New leaf, Tinsley reminded herself. You're turning over a new leaf. You are a much nicer person now, and stupid Sleigh Monroe-Hill is not going to fuck things up for you.
“Fun!” Tinsley commented, apropos of nothing, in the spirit of good cheer.
And so, the three traipsed through the snowdrifts, stamping their feet on the odd sidewalk that had actually been shoveled, the crisp late-morning air cold in their lungs as they made their way toward the park. Tinsley wrapped her black scarf around her neck to ward off the chill, amazed at how Sleigh left open the top of her Urban Outfitters-looking puke-brown jacket, her neckline exposed to the elements. Goddamn hippie chick, Tinsley thought. She sent a death stare at the back of Sleigh's head as Sleigh put a hand-knit pink mitten on Julian's arm. “Hold on,” she said. “I'll be right back.”
Sleigh ducked into a corner bodega. The electric light from the neon Boar's Head sign reflected in the untrampled snow. Tinsley jammed her gloved hands into her pockets, shivering.
“So,” she ventured, “how do you know Sleigh?”
“She's friends with my roommate Kevin's older sister,” Julian answered, kicking up a cloud of snow into the frosty air. “I've hung out with her a few times. She's cool.”
“Yeah,” Tinsley answered involuntarily. She stomped a circle in the snow to keep warm, her Uggs leaving perfect imprints. She paused, staring up at Julian. Snowflakes were starting to fall again, landing on his oatmeal-colored hat. The city was silent around her. Suddenly, Tinsley didn't give a fuck what Sleigh did. “We used to be roommates.”
“Really?” Julian arched an eyebrow, as if he detected some sarcasm, but Tinsley stared through the glass of the bodega instead. “She's a good person.”
This last bit stung Tinsley's already frozen skin. Good person was high praise for Julian. A good person? Does a good person throw someone's brand-new iMac full of her un-backed-up homework out the fourth-floor window? No.
As if on cue, Sleigh reappeared, her hands balancing three white cups with cardboard slipcovers on them. “I thought we might want some hot cocoa.” She smiled sweetly, her striped stocking hat tugged down over her forehead.
“Awesome,” Julian said, taking a cup. Steam escaped out of the tiny hole in the plastic top.
“I got you mint.” Sleigh handed Tinsley the cup with the black X markered on the lid. “I remembered that used to be your favorite.”
Tinsley tried not to puke. Right. Sleigh knew her for three months and remembered how she liked her cocoa? Tinsley forced a smile. “Yeah, thanks,” she managed to say. She wanted to drench Sleigh in the scalding cocoa, to melt away the fake veneer so Julian could see how awful she was underneath. She searched Sleigh's eyes for any sign of irony, for some flicker of the old, vindictive roommate she used to know—had she put Tabasco in Tinsley's X-marked cup? Arsenic? Laxatives? Tinsley remembered how Sleigh had poured her Frédéric Fekkai shampoo and conditioner down the toilet—but all she saw was an angelic-looking freckled face.
Sleigh took another sip of her cocoa, licking her lips like a child tasting ice cream for the first time. “Isn't this, like, the perfect day?” She scooped a handful of snow off a buried mailbox and tossed it good-naturedly toward Tinsley, who giggled hesitantly in response. Was it possible that Sleigh had truly changed? Had she really let go of her old grudge?
Tinsley took a sip of her cocoa. It tasted amazing, but not quite as amazing as the sight of Julian grinning at her with that playful, mischievous, adorable face of his. She scooped up a handful of snow and slung it in his direction. She could out-nice Sleigh any day. It would just take some effort.
CallieVernon: TC, where the hell R U?
CallieVernon: You abandon me at Yvonne's? REALLY???
CallieVernon: Seriously, where'd you go?
CallieVernon: WTF? Where is everyone?
JennyHumphrey: Ice skating in the Park. With Casey. Come join us!
CallieVernon: Sorry. Don't need to break my ankle before I see EZ. Maybe I'll get a mani-pedi instead.
JennyHumphrey: K! Later!
18
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT WHEN IT COMES TO CUTE BOYS, IT'S BEST TO WASTE NOT, WANT NOT.
