Infamous

  “He's totally hot, by the way.” Brett opened the refrigerator and grabbed a Diet Coke. Cracking it open, she remembered how when she got to Waverly, she realized everyone in the world called it “soda” instead of “pop,” and so she'd immediately started saying “soda,” too, even though for her whole life she'd called it “pop.” “Willy, I mean. Not Mr. Cooper.”

  “I know what you mean, goombah.” Bree leaned over and tousled Brett's hair like she always did when she wanted to annoy her, but this time it felt really sweet. “Isn't he gorgeous? I mean, you should see him coming out of the shower when he's all dripping wet—”

  “Too much information!” Brett squealed. “I definitely don't want to see that.” Although she kind of did.

  Bree shrugged, her green eyes finally happy again—just talking about Willy seemed to cheer her up. “So, I make an exception for Willy's parents because I love him. That's what love is about—taking the bad with the good. I don't expect you to do the same, but if you love me, maybe you will.”

  “I do.” Brett nodded. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Bree set the glass of water on the counter and threw her arms around Brett, who could feel the full force of Bree's body against her. She squeezed back, as hard as she could.

  “Is Willy still here?” Brett asked, drying one of her eyes with a fingertip.

  Bree nodded. “He's in the TV room with Dad.”

  “I'm really sorry I made his parents leave,” Brett said, meaning it. Sort of. She was still kind of pleased with herself.

  “I think we're all better off with them back in Greenwich.” Bree smiled. “They haven't stayed away from their house in, like, twenty years. And then it was just to stay at the Yale Club in New York.”

  Brett laughed and followed Bree into the family room, where her parents were relaxing in matching La-Z-Boy recliners, watching some golf tournament in what looked like sunny Hawaii on the enormous plasma screen that took up half the wall.

  “Hello, girls.” Her father grinned a silly grin like he used to do when they were kids. “I see you've kissed and made up.”

  “For now.” Bree poked Brett in the ribs, right where she was most ticklish. Both of them plopped down on the giant sofa, where Willy was sitting at one end. Brett folded her legs under her and leaned her head into the back of the cushions. The lamps gave off a soft glow and her father reached for the remote. He thumbed through the on-screen guide and found Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, a Messerschmidt family classic. He turned the volume up as Steve Martin and John Candy got drunk on airplane bottles of liquor and Brett felt her body release all its tension as the five of them turned their attention to the movie, grateful for a moment's peace. Her father began to snore quietly. Everything felt right with the world again.

  Princess hopped up onto the couch, the tiny bell on her pink leopard-print collar jingling. As Brett stroked her soft fur, she remembered how cute it had been to see Sebastian, who liked to act all tough, with the tiny dog curled up on his lap. Brett felt a slightly queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach—but not wanting to admit that anything else was wrong, she blamed it on her second helping of mashed potatoes.

  27

  A WAVERLY OWL IS NEVER LATE FOR AN IMPORTANT ENGAGEMENT.

  Callie peered out the windows of the yellow cab as it inched down Fifth Avenue, through the snowy darkness. Normally, she would have been thrilled to go in slow motion past Tiffany, watching the glamorous people stride in and out of the doors. But it was closed now, and all she cared about was getting to Easy as fast as humanly possible—something her cabdriver didn't seem to understand.

  “Please!” Callie waved a twenty through the small window in the plastic divider. “Can you go any faster?”

  “The snow, the snow,” he kept saying.

  The back of the cab was cold, but Callie didn't want to risk annoying the cabbie any further—it had taken ten minutes to even find one, and the snow was seeping through her boots. She rubbed her gloved hands up and down her legs, not believing she'd managed to lose track of time. What had she been thinking? She'd had all these plans to wear something gorgeous and sexy that would blow Easy away, but she hadn't even had time to put on more deodorant before zipping out of the apartment in the exact same outfit she'd been wearing all day.

