Reckless

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  Well, then. Her cheeks flushed as red as her hair, Brett stood up in a huff and headed over to where Jenny was sitting in the front row. She flopped into the empty seat next to her. “We didn't even go to their stupid party,” she growled under her breath.

  Jenny patted Brett's arm. “It'll be okay. What can they do? Suspend us for doing our nails in our dorm room?”

  “You'll see,” Brett replied skeptically.

  Jenny's chocolate-colored eyes looked vaguely worried as the two of them watched the room fill up with girls. It was totally weird for Brett to be on this side of the table. The girls were biting their manicured nails and tapping the toes of their shoes against the shiny wooden floor, whispering to each other a little too loudly.

  “Asshole,” Jenny heard someone say. At the table, Ryan Reynolds and the non-Dumbarton members of the DC, mostly freshmen and sophomores, had taken their seats next to petite Miss Rose of the English Department, who had taken over as the temporary DC adviser after Mr. Dalton's resignation. With her black turtleneck beneath her probably size-zero maroon blazer and her dark brown hair pulled back into a neat pony-tail, she could have easily passed for a freshman.

  “Let's get started, shall we?” Marymount looked tired, his round wire-rimmed glasses making his small blue eyes seem even smaller. He continued to flip through the papers in his hand, which Brett guessed had absolutely nothing at all to do with the keg bust last night. He just liked his props. “Mr. Wilde, you were the first one to notice the, um, gathering while walking by Dumbarton last night, correct?”

  “Yes, correct.” Mild-mannered Mr. Wilde looked uncomfortable in his role as disciplinarian. He was one of those teachers who really cared whether or not his AP History students liked him, and the walls of his office were plastered with posters of album covers—not just ones from his generation, but ones the kids would respect too—OutKast, Coldplay, Interpol. He looked like it killed him to be here, getting his students in trouble. He tugged obsessively at his collar. “I was on my way home from the library when I heard some … uh … loud music. There appeared to be people dancing on the roof of the dorm.”

  Marymount tapped his silver pen against the mahogany table. “What did you do next?” he prompted.

  “I called security,” Mr. Wilde admitted apologetically. “Then I shouted up to the girls to stay where they were. By the time I knocked on Mrs. Pardee's door”—he paused and blushed, and there was some twittering in the crowd of girls since everyone knew that Pardee had had some girlfriends over last night for a wine-drinking pajama party—”and the two of us got up to the roof, they'd all disappeared into their rooms.”

  Marymount cleared his throat. “And so it's not really clear how many were there—or who had been there, correct?”

  “Correct,” Mr. Wilde confirmed. “But they'd left an almost-empty keg behind—and a trash bag full of plastic cups.” He took a sip from his cup of coffee.

  “Were there a lot of cups?”

  Brett kicked Jenny's foot. Who cared?

  “The trash bag was almost full.”

  “Thank you.” Marymount flitted his eyes over the group of girls for the first time since they'd started. “Girls, I know you are all aware that the consumption of alcoholic beverages is behavior we cannot tolerate.” Brett could tell he was attempting to look sternly in each of the girls' eyes, but he gave up halfway through and began to glare at the table. “The timing of this incident is especially unfortunate, as we are preparing to host the trustees on campus this weekend and do not have time to babysit you.” Marymount sighed, something Brett noticed that he did often during DC meetings to give the impression that he was terribly unhappy about being their headmaster in the first place. “Unfortunately, because it is not apparent who exactly the guilty parties are, we are going to have to punish you all.”

  “No fucking way,” Brett gasped.

  A murmur ran through the crowd, which Marymount immediately silenced by shouting over it. “Beginning tomorrow evening after dinner, you will all be under house arrest for the weekend and confined to Dumbarton Hall until Monday morning. Meals will be brought in, and any girl seen leaving the residency will face serious consequences.”

  Serious consequences? What about not being able to go to Jeremiah's homecoming game? Or out to dinner with his parents or out to the St. Lucius parties to show all those St. Lucius girls that Jeremiah was off the market? Or to lose her virginity! “This is so unfair!” Brett exclaimed loudly, though her voice was drowned out by the exclamations and complaints of the two dozen other girls.

