“I was a Girl Scout for three years before they kicked me out.” Isla shrugged. She hefted the book into her arms and sauntered over to the wooden door of the girls’ locker room. She pushed it open with her butt and held it for Tinsley to scoot through. The locker room was filled with steam from the showers and smelled like peach lotion and hair gel. “Be prepared, and all that.”
“I thought that was the Boy Scout motto,” Tinsley teased, throwing her coat into one of the metal lockers.
“Whatever. I spent a lot time with them, too.” Isla quickly tugged her dress up over her shoulders and dropped it onto the wooden bench in the middle of the alcove.
“Thank God I shaved my legs this morning,” Tinsley said, unzipping her gray Rich & Skinny jeans.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Isla asked, waving her own bright yellow bikini from her finger. She scanned Tinsley critically, as if measuring her capacity for illicit behavior.
“If you knew me, you wouldn’t even ask.”
Five minutes later, Tinsley and Isla raced outside, into the bright January afternoon. It was a sunny day, and the glare off the brilliant white snow was almost blinding. Immediately Tinsley felt goose bumps break out over every bit of visible flesh—which was most of it. The tiny red Shoshanna bikini barely covered her breasts, and the bottom was even skimpier. Tinsley felt like she should be on a beach in Brazil instead of the snowy tundra of upstate New York. Isla confidently strode out into the middle of the quad, her yellow bathing suit bright against the white snow background. She still wore her tall black riding boots.
Tinsley, with her heavy lace-up Uggs, followed her out into the yard. Never before had she felt so aware of her own body. Every inch of it felt electrified. Freezing, but electrified. A group of girls in track pants and sweatshirts descending the steps of the dance studio next to the gym started giggling and pointing.
“Isn’t this awesome?” Isla demanded, throwing her arms around a snowman that stood in the quad in front of the gym. Tinsley squinted. She could see Stansfield Hall in the distance. What if Dean Dresden looked out his second-floor office window right now and saw his daughter frolicking around in the snow, sans clothing?
“Cold, but awesome.”
“Blow him a kiss!” Tinsley directed, holding up her expensive digital SLR. Isla danced around the snowman like a nymph, slinging her arm around it. The late-afternoon sun was setting behind the classroom buildings, and long shadows were creeping across the quad. But Isla was still in the sunlight, and her dark hair and smooth skin looked striking against the white snow that glittered like diamonds.
Tinsley was amazed. Isla had a perfect body—a little curvier than Tinsley’s own, which just made Isla look a little more grown-up. And the way she moved, she looked… completely uninhibited. Like she always walked around her new boarding school wearing a bikini and playing in the snow.
Tinsley clicked away, feeling a crowd start to stop and gather around them. Conversations got louder, and were coupled by male hoots of excitement. In their heavy coats with their thick scarves wound around their necks, everybody else seemed so repressed.
“Your turn!” Isla grabbed the camera, and Tinsley did a pirouette in the snow. For some reason, she felt like one of the wild fairies in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, even though it was January, in the middle of the day. Laughing, she made a snowball and started a mock snowball fight with the snowman, then pressed her cheek to his and grabbed his stick-arm as if they were slow dancing.
She might be freezing, but at least she wasn’t boring.
Instant Message Inbox
JulianMcCafferty: Missed U at dinner tonite.
TinsleyCarmichael: Sorry, kinda busy working on this project w/ Isla. Let’s have breakfast mañana?
JulianMcCafferty: You’re working w/ Isla? I thought we were going to work together?
TinsleyCarmichael: What? No, I didn’t think we decided on anything. Did we?
JulianMcCafferty: I guess not.
TinsleyCarmichael: Good, cuz we already started. You’ll be good w/o me, right?
JulianMcCafferty: Yeah, okay. Have fun with Isla.
TinsleyCarmichael: I definitely will. Smooches.
Instant Message Inbox
AlanStGirard: Holy shit. Did U hear Tinsley and the dean’s hot daughter had an almost-naked photo shoot out on the quad?
[No response from HeathFerro.]
Instant Message Inbox
AlanStGirard: Tinsley. Dean’s daughter. Bikinis. Quad. Tell me you were there and got pics?