  Deep breaths, she told herself. You'll get there. It wasn't like Easy wasn't used to her being late. She stared at the gothic spires of St. Patrick's Cathedral, her mind drifting to her wedding day with Easy. Would they be married in a church like that? Maybe. And the Vera Wang dress would be perfect. Church bells tolled and they lurched forward, past the darkened windows of Saks Fifth Avenue reflecting a distorted image of the yellow cab.

  Callie's stomach growled—the scallion pancakes in Brooklyn seemed like years ago. Her heart pounded and her whole body started to sweat. She definitely could have used some more deodorant. But as the yellow and blue-lit needle on top of the Empire State Building came into focus, she could sense Easy's presence. She was late, but she knew Easy would be waiting. As they pulled up next to it, Callie threw some bills at the driver and ran.

  The heels of her Chloé boots clicked on the marble floor as she charged through the art deco lobby. Where the hell was she supposed to go? She strode toward the elevators.

  “Whoa, whoa,” a voice said. A guard dressed in blue and gray stepped out of the shadows of the elevator bank. “We're closing.”

  Callie noticed for the first time that the lobby was empty. “But it's not closing time.” Callie pleaded. “I'm meeting someone.” She took a step toward the open elevator, but the guard blocked her way.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “But we're closing. It's Thanksgiving, and the weather's getting worse.”

  “But someone is waiting for me,” Callie insisted. “He's already up there. I'm late and he's been waiting, don't you see?” Tears sprang to her eyes and threatened to spill over.

  “I see,” the guard assured her, gazing suspiciously at her. His hand rested on the black baton on his belt. “But I can't let you up. The building is closing.” The guard touched his neatly trimmed moustache and checked his watch. “In fact, I'm supposed to lock up the central elevators now. You say someone is still up there?”

  “Yes!” Callie said desperately. “The boy I love!” A few hot tears slid down her cheeks—she'd made it this far, and all that was standing between her and Easy now was a slightly pudgy security guard with some kind of God complex. “Please. I'm late already, and I'll…I'll scale the outside of this building if I have to.” Callie's blood pulsed in her ears, and she was starting to feel nauseated at the thought of Easy wondering where the hell she was.

  “Look, I can't—”

  “You're married,” she went on, catching the guard by surprise—she'd seen the gold band on his finger—“so you know what it's like to be totally in love with someone, right?” She raised her hand and flashed it in front of the guard's eyes to let him see her ring, but all her frozen hand revealed was a cold, white finger. “I already lost my promise ring—please don't let me lose him too.”

  The guard removed the green velvet rope in front of the open elevator. “Okay, but be quick. And then both of you get down here or you'll be stuck up there all night. I'm not kidding.”

  Callie planted a kiss on the guard's cheek before he knew what she was doing. “Thank you, thank you.”

  The elevator dinged shut and began to rise, shooting past the floors in the lower twenties and thirties, rocketing her toward the observation deck on the eighty-sixth floor. She remembered a trip to New York she'd taken with the junior high Model U.N. club her mother had forced her to join. Callie had been part of the International Court of Justice, the most boring part of Model U.N., and she'd threatened to quit, until her mother told her about the prize of a trip to New York City at the end of the school year. As the elevator rose through the upper floors, she remembered how one of her classmates had thrown up in the elevator. She felt like she
might do the same just as the doors opened on the windy eighty-sixth floor, the cold winter air smacking her in the face.

  A dark figure stepped forward from the edge of the observation deck. Callie recognized Easy's dark olive green Patagonia jacket, but his hair—his crazy-sexy, dark, almost-black curls—had been completely shorn off. He looked handsome—almost even more so—but different. His face caught the yellow light from the spire and she smiled. With his short hair, he looked like a schoolboy.

  “Hey.” The wind tousled the orange and red Hugo Boss scarf wound around his neck, her Christmas present to him last year. “I didn't think you were going to make it.”

  “Have you been waiting long?” she asked, annoyed at herself for asking such a mundane question. In the elevator she'd imagined jumping into Easy's arms, knocking them both to the ground, smothering him in kisses. But something about their whole scene at the top of the Empire State Building just felt…off.