  Marymount cleared his throat and rapped his knuckles on the table. There was more? “I know there may be some of you who were not involved in the keg party, and I'm sure you think this is an unfair punishment.” A murmur of agreement went up and Marymount quickly continued. “However, to be aware of rule-breaking and to do nothing about it is, in the administration's eyes, comparable to rule-breaking itself.” He looked directly at Brett as he said this, and her face flushed with anger. Not ratting on your dormmates for having a kegger was as bad as actually sneaking a keg into a dormitory and getting plastered? He had to be kidding!

  For the first time, Miss Rose spoke up, her small voice surprisingly authoritative. “The committee has decided that in addition to the house arrest, the girls of Dumbarton must each hand in on Monday morning a written report on what you've learned about being a responsible Owl.” Ryan Reynolds, who'd been gazing affectionately at Miss Rose the whole time Marymount was talking, was now busy trying to hold back the smirk on his face, clearly amused by the whole thing. He met Brett's gaze over the fat bowl of white carnations sitting in the middle of the table and gave her a wink. He was always skeezing on her during meetings, and he was probably all turned on by the fact that the class prefect was suddenly one of the delinquents.

  But Brett was too busy being pissed off to be grossed out by Ryan. This was insane. Not only was her weekend ruined, but now she had to sit down and write some crap about what it means to be a responsible Owl? Fuck that.

  “I don't want anything like this to happen again.” Marymount stood up, looking more disgusted than Brett had ever seen him. It was like he couldn't bear to look at them anymore, and suddenly Brett felt ashamed. Dean Marymount was a dork, of course, but she wanted him to think highly of her. Now it seemed like he thought she was just like everyone else, and she hadn't even done anything! “You are dismissed and may return to your classes.”

  A responsible Owl? Brett thought bitterly. A responsible Owl shits all over Tinsley Carmichael.

  CallieVernon:Ugh. This sucks.

  TinsleyCarmichael:Hey, don't get all depressed. HF brought over six mini-kegs … they only found the tapped one on the roof.

  CallieVernon:No fucking way. Where are they stashed?

  TinsleyCarmichael:Under depresso girl next door's bed … bet they'll come in handy this weekend.

  CallieVernon:Aren't we in enough trouble?

  TinsleyCarmichael:A responsible Owl does not let an opportunity like this go to waste!

  10

  A WORTHY OWL ALWAYS NOTICES HIS GIRLFRIEND'S NAILS, EVEN IF HIS THOUGHTS ARE ELSEWHERE.

  Friday was a chilly, gray day, as if Marymount had ordered the weather to punish the girls of Dumbarton too. Like being confined to the dorm for the entire weekend wasn't punishment enough. Or unfair enough.

  “Marymount bites,” Alison Quentin muttered as she and Jenny headed over to the art studio after lunch. Their second-to-last meal as free women, Jenny couldn't help thinking. The weekend already loomed over her like a death sentence. It was one weekend, but still … she'd been looking forward to spending some time with Easy and to avoiding her room a little more. Now it looked like she and Callie would be in nice close quarters for more than forty-eight hours. That sounded like a party waiting to happen. “It seems so weird to just punish everyone arbitrarily like that. Isn't that what dictators do?”

  Jenny resisted saying something sarcastic. Alison, still a car
d-carrying member of Café Society and welcome at all Tinsley-orchestrated events, had definitely gotten a couple of beers out of the roof party. Jenny and Brett had been nowhere near it. But regardless, it seemed like an awfully harsh punishment to throw on everyone just because a bunch of trustees were going to be in town. “How did a keg even get up there?”

  “Dunno.” Alison paused to pick a crumbling yellow oak leaf from the heel of her red leather moccasins. “But I did hear that Heath Ferro was planning some sort of big party this weekend.”

  “How could he have a party without us?” It was a well-known fact that the girls of Dumbarton were the hottest on campus. Or at least they acted like they were, Jenny had noticed. Not that she minded—if felt kind of good to think of herself as hot for once instead of getting all bogged down in the specifics. Like short legs, frizzy hair, boobs that didn't fit with the rest of your body, slight stomach pudge, etc.

