Reckless

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  All afternoon, the girls had left the doors to their rooms—and closets—open, and everyone roamed around the floors, pawing through racks of clothes that weren't even their size, just in case they saw something spectacular. Tinsley had been through Benny and Sage and Celine's closets, and she knew Callie's like the back of her hand, but everything seemed boring. Dry. Conventional. Unsurprising. Her wardrobe had been picked clean by dozens of hands. She didn't mind sharing, as long as she got outfits as good as she gave.

  Brett came storming into the room, an emerald green chiffon garment hanging over her arm. She didn't even glance at Tinsley as she tossed the dress onto her bed. She clicked on her Harmon Kardon stereo, flooding the room with the sound of Fleetwood Mac. Could Brett be any lamer? Who liked seventies music besides the people who were actually alive in the seventies?

  With a glare at Brett that was meant to be withering, Tinsley left the room, slamming the door behind her.

  She sighed. Five-thirty—the boys, if they managed to find a way in, would be here in a couple of hours. She might as well check on the beer—the kegs probably needed new ice. Never before had the ice machine in Dumbarton's basement seemed so essential.

  Kara's door was the only closed one on the whole floor. Tinsley knocked briefly before twisting the knob. Kara was sitting at her desk, books open in front of her. “Hello?” Tinsley called out.

  Kara spun around in her chair. “Oh … hey.” She didn't look happy that Tinsley was there. Please. Tinsley was doing this nobody girl a fucking favor, allowing her to store the party refreshments in her room. No one even knew who she was before today. She could at least show a little gratitude.

  “Just wanted to check on the kegs—you don't mind if we leave them here, do you?” Tinsley glanced around the spotless, tidy room. “It's just so clean in here. And no one would suspect you.”

  Kara dropped her arm over the back of her chair. She was still wearing the Bob Dylan T-shirt she'd had on earlier. Hopeless. “Yeah, whatever.” Her greenish brown eyes met Tinsley's violety blue ones.

  Tinsley crouched near the bed and lifted the bedspread out of the way. She pressed one of her hands to the metal of the keg. Cool enough. She stood back up. All right, she could be a little nicer to this girl—after all, she hadn't exactly asked her before she'd stored the kegs in her room. “How come you're not dressed?” Tinsley inquired. “You're coming to the party, right?”

  “Well…”

  “Oh, come on!” Tinsley straightened up and for the first time glanced at Kara's open closet door. With the eye of a shopping aficionado, she took in the bright colors and expensive fabrics. Wait a second, whose stuff was this? The girl who wore only black had a closetful of clothes like these? In two quick strides, Tinsley was in front of the closet, pulling at a gorgeous dusty rose dress with a pleated waist and full, swingy silhouette. It looked like something out of the twenties. She held it up against her body. “Where did you get this stuff?” she exclaimed, already eagerly pawing at the other things.

  Kara's chair squeaked as she pushed it back across the hard-wood floor. She walked timidly toward Tinsley. Tinsley considered herself an expert on body language, and she could tell Kara didn't trust her. Tinsley looked at her more closely. She was one of those girls you don't realize is pretty until you've been looking at her for a few moments, and suddenly, like a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces fall into place. Her shoulder-length hair was stick-straight, a mild, honey-tinted brown, and she was small and curvy. She still had some baby fat on her face, nothing that a little skilled makeup application couldn't turn to her advantage, and gorgeous, wide-set greenish brown eyes that were completely wasted on someone who didn't know how to use a touch of eyeliner.

  “My mom.” Kara watched as Tinsley pulled out a pair of white satin sailor pants and squinted at the tag. Frannie Oz. “She's …um … a designer.”

  Tinsley's jaw dropped. “Are you kidding? She made all these? You lucky bitch.”

  Kara shrugged, completely oblivious to what a freaking gold mine she was hiding in her closet. “She went a little overboard this year—she sent me all these samples from her spring line.”

  Tinsley spun around and rubbed her forehead. “So why on earth are you not wearing them?” She was careful to avoid criticizing the Bob Dylan T-shirt and black jeans—some girls were so sensitive. But this girl had such a soft face that the all-black look was totally overwhelming.

