Notorious

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  “There’s really no way to prove they’re together, though. Just because they were in New York together doesn’t mean …” He sighed.

  “It does mean that to anyone who knows Tinsley.” Brett fiddled nervously with the tiny gold hoops in her ear. The ones Eric had kissed so sweetly. It was all part of his act, she thought angrily.

  Easy slumped in his chair. “And I wouldn’t want you to have to go public with your ordeal. I’m sure you’ve been through enough already.”

  The thought of having to tell the administration—in detail—what had happened between her and Eric—Mr. Dalton, whatever—made her feel totally sick. She shook her head. “Yeah, I don’t think I could do that.”

  Easy shrugged. “Then we’ve got to get him on something else.”

  Madame Claubert opened the classroom door. “Vite! Vite!” she yelled jovially. “Deux minutes!”

  Brett tossed her hair and flipped through her copy of Le Rouge et le Noir. “Wait a second …” She dropped the book on her desk and clutched at Easy’s arm. “The time I was at his house, he had a bag of weed on his dresser. Maybe we can use that?”

  “But you couldn’t tell Marymount where you saw it.” Easy drummed his fingers on the wooden desk. “Unless …”

  “Unless …” Brett continued, following Easy’s train of thought. “I say I went to his house to pick up some DC files and he offered to smoke it with me. … I can say exactly where it is in his house, and …”

  Easy nodded, finishing her sentence: “And what’s Dalton going to say to that? He didn’t offer it to you, that you just saw it in his bedroom when you happened to be spending the night?”

  Brett’s lips formed a giddy smile. “He wouldn’t risk denying it and having me come out with the truth. Can you imagine, a Dalton being charged with statutory rape?”

  Easy looked like he could have hugged her. “He’ll be forced to resign.”

  For the first time since the whole Eric Dalton saga began, she felt like she was in control. “Exactly.”

  After French class, Easy gave Brett a good-luck pat on the back. She smiled bravely at him and marched directly to Marymount’s office in Stansfield Hall. Marymount’s secretary, Mr. Tomkins, a balding man who wore only floral ties, was sitting behind an oak desk when Brett walked in. “Hello, Brett dear.” Adults always seemed to like Brett, and Mr. Tomkins treated her like she was the bright spot in his day. “What can I do for you?”

  Brett straightened her shoulders and said in her most businesslike voice, “I’d like to speak with Dean Marymount, please.”

  Mr. Tomkins’s hand hesitated above the intercom as he prepared to buzz the dean. “What shall I tell him this is about?”

  “It’s confidential.” Brett smiled apologetically. But not for long.

  27

  A THOUGHTFUL OWL IS NEVER UNKIND TO THOSE LESS FORTUNATE.

  After Signor Giraldi finally released Tinsley’s advanced Italian class from their torturous lecture about the history of the Petrarchan sonnet, Tinsley strode across the quad, the heels of her Moschino suede T-strap pumps stabbing into randomly scattered early-fallen leaves. She’d only returned from her date with Dalton a few hours ago, and she could still feel his lips on her neck. Even if she hadn’t been able to shock him with Brett’s Jersey girl secret, well, she had certainly done her part for Callie. It would only be a matter of hours before Easy would be called into Dean Marymount’s office to find Eric sitting there with a report that Easy had been in New York yesterday. Callie would never have to see Easy again, and barftastically sweet Jenny would get exactly what she deserved. Tinsley had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the heady rush of power she felt. Tinsley Carmichael was back.

  She felt a pair of familiar eyes on her and turned to see a shaggy blond-haired boy sprawled lazily on the steps of the chapel. A slow grin spread across Heath Ferro’s face when he noticed that he’d gotten her attention. Tinsley immediately changed direction and sauntered toward the chapel, enjoying the way Heath stared at her in her deep V-necked Renaissance-print Cynthia Steffe dress. The fine Italian silk fluttered against her skin, and Heath’s eyes followed the sway of her hips as she strode up to him and placed her right foot on the bottom step. “What’s up, Ferro?”

  “Just enjoying the scenery.” Heath stretched his arms into the air. He wore an artfully distressed tee with the word SUPERMAN emblazoned across it.

  Tinsley flicked a perfect pale pink nail, coated in Oh, Behave polish, against his cheek. “Like your shirt.”

