the doorway and not Pardee. Standing behind Tinsley was Kara, peering into the room uncertainly.
“What's going on?” Brett asked. What was Tinsley doing with Kara? She tried to give a half-smile to Kara and a half-scowl to Tinsley. She probably ended up looking like a mental patient.
“The tree that crashed on the roof cracked a pipe in the plumbing and flooded a bunch of rooms downstairs, in case you haven't heard.” Tinsley leaned casually against the doorway, in a pair of high-waisted gray Habitual jeans and a red thermal tee. A pair of silver hoops hung from her earlobes.
“And now poor Kara doesn't have any place to live. Can she stay with us?”
Kara smiled awkwardly.
“Are you the new dorm mom?” Brett asked Tinsley, annoyed that she would throw this on her so suddenly, especially in front of Kara. Jenny giggled, not noticing—or not caring—about the look Tinsley shot her.
“Just trying to help out my fellow Waverlies.” Tinsley smiled fakely at Brett. “What do you say? It'll be like the good old days.”
In the doorway, Kara toyed with the frayed bottom of her vintage kelly green striped polo shirt, clearly embarrassed. “I can find somewhere else if it's—”
“No, don't be silly. It's no trouble at all.” Brett nodded, not wanting Tinsley to sense how incredibly awkward the arrangement would be for Brett—which was what Tinsley clearly wanted.
“Terrific,” Tinsley cooed, clapping her hands together gleefully, the glittery pink polish on her nails sparkling in the morning sunlight. “I guess she could just share your bed.” She paused for a reaction from Brett. “Or whatever.”
“We'll figure it out, thanks.” Brett stood up, digging her purple-polished nails into her palms, fighting the urge to pull out Tinsley's silky dark hair in two giant fistfuls. Jenny stood, too.
“Thanks.” Kara's soft hazel eyes studied Brett's face. “Sorry if it's an inconvenience.”
“It's not,” Brett answered, trying to tell Kara with her eyes that Tinsley was the inconvenience.
“Of course not,” Tinsley echoed. She grabbed her cropped tweed Nanette Lepore jacket from the back of her desk chair.“Well, now that that's settled, I’m off to do more good.” She curtsied and disappeared down the hallway.
“I’ll go get my stuff,” Kara said timidly, following Tinsley's lead.
“What a tremendous pain in the ass Tinsley can be,” Brett huffed as soon as they were gone
“I’m late for class.” Jenny grabbed her messenger bag from the floor.
Brett looked at her watch. “Shit. Me too. Wait up.” She was frantically searching her room for her book bag when the first beats of the Fleetwood Mac song “You Make Lovin’ Fun” blared from her phone on the desk.
Jeremiah. She held up a finger for Jenny to wait. “Hello?”
“Hiya, sweetness,” Jeremiah's deep voice boomed from the other end. “What are you up to?” Brett could hear the shuffle of Jeremiah packing his bag—probably his hunter green L.L. Bean duffel with his faded initials on it—for the weekend.
“Just heading to class with Jenny.” She was about to bitch about Tinsley, but bit her tongue when she realized Jeremiah would be less than thrilled to learn Kara was going to be staying with them for a night or two. He wouldn't be back from his game until Sunday night, and Kara would surely be gone by then, so what was even the point?
“I wish I didn't have to go,” Jeremiah lamented, his Boston accent and the early hour making his voice sound adorably scratchy. “It's a stupid game anyway. Elrod sucks.”
“I wish you didn't, either,” Brett said breathlessly into the phone.
“I wish it were Christmas break.” Jeremiah's voice was wistful, and she could practically hear in his voice the crackle of the fire at his winter house in Sun Valley. After the Halloween party, he'd invited her to spend the break skiing with his family. She could just picture the two of them, cuddled up with some hot chocolate that Jeremiah's parents had spiked with brandy, watching the snowflakes fall on the windows.
Brett felt her face flush, and wished Jeremiah could know what she was thinking. “Me too.”