  “I had nowhere else to be.” Easy grinned shyly, and Cal-lie melted. She rushed toward him, letting him wrap his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest—even though there was still a knot in her stomach. It was so surreal to see him again after she'd been thinking about him for so long—it was almost like he wasn't the same person she'd been fantasizing about, even though, except for the hair, this was still the Easy Walsh she knew and loved.

  Wasn't it?

  Her gaze drifted off into the panoramic night view of New York, the dark rivers gurgling somewhere in the distance past the specks of bright lights. She babbled something about how she and Tinsley and Jenny couldn't find a hotel, how they'd ended up at Yvonne's, though she left out the part about the wild party, and spending the day with Ellis, and the magical trip through the underground world of art. She realized she was stalling, but she didn't know why.

  “It's nice to just hear you talk again.” Easy laughed, stroking her hair with his bare hands. He never wore gloves.

  “Have you been painting?” she asked his chest.

  He shook his head and took a step backwards. “They don't let you do that sort of thing.” His beautiful blue eyes that always reminded her of stormy ocean waters looked a little harder than usual, and she shivered at the thought of Easy getting up at the crack of dawn to do push-ups. “I've been dreaming of you.” He touched her chin and tenderly pulled her toward him for a kiss.

  But Callie drew back.

  “What?” Easy asked, confusion crossing his face. Snowflakes landed on his skin, melting away.

  “I'm—it's—” Callie stammered, her heart feeling like it was about to explode. “Look.” She tore off her gloves and held up her bare hand as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I lost your ring already. I'm so stupid. I was throwing snowballs and I—”

  “It's okay.” Easy tried to calm her down. He ran his hands up and down her back. “It's okay. It's just a ring.”

  “I know,” Callie said bitterly. “But you gave it to me and I lost it.” She realized then how stupid her bride fantasies were. She couldn't even stay committed to her fake engagement for a whole day. Guilt about how exactly she'd lost the ring—throwing snowballs with Ellis—made her fingers start to shake. But why did she feel guilty? She hadn't done anything wrong. And she knew she wasn't in love with Ellis—she hadn't even kissed him, or imagined kissing him. Before she'd met Ellis at Yvonne's, she'd touched Easy's ring every other minute, marveling at its power to bring the smell and feel of Easy to life. But Ellis had distracted her, and she had to admit she'd forgotten all about the ring until she realized it was lost.

  And now Easy was standing in front of her, true flesh and blood. But it just felt…too late.

  She looked into Easy's confused and worried face. “I'll always love you.” Her words came out all warbled, and it killed her to look at Easy's crushed blue eyes. But she had to say it. She put her hand on his chest and wished she felt differently, but just as she'd been so sure just months ago that she loved him more than anything—now she was sure that it was over. “But I think it's over.” She bit her tongue to keep from saying that she'd spent the last ten hours not thinking about him—and still having a great time.

  “Callie.” Easy coughed into his fist. “Did I do something? I'm so sorry I haven't been able to call or…”

  Callie stared straight up, up at the glowing tower of the Empire State Building in the black night sky. Snow fell harder and harder, landing on her eyelashes and blurring her sight. She shook her head slowly and stepped backward, away from Easy. “It's all right. It's better this way. It just is.” She raised her hand and turned around, surprised at how easy it was to turn away from him. He remained standing by the guardrail without saying a word.

  She wondered if she should hug him, or tell him they could always be friends, but anything she had to say seemed meaningless now. With a deep breath, she stepped back into the elevator. And as the doors closed, she let the tears fall.

  28

  A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT ISN'T ALWAYS THE DARKEST HOUR.

  Tinsley drifted in and out of sleep as the black night sky over the city slowly turned a milky gray. After the hot tub portion of the party had disbanded, everyone had huddled around the giant fireplace in Yvonne's living room, telling ghost stories under blankets until people started falling asleep. She'd tucked Jenny safely into one of the guest beds, but she just couldn't fall asleep. Her nerves were still on edge thinking about the look Julian had shot her when she'd bossily escorted the drunken Jenny from the hot tub. After the last whispers had quieted, she'd tossed and turned for hours. Finally she'd grabbed a lime green North Face sleeping bag, made a cup of hot cocoa, and was sitting out on the roof deck, leaning against the brick wall of Yvonne's building and staring out at the beautiful, snowy pre-dawn. Alone.