  “Sit down,” Heath offered, patting his lap.

  “Nice try.” Tinsley perched daintily on the step above Heath, her bare knees adjacent to his face. He stared at them for a moment before scooting over to make room for her.

  “Are plans under way for this weekend?” she asked.

  “Ah, this weekend … but of course!” Heath smacked his lips and rubbed his hands together. “I took the liberty of reserving two of the Boston Ritz’s connecting club-level presidential suites. Views of the gardens from the king-size Jacuzzi.”

  “Mmmm. Sounds delish. I’ll have to pack my bikini.”

  “Or not.” Heath shrugged. “Up to you.”

  Tinsley smirked at him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Do you need to ask?” Heath yawned and closed his eyes, obviously picturing Tinsley naked in a bubbling tub of steaming hot water, her long dark hair piled on top of her head.

  Tinsley slapped him with the back of her hand. “Can you think about something other than me naked for five minutes?” she demanded, pleased, as always, with Heath’s flattery.

  “Only with great difficulty.”

  Tinsley leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “Who do you think’s going to hook up this weekend?”

  “Besides you and me?”

  Tinsley rolled her eyes. “Enough.”

  Heath fingered the SUPERMAN on his chest. “The obvious answer is Easy and little Miss Boobs.” He was a little bitter that he’d only gotten to drunkenly kiss Jenny—and that he barely remembered. He wouldn’t mind getting his hands on that hot little body of hers. “If they haven’t already, that is.”

  “Well, I’ve got some juice on her.” Tinsley smiled. “Did you know she was making out with someone who definitely was not Easy on Monday night?” That girl irked her. Everyone thought she was so nice, with her sweet little smile and blushing pink cheeks, but jumping all over Callie’s boyfriend the second they broke up? How nice was that? She hadn’t seen Callie since getting back, but she knew she’d have to tell her about bumping into Easy and Jenny in New York once she did.

  “Oh, yeah?” Heath rubbed his hands together conspiratorially. “That’s interesting.”

  “Who else?” Tinsley asked, pleased to have planted the seed of a rumor that was sure to blossom into a full-fledged scandal.

  “I don’t know. … Ryan Reynolds wants to make a move on Brett—he thinks he’s got a decent shot.”

  “In hell, maybe,” Tinsley scoffed. “She’s not that desperate.”

  “Speaking of desperate.” Heath nodded in the direction of the quad. Brandon Buchanan headed toward them in a pair of Theory chalk-striped wool trousers and a heather gray Zegna polo beneath his neatly pressed maroon school blazer.

  “Don’t you guys look suspicious.” He paused in front of them. “Discussing government secrets?”

  “Close. Talking about this weekend.” Heath pulled a pack of cigarettes out from one of the side pockets of his Allen B. cargo pants.

  Brandon turned toward Tinsley. “How’s Callie doing, by the way?”

  Tinsley eyed him suspiciously. “She’s fine.” When was he going to get over it already? “Great, in fact.”

  Brandon balanced his shiny gray Salvatore Ferragamo ankle boot on the bottom step. He was probably the only boy at Waverly who actually polished his shoes regularly. Freak. Brandon was an über-metrosexual, with his perfectly stylish wardrobe and the utter invisibility of his pores, som
ething that was not natural in a guy. No wonder Callie had ditched him for Easy Walsh, an über-sexual if Tinsley had ever seen one. What did that make Heath? Just plain sexual?

  “I haven’t seen her around.” Brandon bent down and rubbed a smudge of dirt off his shoe.

  “Yeah, well.” Tinsley shrugged. “She’s been busy.”

  “She hasn’t been at the dining hall lately. Is she not eating again?” How cute for Brandon to worry about Callie’s well-being. Although she had gotten way too skinny.

  But before she could respond, Heath burst out laughing. He grabbed Tinsley’s arm in mock anguish and cried, “You must tell me! Has she been taking her multivitamins? Has she been doing her biology homework?” Heath collapsed into giggles. “You sound like her fucking mother!”

  Brandon glared at him angrily. “Fuck off, Heath. So, how many rooms did you get at the Ritz?” he asked casually, changing the subject.

  “Two presidential suites.”