“I gotta run, babe,” Jeremiah said wistfully. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Call me later,” Brett said. “I love you.”
“Me too.” Jeremiah's voice was low and throaty. “I hate to think of you all by your lonesome this weekend—do something fun without me, ‘kay?”
“You bet.” Brett clicked the phone shut and stared at it, frozen.
“What was that all about?” Jenny asked, her eyes question marks.
But Brett suddenly felt deflated, the happy gossipy mood she'd been in earlier having evaporated. Now the creeping sensation that she was doing something wrong started to settle over her, and the last thing she wanted to do was talk about it. “Oh, nothing,” she breezed, stuffing her eight-pound Latin text in her backpack. “Let's just get out of here.”
DrewGately: Told you I’d find you. Zorro never misses his mark.
JennyHumphrey: He certainly doesn't. But it's good to know he has a real name. Where can I find you?
DrewGately: Meet me in the senior parking lot after class?
JennyHumphrey: I have field hockey, but after that I’m all yours.
DrewGately: That's what I like to hear. =)
12
A WAVERLY OWL ENJOYS A CHALLENGING ASSIGNMENT.
As Brandon stepped into Mrs. Horniman's classroom in Hopkins Hall on Friday afternoon, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu. The last time he'd sat in this classroom, for Mrs. Horniman's Intro to Waverly seminar as a freshman, he and Callie had just gotten together, his stepmonster had just given birth to the devil's spawn twins, and he'd been three inches shorter. It was like moving away from your hometown as a kid and coming back as an adult— everything just seemed a little bit smaller than you remembered. Even Mrs. Horniman seemed to have shrunk, or maybe it was those horrible flat brown loafers she was wearing.
Enormous plate glass windows lined the entire left side of the classroom. Brandon slid into a seat toward the back. The room was slowly fil
ling up with hungover juniors. Benny Cunningham wore enormous black Marc Jacobs sunglasses, and Heath and Kara took the only two seats next to each other, a few rows in front of Brandon. He grinned as Sage slipped into the room and made her way to the empty seat behind him.
Once everyone had taken their seats, Mrs. Horniman stood up behind her desk at the front of the room. “Thank you all for showing up today,” she intoned, playing on the fact that their presence was mandatory. Although no one really wanted to be there, they all realized how essential Horniman's approval was, and he wouldn't have been surprised to see apples and Hershey's kisses from all the junior brown-nosers lined up on her desk.
Sage's pear-scented body lotion wafted over to him, and he was instantly reminded of their make-out session the night before. After walking her home to Dumbarton, he'd uncharacteristically pulled her behind the pine trees, and they'd kissed and kissed as the other revelers trickled home. For whatever reason, the Bond costume had emboldened him, but now, the morning after—he was back to questioning every single move he made.
Brandon took out his Italian leather journal and wrote a note for Sage with a single question—Where are you applying? He folded it into a tight triangle and cupped it in his palm. It wasn't the kind of burning question that warranted a surreptitious, over-the-shoulder note pass, and he hoped she wouldn't think it was totally lame. But he couldn't stand sitting so close to her without some form of contact. He passed the note behind him, stealing a glance over his shoulder at Sage. She looked adorable, wearing a candy pink Theory sweater with a train of buttons running up the front and wide-leg Paige jeans, her long silky hair pulled back with tiny barrettes.
Her delicate fingers cleanly swiped the note from his palm, a perfect handoff. She wore a ladybug ring on her right index finger. Maybe he'd tear another piece of paper from his journal and write something about how the ladybug was almost as cute as she was. Or was that even more lame?
“Now, I want you all to be completely honest with me.” Mrs. Horniman tapped the edge of the hefty volume of Great Expectations she was holding in her hand, as if to remind the students of why they were here. Its gold lettering reflected the afternoon sunshine. “How many of you came in here today thinking you'll get into college just because you graduated from Waverly?”