  “I don't know.” Kara sighed and ran a hand through her shaggy graham-cracker-colored layers. She could use a haircut too, Tinsley decided. Something short and clipped to help make her face look less round. “I mean, I don't know if they'd even fit me.”

  She was clearly insane. “That's why you try them on, dummy.” Tinsley tugged a burnt-orange scarf-like spaghetti-strapped wrap dress, with an uneven hemline and a delicate paisley pattern (there was even some black in it to satisfy her goth tendencies), and forced it into Kara's hands. “Here.”

  “It's really not me… . It won't look good.”

  “Do me a favor and try it on.” Tinsley pointedly turned her back and continued to rummage through the closet. There were some amazing things in there—although Tinsley had never heard of the label, she'd be on the lookout for it from now on. All the designs had a vintage flavor to them, and the funky prints made Tinsley feel like she'd stumbled into the perfect little unknown boutique. Too bad Kara's mom wasn't the one living in this room—Tinsley would hire her to custom-make her some clothes! “If you've never worn it before, it counts as borrowing something.”

  A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed as Tinsley listened to the rustling sounds of Kara changing her clothes. “Done yet?” she asked, after enough time had passed. She spun around.

  Kara stood in the middle of the room, tugging at various parts of the dress, which fit her like a glove. The skirt swirled out a little at the bottom, a few inches above the knees, and the deep V-neck revealed just the right amount of Kara's curvy chest. “It's too tight. I feel like a hooker.”

  Tinsley giggled. “Now I know you're insane.” She stepped forward and tucked the label back beneath the fabric. “You look sexy. You are so not allowed to change. That's what you're wearing tonight.”

  Kara sighed again. “Well, uh, thanks.” She looked a little surprised when she checked out her image in the mirror on the back of her door. “I suppose I'm going to have to wear some makeup too, right?”

  “As long as you're doing it, you might as well do it right.”

  “I guess.”

  “Why don't you come over to my room?” Tinsley offered generously, still clutching the rose chiffon dress that looked almost like a peignoir Maggie would wear in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. “Have you met Brett before? I mean, you're new here, right?”

  “Not exactly …” Kara's cheeks turned pink. “I mean, I haven't really met Brett yet.” She cleared her throat and started fussing with the neckline of her dress. “Maybe I'll come over in a little bit. I've got to figure out what to do about shoes.”

  Tinsley held up the dress she was carrying. “You don't mind if I try this on, do you?” Kara was a little curvier than she was, but the dress had a tieback waist.

  Kara waved her off. “Help yourself.”

  Tinsley smiled. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was help herself.

  She stepped out into the hallway and saw Callie, her fist raised and about to knock on Tinsley and Brett's door. Her hair was damp from the shower, and she was still wearing her thick white Egyptian towel wrapped around her body. “Is the pizza here yet?” she demanded, her eyes flashing. Callie must be really hungry to be asking about food—usually she kind of pretended that she didn't need to eat. But … there was this sort of impish look on Callie's face today.

  Tinsley grinned at her old friend. “Smells like it. Let's grab some slices.”

  “Wanna bring them upstairs and do our makeup? I think Jenny's going down to your room.”

  Already forgetting about the makeup plan with Kar
a, Tinsley nodded. “Absolutely.”

  To:HeathFerro@waverly.edu;

  AlanStGirard@waverly.edu;

  EasyWalsh@waverly.edu;

  RyanReynolds@waverly.edu;

  JulianMcCafferty@waverly.edu;

  LonBaruzza@waverly.edu

  From:BrandonBuchanan@waverly.edu

  Date:Saturday, October 5, 5:47 p.m.

  Subject:Tunneling to paradise

  Gents,

  Problem solved. We have an in.

  Meet at 7:25 at Lasell gym, boys' locker room. Come prepared for underground travel. Think stealth.

  Don't be late. And if anyone owns a headlamp—please bring with!

  B

  To:BrettMesserschmidt@waverly.edu

  From:BennyCunningham@waverly.edu

  Date:Saturday, October 5, 6:00 p.m.

  Subject:A penny saved is a penny earned

  As I languished in my dorm room today, bored out of my mind and dejected at the thought of missing a to-die-for sale, I had an epiphany that changed everything: a responsible Owl should appreciate the lack of temptation provided by mandatory dorm lockdown. My not being allowed to use my wallet really paid off in the end because if you think about it, 500 dollars saved on a few shirts I'll wear once is 500 dollars in my pocket. To be used for more practical purposes, of course.