  “You think that’ll be enough room for everyone?” Brandon frowned. “Aren’t there, like, ten or twelve people going? Where will they all sleep?”

  Heath jumped up and did a dance with his hips, as if he were trying to balance a hula hoop around them. “Where will they all sleep?” he repeated in a falsetto, cracking Tinsley up. “Bro, there’s not going to be too much sleeping going on if I can help it.”

  Brandon rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’ll get a private room. For me and Callie.”

  “Why? So you can go watch The Notebook? 50 First Dates?” Heath burst out laughing again. “Jerry Maguire? Dude, it’s a fucking party.”

  Tinsley giggled. Heath had to be the next boy on the Café Society make-out list. Maybe Callie thought he was gross, but he was ten thousand times more fun than Brandon. He would be such a good time, and he’d be psyched. Tinsley zoned out while Brandon and Heath continued to squabble like girls. Freshmen on their way across the quad stared at her in awe as she stretched out her legs and yawned. It felt good to be back. But one girl in particular was staring at her so intensely … Oh, hell. It was that practically albino Yvonne girl, the one in Tinsley’s Italian class who always tried to work with her when they had to pair off. Thankfully, Tinsley was generally skilled at avoiding people, and she cursed herself for not pretending she hadn’t seen Yvonne because she was walking over.

  Yvonne headed toward them, in a white button-down shirt and pair of navy blue chinos from J.Crew with little green frogs sprinkled across them—the kind of pants that were meant to be worn with a sense of irony, something Yvonne didn’t possess.

  “Hi, Tinsley,” she squeaked, unable to look directly at her. Tinsley felt Yvonne’s eyes on her forehead instead. Tinsley gave her a short, cursory smile that encouraged her to keep on walking.

  But Yvonne didn’t catch it or else was just too determined to speak. “Everyone’s been talking about your, um, Boston trip. I was wondering who was going? Like, whole dorms? Can anyone go?”

  Tinsley felt Brandon and Heath watching her and could tell Heath was holding back his snickers. Really, what was this girl thinking? That Tinsley would gush, “Oh, yes, come along with us, and be sure to bring all your jazz band/math club friends.” Tinsley tried to take the have-you-lost-your-mind-look off her face and made her voice kinder than she felt, only because this poor girl was so clueless, it would do no good to humiliate her. “Secret societies only. Sorry.”

  Maybe in another lifetime.

  To: Waverly Students

  From: DeanMarymount@waverly.edu

  Date: Wednesday, September 18, 3:01 p.m.

  Subject: Eric Dalton resignation

  Dear Students,

  As of today, Eric Dalton has resigned from his position at Waverly.

  His Ancient Civilizations history and beginning Latin classes will be taught by other capable members of the department until a suitable replacement can be found. Students should proceed to class as usual tomorrow.

  For those students who had Eric Dalton as an adviser, you will be reassigned. Your respective dorm masters will be in touch shortly.

  Thank you for your cooperation,

  Dean Marymount

  AlisonQuentin: Yikes, can you believe Dalton got the ax? Just listening to him recite Catallus turned me on. …

  AlanStGirard: If Latin turns you on so much, come over to my room and we’ll watch Caligula.

  AlisonQuentin: U soooo r gross. … That’s a porno!

  AlanStGirard: It’s not porn. It’s historical.

  HeathFerro: Heard Dalton got caught smoking opium in the rare books room, naked with his beginning Latin class.

  EasyWalsh: Dream on.

  HeathFerro: Sounded kind of hot. Speaking of hot, I heard your girl’s been getting around.

  EasyWalsh: Shut up, dude.

  HeathFerro: Serious. Seeerrrreeeuuuus …

  RyanReynolds: So your boyfriend’s gone now … Maybe we can go out sometime?

  BrettMesserschmidt: Uh, what? I think you’re trying to reach Tinsley. …

  RyanReynolds: Maybe both of you would be interested???

  BrettMesserschmidt: Don’t write to me anymore.

  28

  A WISE OWL UNDERSTANDS THAT JUST BECAUSE YOU LIVE WITH SOMEONE DOESN’T MEAN YOU KNOW THEM.

  That evening, the entire campus was still abuzz with the news of Eric Dalton’s resignation. The second Dean Marymount’s email appeared in the inboxes of the student body, everyone had an opinion as to why Dalton was kicked out, although Callie was pretty sure she knew the real reason: clearly Brett had found out about Tinsley and Mr. Dalton.