  Her giant ceramic mug of watery instant hot chocolate cooled in her palms. She blew into the mug, the steam rising and drifting out toward the shadowy rooftops across Park Avenue. Tinsley loved climbing onto her own roof at her parents' place and had a secret compartment under one of the vents to stash her cigarettes and the occasional pilfered joint.

  God, her Thanksgiving weekend had sucked. First her parents had ditched her without notice—she had to remember to still be pissed about that the next time she spoke to her mom—and then she'd momentarily reconciled with Julian, only to have that mega-bitch Sleigh ruin everything. Tinsley wasn't going to get another chance.

  Eventually, the sun popped up over the East River, casting the city in shadow. The Empire State Building looked huge and intimidating. She couldn't really believe Callie had dumped Easy—when Callie had come back to Yvonne's late last night, tear-streaked and a little shaky, she'd spilled everything. It was all for the best, really. Tinsley thought of her words of advice to Jenny—relax, have fun. Don't start planning your wedding. She meant them, really she did…but she knew what it was like, too, to meet someone who completely changed your life.

  It was Julian's loss, she reminded herself for the millionth time. How could he be so easily taken in by Sleigh? He was only a freshman, but still. How could he not see what a transparent little bitch she was? Tinsley fumbled for her cigarettes and lit one up, blowing a torrent of smoke into the crisp air.

  The door to the roof opened and Tinsley's spirits sank further—if she had to watch some of Jeremy's friends come out to watch the sunrise and mack on high school girls, she'd puke. A foot kicked the door when it stuck, just like Tinsley had had to do, and Julian peeked around the corner, his dirty blond hair matted down in an appealing case of bed-head. He didn't look surprised to see her, which agitated Tinsley even more.

  “What now?” she asked haughtily. “Are you going to criticize me for yelling at a drunk girl?” She didn't mean to sound like such a bitch, but since he thought she was one anyway, what difference did it make?

  Julian had that hazy look of someone who'd just woken up. “No,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “May I?”

  Tinsley shrugged, pulling her sl
eeping bag further over her shoulders, like a protective fleece cocoon. “Help yourself.”

  Julian righted a plastic chair, wiping his hand across the seat before gingerly sitting down. He was wearing his jeans with a borrowed black Columbia sweatshirt, and its sleeves were a little too short. “Actually, that was a nice thing you did for Jenny,” he said, clearing his throat to vanquish his morning voice.

  Tinsley eyed him cautiously. “Thanks.” She sipped her hot chocolate, which had gone cold in her hand. She choked back the swallow so as not to spit it back into her mug. “But I'll never be as nice as Sleigh, apparently.”

  “Yeah, about her…” Julian smiled sheepishly, running his bare hand through his hair and making it even messier.

  “What about her?” Tinsley tried to conceal her annoyance. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Sleigh, and she was sorry she'd mentioned the bitch's name. If he was going to tell her that Sleigh was coming back to Waverly, or that they were dating, Tinsley would have to hurl something off the roof of the building—possibly her own body.

  “When I was talking to her after dinner, it came up that you and I had, you know, hooked up before.” Julian's cheeks flushed a little as he said this. He kicked at the snow with his sneakers, his feet bare inside them. “And she sort of freaked out on me.”

  “Really?” Tinsley sipped again at her cold cocoa, trying to keep the joy from her voice. She resisted asking if Sleigh had tried to throw all his shit out the window—even she knew better than to gloat.

  Julian nodded. “I always sensed there was something a little off about her. I just couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was.” He leaned over and traced his fingers in the snow, scooping up a thin layer and tossing it into the air. “My best friend at home had this girlfriend who was all sweet and charming, and once we were hanging out late down at the beach and he forgot to call her and she came screaming down in this little powder blue Volkswagen bug—she didn't even have her driver's license. The shit that came out of her mouth freaked everyone out. And none of us saw it coming.”