  By my calculations, that's about 125 handles of Absolut. Did I mention staying in your dorm all day long helps sharpen math skills? I feel so enlightened!

  Smooches,

  Benny

  To:BrettMesserschmidt@waverly.edu

  From:JennyHumphrey@waverly.edu

  Date:Saturday, October 5, 6:17 p.m.

  Subject:Cheer up!

  Brett,

  Smile, sweetie. There's a party tonight!

  I've been finding my hair bands all over the room, like someone took my Altoids box of them and flung them all into the air. Weird, right? Being a responsible Owl means not murdering your roommate, no matter how much she drives you insane.

  So, are you wearing that green dress of Rifat's? Want to get ready together? Wherever our roomies are not?

  See you in a few!

  Jenny

  16

  IT IS COMMON COURTESY FOR A WAVERLY OWL TO KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING.

  Brett was lying on her bed in Rifat's ABS emerald silk halter dress, looking like a Hollywood starlet reading Catcher in the Rye. She was technically ready for the party, but after pawing through dozens of other girls' closets, finding the most amazing dress, and borrowing an incredible pair of gold Giuseppe Zanotti sandals with Grecian ties that wound around her calves, she still didn't feel like partying. She just wanted to be with Jeremiah.

  She hadn't heard from him that morning, but she'd managed to tune her clock radio in to the St. Lucius radio station, and she'd listened to the student announcers give a play-by-play of the game. It was clear that they were both in awe of Jeremiah, which had made Brett giggle, and it was fun to hear about all the amazing passes he threw, like he was saving the world from nuclear annihilation instead of throwing a ball. The game went down to the last few seconds, when Jeremiah managed to run into the end zone himself to score the game-winning touchdown. The nerdy announcers went, ballistic, and the cheerleaders probably swarmed the field, pom-poms wagging.

  Sigh.

  But Catcher in the Rye always managed to make her feel a little better. Brett loved the whole book, but the first few chapters were her favorite. Holden Caulfield was such a train wreck, and so clearly out of place at his expensive prep school, that Brett was certain she was in love with him, at least a little. The part where he says that sometimes, after finishing a certain kind of book, he always wanted to call up the author—that was something Brett felt every time she read Salinger or Dorothy Parker. She wanted to call Salinger up and tell him how much she felt like Holden sometimes but that she disguised it better.

  A gentle knock at the door ripped Brett from her reverie. “Come in,” she called. The door opened slightly and Kara peeked in, looking gorgeous in a snugly fit burnt orange mod dress.

  “I didn't mean to bother you if you're reading,” the girl said, clearly a little flustered. “But … Tinsley said to come ever and she'd give me a hand with my makeup. I'm completely inept at it.” She glanced around the room. “But I see she's not here.”

  Brett closed her book and set it next to her on the bed. “Well, I think she might have gone up to Callie's room, but I can help you if you want.” She stood up. “I'm no Tinsley, though,” she added.

  Kara bit her lip. “I'm not sure if that's a bad thing,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  Brett giggled. “Excellent.”

  Kara's eyes fell on The Catcher in the Rye. “Great book—are you reading it for English?”

  “No.” Brett glanced down at the pretty white book, its cover blank except for the title in black in the middle and some minimalist rainbow stripes that shot diagonally across the corner. She loved that too. “I guess I just read it when I'm depressed.”

  Kara nodded wisely, her greenish brown eyes widening with sympathy. “Holden's such a fuckup,” she said fondly. “He always makes you feel better.”

  Exactly. Brett couldn't imagine why she'd never met this girl before. “That's an awesome dress, by the way.”

  “I can't believe you're saying that to me!” Kara exclaimed. “You look like a movie star.”

  “I don't look like a zucchini?” Brett glanced down at her dress as she headed over to the makeup tray on top of her dresser. She picked up her Global Goddess tube of concealer and held it out for Kara. “This stuff is amazing.”

  “No one is going to mistake you for a vegetable.”