  Callie pushed open the door to the dining hall and was greeted with the nauseating smell of refried beans. Mexican night. Great. She put her hand on her stomach, as if she were trying to reassure herself that it was still flat, and played with the collar of her light purple cashmere Ya-Ya cowl-neck. Even if Tinsley was suddenly her only real friend, she couldn’t help but be pleased for Brett. Hopefully neither she nor Tinsley would smother the other in her sleep—that was all she needed.

  “Can you believe it?” Callie whirled around to see Tinsley looking unusually perturbed. She was fussing nervously with the pearl buttons at the neck of a silky teal Victorian-looking turtle-neck. Her skin was almost completely covered up—so how come all the guys were still staring at her? She made Callie want to tear out her hair in jealousy.

  “Sort of.” Callie adjusted her charm bracelet. “Come on, you knew Brett would eventually fight back.”

  Tinsley gave Callie a withering glare, then smiled. “It was definitely Brett, then?”

  “It had to be, right?” The two girls headed toward the food line. “Why else would he resign?” Callie snickered. “Unless he was afraid Tinsley Carmichael might be too much woman for him.”

  “He certainly didn’t have any complaints in New York.” Tinsley laughed.

  “Have you talked to him?”

  Tinsley picked up her tray. She would never have admitted it, but part of her excitement over Dalton came from the fact that she was stealing him from Brett. Once that was over, so was the rush of hooking up with him. She hadn’t even thought about emailing him to see what was up—somehow, she didn’t really care. It was already time for her to make her next move. “No.”

  “Are you going to?” Callie tapped her ragged nails against her plastic tray as they waited in the taco line. “Tacos. Gross.”

  Tinsley wrinkled her nose. “Looks like a salad night.” She sauntered over to the salad bar. Callie followed. Tinsley still hadn’t answered her. She looked distracted.

  “There’s something else you should know.” Tinsley really couldn’t imagine a worse time to tell Callie the bad news than in the dining hall, in front of the entire Waverly population, but she wanted her to know before they went back to their room tonight so she could be prepared. She pressed her red lips together.

  “What?” Callie picked up a white plate, still warm from the dishwasher, on the other side of the salad bar and started to pile the f
reshly washed mesclun greens onto it.

  Tinsley set down her tray. “I’m really sorry to be the one to tell you, but I didn’t want you to find out from someone else.” She took a deep breath, and Callie looked up at her in alarm, their eyes meeting across the clear plastic sneeze guard. “Jenny and Easy are totally together.”

  Callie paused mid-scoop. “What?” The temperature of her body immediately dropped twenty degrees. Her hands went clammy. She dropped the wooden fork back into the bin of greens. “That’s not true.”

  Tinsley quickly picked up her tray and hurried over to Callie’s side of the bar. She looked like she was about to faint. “I’m so sorry. But it is. I saw them in New York together.”

  “But that doesn’t mean any …” Callie’s voice faltered. Tinsley’s pitying look could mean only one thing—it really was true. Easy liked Jenny? That shrimp? Those deformed-looking boobs? For real? Jenny had assured her—promised her—that nothing was going on! That liar! “How could she do that? We live together. I talk to her every fucking day! How could she not tell me?”

  Tinsley touched Callie’s arm. “She probably didn’t want to piss you off.”

  “That bitch.” Callie shivered and looked down to find herself holding her dinner fork in stabbing position. If Jenny wanted to live through the night, she might want to sleep somewhere else.

  29

  A WAVERLY OWL NEVER GOES INTO BATTLE WITHOUT AN ALLY.

  “Wait up!” Jenny spotted Brett leaving the library that night, her sleek red hair bouncing as she descended the steps. There was a definite spring to her step—her high-heeled lace-up Prada oxfords practically skipped across the sidewalk. She swung around to face Jenny and smiled.

  “Hey.” Brett flicked a lock of hair out of her eyes.

  “It’s nice to see you smiling.” Jenny slipped the strap of her heavy suede bag across her body—it was too heavy to carry on one side, but she hated it when the strap cut between her breasts, calling even more attention to them than normal. Of course a backpack would be even worse.