TeagueWilliams: I was there, man, but too stunned to take a pic.
AlanStGirard: You’re useless. Where’s Ferro when you need him? He’d have gotten a pic!
TeagueWilliams: Dude, Ferro’s living in the woods, eating squirrel and shit.
AlanStGirard: WTF???
TeagueWilliams: Jan Plan, man. Crazy times.
WildernessMan Log: Heath vs. Wild
Day 2
Woke before dawn to the sounds of screeching birds. Who knew birds were so damn loud?
Noon temp: 23 degrees F. Thought it was supposed to be warmer. I guess if Bear Grylls can survive in Siberia, HF can make it here!
Food: Spent three hours fashioning a twine net to catch birds. Hung it between two trees. Spent four hours watching birds fly over it. Finally caught rabbit in snare trap. Furry and cute. Felt bad eating it but starving. Searched for berries but the fucking birds ate them all first. Guess I have to get up earlier tomorrow.
Warmth: Starting to feel effects of cold. The challenge is on.
Mood: Good. Tired. Will sleep well. Heard some cross-country skiers laughing in the distance. Either that or hyenas. Wonder if there’s a party tonight. Could use a beer after all my hard work, but a good night’s sleep will have to do.
10
A POLITE OWL KNOWS WHEN TO SAY THANK YOU.
Jenny strode across the Waverly quad Wednesday morning, ArtBin in hand. She was eager to get started on her art project and had woken, showered, and dressed before nine. The quad was nearly empty—Waverly students took their sleeping in seriously.
Kara Whalen, wearing dark leggings tucked into her Uggs, nearly knocked Jenny over as she rushed down the path. “Sorry, Jenny. I’m late for my French immersion class. We’re going to Paris at the end of it!”
“Bonne chance,” Jenny cried, watching Kara disappear into the language building. She shook the snow off her boots and stepped carefully across the freshly polished wood floor of Maxwell Hall, the student center. She always felt terrible for the poor janitors who worked so hard to make the floors sparkle only to be covered again, minutes later, by slush tracked in by dozens of Waverly feet.
The whir of coffee machines filled Jenny’s ears as she entered the enormous stone-arched common room. Maxwell was one of her favorite buildings on campus. It was the original chapel, but it had been turned into the student center, and it made Jenny feel like she’d stepped into an old castle. It always smelled like coffee and cinnamon raisin bagels. The art deco–tiled café tables spread across the room were half filled with other early risers huddled over cups of coffee. Jenny quickly paid for a cappuccino and looked around for a seat.
Celine Colista, a senior co-captain of the field hockey team, waved at Jenny. She was parked at a café table with Lon Baruzza, the scholarship kid who worked in the dining hall and had a reputation for being a player. Books and notebooks were spread out in front of them. Celine sported the clean-faced, ponytailed, sweatpants look popular among lazy Waverly Owls after long nights.
“You guys look like you’re working hard.” Jenny paused at their table as she picked up three packets of Splenda. “Isn’t Jan Plan supposed to be a chance to recharge?”
“I’ve always wanted to read Anna Karenina,” Celine gushed, holding up a library copy of the fat book. “But I had no idea Lon did, too… until we were talking about it at the First Night party. So he was sweet enough to join me. We’re going to write a paper about the tragic fem
ale heroine.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead theatrically.
Jenny glanced at Lon, who gave her a sly grin. From the way he’d been staring at the pretty, olive-skinned Celine, it was clear that Lon was much more interested in her than in Tolstoy. “That sounds like fun, I guess.”
Jenny set herself up in an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, which gave her a good view of the door as people started to stream through, eager to wake up with a cup of coffee and a bagel. She quickly set her supplies out, feeling the rush of excitement she always had when starting a new project. She cracked open her new set of Derwent graphite pencils, all neatly sharpened. With a deep breath, she started to sketch. First she set to work on the stationary objects, which would be completely sharp in her drawing. She sketched the ornate, arched doorway, the garbage can with the flip top, the bottles in the overflowing recycling bin, the empty mugs collecting along the counter. When she had set the scene, she began to sketch the people themselves. Or, rather, their bodies as they moved through space. A couple of guys tossing an orange back and forth came through the door, and Jenny hurriedly tried to capture the arc of the fruit as it sailed through the air.