  “That's what I'm saying.” Alison sighed heavily as the girls turned a corner and caught sight of the art building in front of them. “Looks like someone's waiting for you.” She nudged Jenny in the ribs, right in a ticklish spot. Jenny squirmed away—she was disastrously ticklish.

  Easy was leaning against one of the concrete columns at the entrance to the building. Instead of capitals at the tops of the columns, there were gaps. They were, as the pretty brunette guide had announced to Jenny and her dad on their tour, “ironic” columns. Rufus, who had never heard a pun he didn't like, had laughed so hard Jenny was afraid he'd give himself an aneurysm. Easy's sketchbook was open on his lap. He looked up and gave the two girls a little salute.

  “Jesus,” Alison murmured under her breath. “You are so freaking lucky.”

  Jenny couldn't disagree. She could feel Easy's gaze on her as they approached, taking in her tightish cranberry American Apparel crew neck, dark A-line denim skirt (vintage Gap) with a long slit up the middle, and knee-high brown suede Camper boots. Nothing too exciting, but the thing about Easy was that just one look from him—one of those looks—and she felt like Cinderella dressed in the most beautiful gown.

  “Did you hear the news?” Alison asked Easy as the two girls reached the bottom step, even though he still had his eyes on Jenny. “We're all under house arrest this weekend.”

  Easy dragged his eyes over to Alison as Jenny sat down next to him and he casually draped his arm around her shoulders. “I heard something about that. Is it true?” He gave Jenny's shoulders a little squeeze and her heart began to pound even harder.

  Alison met Jenny's eyes and gave her a quick wink as she headed for the door. “Unfortunately.”

  Jenny tapped her fingers against the edge of Easy's sketch-book, open to a giant pencil drawing of an oak tree that, instead of leaves, was sprouting squirrels. “Yeah, it's for real.” Jenny shook her head. She hoped Easy didn't notice that in all this humid weather, she had run out of defrizz cream and was now sporting an electroshock look. It was definitely a ponytail day, but she hadn't been able to find a hair band anywhere.

  “For the whole weekend?”

  “Starting at curfew tonight.” Jenny glanced at her watch. They still had a few minutes before class, and it was so nice sitting like this, with Easy, on the steps, watching everyone meandering to class on a Friday afternoon, talking about plans for the weekend. Everyone except for the girls of Dumbarton, that is. “It's totally unfair, but they're worried about the trustees and don't want to have to deal with keeping their eye on us, I guess. At least we can still go riding and have a dinner date.”

  Easy cleared his throat, and Jenny could feel him stiffen a little. Was it something she said? “About that …” Easy turned toward her. “My dad's coming up for the trustee meetings, and I sort of have to have dinner with him tonight.” His navy blue eyes looked all worried, and Jenny felt bad for him—her dad was totally embarrassing, but she'd never dread eating dinner with him. She actually kind of missed it. “So I guess we'll have to postpone our date until next weekend.”

  “Hey, no problem.” Jenny impulsively gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course.”

  Easy shook his head in amazement. “You are so freaking sweet, you know that?”

  “I'm just sorry your dad stresses you out so much.” Jenny shrugged her small shoulders. “But at least you'll get away from the dining halls for a meal.”

  “And maybe have some wine, if he's feeling generous.” Easy took one of Jenny's curls and started to twirl it around his index finger. “And, oh, five or six lectures.”

  Jenny giggled. “About what?”

  Easy composed his handsome face into a “fatherly” expression. “Too much time on art. Too much time riding.” He ticked down a finger with each reason. “Not enough time on serious study. Not enough time thinking about the future. Not enough green leafy vegetables.” He folded down his pinky finger and made a fist. “Et cetera, et cetera.”

  “If it's any consolation, I'll probably be in my room studying while you're enjoying your glass of wine. So it could be worse.”

  Easy gave Jenny a long look before sliding his pencil stub behind his ear. “You're right.” He bit his lip, still looking nervous. Poor, sweet Easy! She wished she could go with him—maybe it would help him feel a little more comfortable if he knew he had someone to back him up. But she didn't want to offer in case it was something he just wanted to get over alone and as soon as possible. Like going to the dentist.

  Jenny glanced at the door. “We should probably go in,” she said, reluctantly getting to her feet.