Callie sat alone in Yvonne Stidder's sunny breakfast nook late Thursday morning, listening to the noises of Xbox in the other room and sipping the awful decaf Sanka she'd found at the back of a drawer in the kitchen, the watery coffee tepid in her mouth. Her stomach barked with hunger, but her thoughts were so wrapped up in meeting Easy later on top of the Empire State Building. She picked at the powdered sugar doughnut from the box someone had brought back from the bakery on the corner and gazed out the window at all the powdered snow.
Callie glanced at the dangling antique gold watch on her wrist, a Sweet Sixteen present from her father, the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness. How the hell was she supposed to make it until eight o'clock? The whole day stretched out before her like a desert—somehow, the past four weeks without Easy seemed like nothing compared to the endless stretch of time between them now. It was totally unfair of Tinsley and Jenny to desert her like this—what she really needed right now was someone to take her mind off the wait…or a trip to a spa. She'd called around to all the beauty salons in the area, hoping to squeeze in a relaxing mani-pedi, but everything was closed for the holiday. Plus, it looked damn cold out there, reminding her oh-too-painfully of her time out in the Maine woods at the rehab detention facility her mom had promised her was a spa. She swallowed another mouthful of Sanka and then tipped the cup into the sink.
“I could use some of that.” Ellis, the cute guy she'd spent an hour talking to last night, yawned as he strode into the kitchen, his dark socked feet sliding across the granite floor. He massaged his neck. “I had to sleep like a pretzel.”
“Ouch.” Callie winced sympathetically. “Sanka's probably not the answer, though. You need Starbucks.”
“Good diagnosis.” Ellis laughed. “Wanna join me?” He leaned against one of the breakfast table chairs. His short, dark blond hair was wet from the shower and he smelled like shaving cream.
“Is Starbucks open on Thanksgiving?” Callie suddenly felt self-conscious that she'd just thrown on her old gray Juicy Couture V-neck sweater over a plain black T-shirt and her boring black stretch Banana Republic pants. She planned to dress up later for Easy, but needed an outfit to kill time in the meantime, and now she felt frumpy—even though Ellis was wearing the same sweater he'd had on last night.
“This wouldn't be America if they weren't.”
Callie bit her lip. They were both in relationships. So what was the harm in sitting in a crowded, commercialized coffee shop, sipping a latte ten times stronger than the stale Sanka she'd been drinking?
Next to a cute boy who was not her boyfriend.
“Sure,” she agreed, a little guiltily. Thankfully, Tinsley wasn't there to see her leaving with Ellis. And if Tinsley hadn't ditched her in the first place, Callie wouldn't even be hanging out with him. Tinsley wouldn't understand, and Callie didn't want any gossip—especially on this day, the best day of all days.
They bundled up and headed out into the street. The sidewalks, only partially plowed, were surprisingly filled with busy New Yorkers, bags of last-minute groceries or boxes from local bakeries in their hands. They pushed through the front door of the closest Starbucks, which was less than a block away. All the seats were taken, the tables filled with young men on laptops or women reading magazines. Callie was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming sense of loneliness. It just seemed so sad that these people had nowhere better to be on Thanksgiving than Starbucks. Then again, she was here too.
Ellis leaned toward her with concern. “Are you okay?” The cappuccino machines whirred behind the counter as he handed her the grande nonfat vanilla latte she'd ordered.
“Yeah.” Callie held up the steaming paper cup and inhaled the smell. What was wrong with her? “I think I just…I don't know. I'm jittery, I guess. I can't believe I have to wait all day to see Easy.” She
took a sip of her latte, the hot liquid burning her throat.
“I bet.” Ellis nodded sympathetically as he emptied a packet of sugar into his coffee. “You just need something to take your mind off the wait.” He buttoned up his black double-breasted Diesel wool coat. “Come on.”
Half an hour later, they emerged from the subway. Callie was grateful that Ellis knew exactly where they were going, since she was completely lost whenever she glanced at one of the multicolored Metro maps. She'd ridden the subway only a handful of times in her life, and the number 6 line, with its sticky seats and newspaper-strewn floors, was pretty gross. But it was almost worth the ride just for the moment when she and Ellis emerged from the underground station. An enormous, Gothic-looking structure loomed in front of them.