“Looking good.”
Jenny almost jumped out of her skin. Leaning against the back of her chair was Isaac Dresden, wearing a navy blue peacoat and a pair of dark jeans. He pulled off his red wool hat, his short, dark curls standing up with static. Jenny’s heart beat faster. “Excuse me?”
Isaac pointed a half-eaten biscotti toward her sketchbook. It sat in her lap, open to her half-finished drawing of the orange traveling through the air. “Your drawing.” Jenny noticed a tiny patch of blond hair, in the middle of his dark waves, right above his left ear. It reminded Jenny of her cat, Marx, who was all black except for a patch of white on his belly.
“Oh, thanks.” Jenny blushed, embarrassed to be comparing Isaac to her cat. “Actually, I guess I should be thanking you.”
“Me? What for?” Isaac moved off the back of Jenny’s chair and sat down on the coffee table in front of her. He slid his black canvas backpack onto the floor.
“I get to pretty much draw all day, because of you.” Jenny suddenly felt shy. She closed her sketchbook and took a sip of her coffee, praying that she wouldn’t dribble any down the front of her slightly snug navy blue J. Crew V-neck. It had an embroidered J above her heart and was an ironic Christmas present from her brother, Dan. He’d told her it would help her remember who she was at chichi boarding school. Now, however, she was worried that it was drawing unneeded attention to her already ample chest. “It was really nice of you to take up my case in your dad’s office.”
Isaac shrugged. She was acutely aware of how close his knees were to her own. “Well, I have some experience in that area. I kind of know what he needs to hear.”
“I appreciate it.” Jenny’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth, but she was determined not to feel nervous. Isaac was just another boy, after all. A very cute one, and the dean’s son, of course. But still just a boy. “It must be kind of weird to go to school where your dad’s, you know, in charge.”
Isaac took a sip from his stainless steel coffee mug. He still hadn’t taken off his coat, which Jenny disappointedly took as a sign that he wasn’t staying. “We’re used to it by now, me and Isla. He was headmaster at St. Albans, in Connecticut, for a couple years. And he taught at Milton, back when we were younger.”
“Why’d you guys come here?” Jenny asked, curiously.
“The official answer is that it was a step up for my dad.” Isaac lowered his voice and tilted his chin down mysteriously.
“And the unofficial answer?”
He grinned flirtatiously. “I don’t know if you’ve earned that yet.”
“And what does one have to do to earn it?” Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe she was being so bold.
“I don’t know.” Isaac rubbed his chin. “Go on a walk with me later.”
Jenny blushed, flattered. She liked Isaac. And, of course, everyone was talking about how hot he was. It seemed incredible that of everyone at Waverly, he was interested in her. But she still didn’t feel totally comfortable about the fact that he’d practically gotten her Jan Plan project approved for her. Had she received special treatment? And was she okay with that? “That’s really nice of you. But, uh… I think I’ll probably be working all day,” Jenny stammered. Her pencil fell from her hand, and she quickly leaned down to pick it up.
Isaac stood up. “That’s cool.” He looked a little disappointed, but not put out. He slung his backpack on his shoulder. “Maybe a rain check, then.” He tapped her drawing with his finger. “Good luck.”
As Isaac walked away, Jenny couldn’t keep her eyes from following him. Ten minutes ago, she’d been in one of those creative bubbles where all she could think about was her drawing.
But suddenly, the idea of working on her project all day long, alone, no longer seemed quite so exciting.
Instant Message Inbox
CelineColista: Just saw hot dean’s son practically drooling all over Jenny in Maxwell.
VerenaArneval: How does she get all the good ones?
CelineColista: Must be the boobs! =) Totally unfair.
VerenaArneval: Don’t complain. I heard Lon bought you a soy latte today. It must be love.
CelineColista: Eh. Lon could do in a pinch. But I’d rather get in good with the dean!