  Easy followed her slowly, but before he picked up his bag, he grabbed Jenny's arm and leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead. She closed her eyes, enjoying the moment and the feeling of Easy's lips on her skin.

  If only she could freeze this moment and keep on living it forever. Or better yet, kidnap Easy so she could have him with her during lockdown all weekend. Wouldn't a responsible Owl take responsibility for her own happiness?

  To:JeremiahMortimer@stlucius.edu

  From:BrettMesserschmidt@waverly.edu

  Date:Friday, October 4, 1:18 p.m.

  Subject:ARGH!!!

  Jeremiah,

  The worst, most horrible, most earth-shatteringly unfair news ever—because of a keg party that Tinsley Megabitch Carmichael threw on the roof last night—how stupid can you be?—the whole dorm got busted and we're all under house arrest this weekend. Now I've been put in charge of collecting essays from all the girls about how to be a responsible Owl. Fuck it. I'm nearly ready to quit DC in protest.

  I am so, so sorry I'm going to have to miss your homecoming game—you know how sexy I think it is when you're destroying the other team. I'm bummed about missing out on dinner with the fam and I was looking for ward to celebrating with you later too. Alone.

  But maybe we can sneak some time in soon somehow?

  Love you,

  Brett

  HeathFerro:URGENT

  TinsleyCarmichael:Speak, HF. Don't just waste my time.

  HeathFerro:Meow! Kitty, just need your help getting the kegs from the girl next door tonight.

  TinsleyCarmichael:My help?

  HeathFerro:Buchanan, his daddy, and McCafferty will be dining with Marymount tonight at 8—perfect opp for us to sneak out the goods.

  HeathFerro:Consider it penance for the keg you ladies tapped.

  HeathFerro:HELLOW??????

  TinsleyCarmichael:B, I hear you and Julian are dining with the dean 2nite.

  BrandonBuchanan:Yup. What's it to you?

  TinsleyCarmichael:Just wanted you to know I'm willing to show up to add some more X chromosomes to the mix.

  BrandonBuchanan:Uh, thanks, but not necessary. I'm sure all us Ys will get along fine.

  TinsleyCarmichael:Never hurts conversation to add a pretty girl to the mix. Don't worry, you don't need me to ask twice. I'll be there at 8.

  BrandonBuchanan:Whatever.

  TinsleyCarmichael:So
rry, HF. Won't be around at dinner, so guess you won't be able to get those kegs … ttfn

  HeathFerro:Don't even start w/me.

  HeathFerro:UR joking, right?

  HeathFerro:Get back here!!!

  11

  A WAVERLY OWL IS ALWAYS FASHIONABLY LATE.

  Le Petit Coq, the lone fancy restaurant in all of downtown Rhinecliff, was in an unassuming two-story farmhouse near the far end of Main Street, a house someone's grandmother might live in. Because the town's other dining options included a couple of pizza places, a deli where all the sandwiches were named after dead celebrities, an Indian restaurant the size of a closet, and a Subway, Le Petit Coq was the restaurant of choice for parental visits. Waverly students rarely went there on their own, so it was always a treat to go when parents were in town—your own or someone else's.

  “Stop looking so nervous.” Tinsley nudged Callie in the side as they approached the steps to the restaurant. Through the gauzy curtains on the windows, the shadowy figures of well-dressed women and men in dark blazers were visible at the candlelit tables. “You're not the one having dinner with the dean.”

  “You're not the one having dinner with your ex-boyfriend— and his father!” Callie countered, pausing on the bottom step to straighten the two tortoiseshell clips that held the sides of her hair back even though they were already straight.

  “True.” Tinsley was wearing a black silk georgette Agnes B. shirt-dress, unbuttoned halfway down the front to allow just the right amount of skin to peek out. An ivory cashmere Loro Piana shawl was wound expertly around her shoulders. She tapped the toes of her Fendi patent leather stilettos. “But that's no excuse for being late.”

  Callie took in a deep breath of the cool evening air and wrapped her arms around herself. She looked perfectly elegant in a plaid pencil skirt and matching cranberry Moschino Cheap & Chic top with a keyhole opening and tie around her neck that she kept playing with. But she was definitely nervous.