Ellis glanced at her. “You ever been across the Brooklyn Bridge?”
“You can walk across it?” Callie asked, surprised. Cars zoomed over the enormous suspension bridge in front of them, horns honking and lights flashing. “It's not, like, dangerous?”
“No, it's totally safe,” Ellis said confidently. “Tons of people walk across it every day.” He led Callie up a wide ramp that turned into the elevated pedestrian walkway, looking down on the cars speeding by below. The wind whipped through Callie's hair, and she forgot to be nervous as she spotted the wavering image of a city of skyscrapers, reflected in the dark blue, almost black water of the East River.
“Wow.” Callie stopped and leaned against the railing. A young couple in NYU sweats jogged past them, pushing a fancy baby stroller. “We're so high up.” She started to turn around, to look back at the city, but Ellis put his gloved hands on her shoulders.
“Don't look back yet.”
“What?” Callie stepped slightly closer to him. “Why not?”
“Trust me. It's better if you wait. The view is amazing from further out.” Ellis pointed ahead of them at the towering brick arches. Millions of cables swept from the tops of the towers to the sides of the bridge, like a giant metal spiderweb. They walked for a few minutes without saying anything. The loud, rhythmic sounds of the traffic below, combined with the movement of the water, had a calming effect on Callie. The more steps she took, the more she started to feel grateful—for the sunny blue sky above her, the warmth of the latte through her blue cashmere gloves, the—
“Now,” Ellis instructed, tugging on Callie's coat for her to stop. She turned around quickly, and her stomach dropped at the sight of lower Manhattan. The smooth glass of the skyscrapers glinted in the sunlight, the pointed tops reaching up into the clouds. A gust of wind blew, sending Callie's hair flying in her face. But even through the wispy strands of blond, the view was incredible.
“Wow,” Callie repeated, her heart beating faster. “It's so beautiful.” She couldn't take her eyes off the buildings, which almost seemed miniature from their high perch. She opened her mouth to thank Ellis for bringing her here, but something cold slammed into her neck.
She spun around to see a couple of preteen boys in puffy North Face jackets aiming snowballs directly at them. “They just hit me!” she sputtered.
“Then what are you waiting for?” Ellis was already scooping a handful of snow from the snowbank at the edge of the walkway, packing it into a tight ball. He sent a perfectly aimed snowball directly into one kid's stomach.
“War!” The kids shrieked gleefully and scrambled to pack more snowballs. And before she knew it, Callie was digging her hands into the dirty snow bank, not even worrying about ruining her gloves.
Pilgrim Hill in Central Park was a crowd of brightly colored parkas on a brilliant white bed of snow, little kids in red and pink jackets scampering around, their cheerful parents chasing them like ants crawling through sugar. A crafty vendor was selling plastic flying saucer sleds, fifteen dollars apiece, and dozens of kids with inflatable toboggans flew recklessly down the hill, careening into a wide, snowy field. Sleigh broke out a fifty and sprang for three saucers before Tinsley could even offer to pay. The vendor eyed the fifty to see if it was real while Tinsley retied the lace of her boot.
“I've never sledded,” Julian announced, glancing around at the kids waddling like penguins in their full-body snowsuits. “Can you believe that?”
“You West Coast boys.” Sleigh shook her head in disbelief, her blond hair falling out of her messy braid and into her face as she led the way toward the top of the hill. “I used to bring my little brother here all the time when we were kids.”
“That's cute.” Julian lifted his saucer over his head, like a shield. “I bet it was totally fun growing up near this.”
Tinsley watched this back-and-forth, remembering how annoying it was that Sleigh always managed to turn every single conversation back to her. Tinsley knew she had to jump in before Sleigh started talking about her fucking favorite color or something. “When I was working on my documentary in South Africa, I tried to explain snow to the kids there”—she liked how this made her sound like Mother Teresa—“and their eyes got about as wide as these sleds.”