11
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS WHAT SHE WANTS.
Callie crossed her arms and tapped the pointy toe of her Tory Burch ankle boot against the marble floor of the Reynolds Atrium. The two-story glass-ceilinged space was designed by a world-famous architect and funded by Ryan Reynolds’s billionaire father. Normally, Callie avoided the atrium when possible—it always made her feel like she owed Ryan something, and he was the last guy a girl wanted to be indebted to. But the lobby area, filled with potted trees and comfy couches, was perfect for a large group of people to casually get together. Callie had set out a tray of Oreos and Chips Ahoy! cookies on the heavy antique coffee table in the center of one of the conversation nooks. It was almost two on Wednesday afternoon, and her stupid partner was nowhere in sight.
What could Brandon be doing that was so important? Reluctantly, she pulled a tripod from the heavy canvas bag of equipment she’d borrowed from the audiovisual department and started to fumble with its legs. She’d decided to record the interviews so that she could focus on her questions and not get distracted trying to write everything down.
“You’re late,” she snapped at Brandon when he finally breezed through the revolving glass door five minutes later, stuffing his BlackBerry into his pocket. She stood up, pushing an escaped blond lock out of her face with the back of her hand.
“Sorry.” He pulled off his olive green cashmere hat and dusted the snow off the shoulders of his black Diesel bomber jacket. He casually tossed both hat and jacket over the back of an armchair covered with lemon yellow canvas. “I was talking to Hellie.”
“I just wish you’d take this a little more seriously.” Callie frowned slightly as she planted the borrowed video camera on top of the tripod, pointing it toward the Oreos. She was seriously hopeless with any sort of electronics—it was a defect inherited from her technophobic mother.
Brandon blinked. His eyes were slightly red, as if he wasn’t sleeping right, and his chin was still kind of scruffy. Had he left all his razors in Switzerland? “Okay, I’ll try to be serious.” He coughed into his fist, trying to cover the smirk on his face. “What’s the camera for, anyway?”
“I thought it would be easier than taking notes. We can go over everyone’s responses later.” Callie glared at him. He wasn’t even offering to help. Old Brandon Buchanan would have been falling all over himself so that she wouldn’t have to raise her pinky finger.
“Nice thinking.” Brandon’s phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket to read the text.
Callie rolled her eyes and stood up, smoothing the sides of her s
ilky plaid Theory miniskirt. At least she looked more like herself today, wearing a crisp white Ralph Lauren button-down that set off her newly tanned skin. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose bun, with a few blond wisps slipping down into her face. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I just hope people come.”
Brandon pointed toward the wall of windows at the front of the atrium, and Callie turned around just as a group of girls pushed through the revolving doors, clad in thick scarves and boots. “Not bad,” he said, impressed. “Did you tell them you were giving away Prada bags?”
Callie smirked at him, but was secretly pleased. “Can you just make sure the camera’s set up to get the whole lounge area?”
She’d e-mailed the old Women of Waverly list last night—virtually all the girls at Waverly were on it, and she was pretty sure they’d want to gossip about their love lives. Apparently, she’d been right. Jenny, Tinsley, and all their friends had shown up. “Welcome, ladies,” Callie announced brightly. “Just grab a seat wherever.” She waved the girls toward the couches as Brandon leaned over the camera, adjusting the lens. Callie was momentarily distracted by the sight. Brandon did have a completely cute posterior, especially in his faded Earl jeans.
He glanced back at her. “Cal? Are we ready?”
Callie shook her head clear. “You just operate the camera. I’ll ask the questions.” The girls had all scattered around on the comfy coral-colored Pottery Barn couches in the lounge area and were looking up at her for instruction. Most of them were dressed in their relaxed, bumming-around clothes: track pants, sweatshirts, Uggs. During the regular semester, most Waverly girls wouldn’t be caught dead looking so frumpy, but somehow, Jan Plan was a different animal. “Thank you, ladies, for coming. Help yourselves to the cocoa and cookies over there.” She took a deep breath. “Basically, I’m just going to ask some questions. I want to hear from everyone, so really, don’t be shy.”
Devious Page 6