  “Thanks.” Brett examined Kara's face critically. She had nice skin, strong cheekbones, and incredibly long lashes—she never wore makeup, so it might be nice to give her face a little more color. “How do you feel about lilac eye shadow?”

  Ten minutes later, Jenny peeked her head in the door; she was wearing a beachy strapless J.Crew dress in a dark espresso and a pair of strappy red sandals. “I don't look too out of season, do I?” Her hair hung in damp ringlets across her bare shoulders. “I just loved the way this dress squashes down my boobs.” She thrust them forward. “They look smaller, don't they?”

  “Not when you do that,” Brett teased. Easy wasn't going to be the only one all over her tonight. Even though her dress wasn't revealing, the bare shoulders and deep, shadowy V of her cleavage were going to drive all the boys wild. Brett examined her own face in her mini–makeup mirror before dusting a teensy bit of Urban Decay Oil Slick dark shadow at the corners of her eyes.

  Jenny checked out both of them. “You both look fantastic.” She smiled shyly at Kara. “You're Kara, right? I think I'm in your Human Figure Drawing class.”

  “It's such a great class,” Kara gushed. “As long as I don't have to pose anytime soon.”

  “Maybe if we got to wear these clothes, it would be fun.” Jenny twirled around and let the skirt spin out in a circle around her.

  “I think I'm gonna change. Not my makeup,” Kara added quickly. “But this dress is so not me.”

  “But that's the point of wearing different clothes—you don't have to be yourself tonight,” Jenny pointed out, looking in the mirror and twisting strands of hair near her forehead and clipping them back in the center of her mass of dark curls.

  “Maybe.” Kara shrugged. “But I don't like looking in the mirror and not recognizing myself, you know?”

  From outside came a strange honking sound, almost like the horn Brett used to have on her pink Huffy bicycle. The girls dashed to the window, and Brett pulled up the shades.

  “What the hell was that?” Jenny asked nervously. “It sounded like something dying. Owls don't sound like that, do they?”

  “Only when they're on crack,” Kara joked. “That must have been a goose.”

  Brett stared out into the darkening evening but couldn't see anything other than bushes and trees. Ano
ther call came, this time closer, and the three girls jumped. Brett's heart started to beat faster and she pushed up the window and stuck her head out.

  “Oh my God,” she shrieked. Jeremiah, dressed in black with two stripes of black reflector paint beneath his eyes, was wedged between the brick wall of Dumbarton and an over-grown lilac bush.

  “Shhh …” he whispered, putting his hands on the windowsill. “Aren't you going to invite me in?”

  Giggling and feeling like a complete rebel, Brett grabbed one of Jeremiah's strong hands and helped him through the window. “Aren't you supposed to be at dinner with your parents?” she demanded happily.

  Jeremiah shook his red hair, letting loose a flurry of pine needles. “We had an early one.” He glanced at the other girls and pointed at Jenny. “Hey, Jenny, right?”

  “Yeah.” She glanced at Brett nervously. “How'd you know?”

  “You've got some fans.” He grinned his irresistible grin at her.

  “Aww,” Jenny replied, blushing.

  Brett grinned. Jeremiah was such a flirt. One of the benefits to having a boyfriend who went to a different school was that Brett could innocently flirt with as many guys as she wanted and never have to worry about Jeremiah knowing. Flirting was one of those things that made life worth living. The disadvantage, of course, was realizing that Jeremiah was probably doing the same at his school.

  “I'm glad you could … uh … make it this evening.” Jenny giggled.

  Brett nudged Jenny with her elbow. “And this is Kara.”

  “Hey, Kara. Nice to meet you. I'm Jeremiah.” Brett smiled. Jeremiah was polite as always, even when his fingers were covered with sap.

  “Nice to meet you too, Jeremiah.” Kara smiled back and grabbed Jenny's arm. “We were just, um, leaving.”

  “Yes. Of course!” Jenny motioned toward the door and the two of them backed out it, giggling still. “But we'll see you at the party, right?”

  “We'll be there in a few,” Brett said. She could still hear her heart pounding in her ears. All day, she'd been too afraid to hope that Jeremiah would sneak over—she didn't want to get him in trouble or anything, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. As soon as the door was closed, she threw her arms around him and started kissing his face wildly, being careful to avoid the black smeary stuff.