Julian laughed, satisfying Tinsley's need for attention. “That's crazy.” The three of them moved just in time to avoid being hit by a little boy who'd accidentally slid down the wrong side of the hill. A stockbroker-looking guy in a long gray wool coat and a pair of knee-high Hunter wellies chased after him.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Sleigh countered. “I used to volunteer at the Children's Crisis Center in Florida—this really awful place where they put kids who have been taken away from their parents by the cops—”
“That sucks,” Julian said. He pulled the sticker off the bottom of his sled. Tinsley shook some snow off the top of her boots. Volunteering? Right. On the one day she wasn't sunbathing at her parents' West Palm Beach mansion.
“Yeah, right?” Sleigh continued without missing a beat. “These kids were so great. They had no idea what was going on. And my job was just to entertain them. You know, to take their mind off things. They could be totally traumatized, but when you started telling them a really great story or something, you should have seen the looks on these kids' faces. It was totally worth it to make them smile.”
“Wow.” Julian hiked up the last bit of the hill.
“Yeah, it's amazing,” Tinsley said, jumping in. “Families are so different in South Africa. It's like a totally different way of living, not like we have here.” She could feel herself floundering. “I remember once, at Christmastime, I asked this girl in one of the villages where we were filming if she was ready for presents—”
“Do they have Christmas in South Africa?” Sleigh piped up.
“Not officially,” Tinsley answered earnestly. “But there's a mix of people and they all know about Christmas.” She smiled at Julian to reassert her storytelling credibility. “Anyway, the little girl said she didn't have any presents this year and so I got the crew together and we pooled everything we had—combs, key chains, crossword puzzle books, colored pencils—just anything we could scrounge up and we wrapped them in newspaper for this little girl and her two sisters. You can't imagine the look on their faces.”
“Wow,” Julian said. “Very cool. I'll bet that little girl will never forget that Christmas.” His breath floated out in front of him and he smiled at Tinsley, maybe seeing her in a new light. At least, she hoped.
“That's just like the time I was building houses in the Dominican Republic!” Before Sleigh could plunge into another endless story about building wells, Tinsley tossed her sled down and looked down the hill, crisscrossed with ruts and bootprints of all sizes by now.
“Last one to the bottom is a rotten egg!” Tinsley dropped on her knees. The plastic sled felt cold through her jeans. The sled spun clockwise and Tinsley pushed off violently, taking a wide lead on Sleigh and Julian, who pounced on their sleds after her. The three plummeted down the slope, scattering a group of kids who were loafing at the bottom, Tinsley in first, Sleigh in second, and Julian stalled a few feet from the bottom, his sled squirting out from under
him.
“That was crazy!” Sleigh shrieked wildly, and Tinsley actually started to wonder about her sanity. It wasn't totally hard to believe that her “mental health break” from Waverly had led to more serious problems, like schizophrenia. “Feel my heart racing,” Sleigh grabbed Julian's hand and pressed it to her chest, as if he could feel something beneath her thick, butt-ugly jacket.
“Mine too,” Julian said, removing his hand quickly and putting it on his chest. “That was excellent.”
“Best two out of three,” Sleigh said, sprinting back up the hill.
Tinsley followed, with Julian in tow. A snowball fight broke out near the top of the hill and a cold spiral whizzed by Tinsley's head, barely missing her.
“That kid almost nailed you,” Julian said, panting from the incline.
“Good thing he's seven.” Tinsley laughed. “Or I might have to smack him.”
The results of the second race were exactly the same as the first, even though she kept hoping Sleigh would somehow plow into a tree and leave her alone with Julian. Being around her again was suffocating, and the nice thing was getting tiresome. She needed a quick escape to gather her thoughts. Then she remembered Olesia's, the tiny bakery with croissants that melted in your mouth, just across the park.
“I'll be right back,” Tinsley said, dropping her sled at her feet.
“Where are you going?” Julian asked. He patted the snow off his jeans.
“You can both race for second place.” She clomped through the knee-deep snow in the direction of Olesia's. She was actually hungry, but she wasn't fetching the buttery pastries to sate the growling in her stomach. Two could play at hospitality. The warm air inside Olesia's blasted her face as she surveyed the fully stocked display case. She upgraded her order from regular croissants to chocolate croissants. Why not force-feed Sleigh a few extra calories, too?