“Sincerely, your new dean,” Benny added in a snide voice. “I guess he’s no James Bond, after all.”
“Isn’t it ironic that I’m not in trouble for once?” Heath asked, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied grin on his face. “Since I’m, like, the king of Waverly parties.”
“You were there, remember?” Sage snapped, pushing her silky blond hair off her forehead.
“Yeah, but only at the end. And I was part of the rescue party, so it doesn’t count.” Heath blew Sage a kiss.
“Easy was the knight in shining armor who rescued Isla, not you.” Benny pointed out, staring at her cell phone in disgust.
“Walsh was only there because I brought him, so Isla’s indebted to me, too.” Heath practically licked his lips. “So he better not think he’s getting her without a fight.”
“How come your name’s not on this list, Jenny?” Callie pointed out, her hazel eyes scowling. Why did Heath even think Easy wanted Isla to begin with? Did he know something? “You’re the one who threw the party!”
“Are you sure I’m not on it?” Jenny asked meekly, staring at the list of names. “I mean, I don’t know why I wouldn’t have gotten the e-mail, too.” Her palms felt clammy all of a sudden as she felt everyone’s eyes on her. The stupid party had been her idea in the first place—and now she was the only one not in trouble? That didn’t make any sense. Although her coat had been easy to retrieve, she was pretty sure she’d left, on the kitchen counter, the tiny Moleskine sketchbook she kept on her at all times in case she saw something she wanted to draw. And written in her very readable calligraphy on the inside front cover was the name Jenny Humphrey. The dean had to have found it.
Unless Isaac did first.
“I don’t see Isaac or Isla’s names on here, either,” Benny pointed out, her porcelain skin reddening with indignation. Even though five minutes ago she’d been raving about how legendary the party was, she glared at Jenny as if she’d dragged her there by her thumbs. “And it was their freaking house!”
Jenny sank back into the sofa, listening to everyone bicker. But even worse than her friends’ icy glares was the sinking suspicion that Isaac had done this to protect her. And that he thought this was what she wanted. After all, she’d already gotten special treatment on more than one occasion because of him. The dean had given her permission to do her art project solo because of his son’s interference, and she didn’t get busted for being out after curfew because she’d been with him.
Now, it seemed, she was being spared from punishment when she was the one who’d suggested the illicit party in the first place.
Jenny felt the angry stares, and her face grew hot. For the first time in her life, she wished she were in trouble.
Instant Message Inbox
AlanStGirard: Know what I said about that party rocking? I take it back.
BennyCunningham: This sucks. If the dean wants to make a good first impression, he’s doing a shitty job.
AlanStGirard: Probation sucks, too. I should know. It’s my third time.
BennyCunningham: How embarrassing is that for me? I’m on DC!
AlanStGirard: Wanna come over and brainstorm a way to get out of this?
BennyCunningham: No thanks.
Email Inbox
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Saturday, January 8, 10:48 P.M.
Subject: C’est la vie, sister
Sorry, babe, but you know you would’ve done the same thing to me.
Xx
25
A WAVERLY OWL DOES NOT LEAVE HER DORM ROOM AFTER LIGHTS OUT WITHOUT A VERY GOOD REASON.
It was after midnight, and Callie had counted the faded glow-in-the dark stars stuck to the ceiling above her bed a billion times. But they wouldn’t help her fall asleep. Not tonight. Not when Easy was somewhere on campus. Her whole body was wired, as if she’d chugged twelve lattes, and her mind kept replaying the scene at the end of the party. Easy, standing there in the middle of all the chaos, staring straight at Callie: she should have talked to him. Asked him what the hell he was doing back at Waverly. Instead, she stood there like an idiot, holding Brandon’s hand and mouthing Hi like she was some kind of parrot.
Across the room, Jenny, who usually slept like a baby, turned for the thousandth time in her bed. The springs squeaking beneath her were like fingernails on a chalkboard. Callie couldn’t lie in bed listening to that any longer. She threw off her thick down comforter and jumped to her feet.
Jenny sat up in bed, her hair a tangled mess around her head. “What are you doing?” she asked sleepily. She stared at Callie as she stepped out of her cashmere pajama pants and grabbed the pair of dark Stella McCartney skinny jeans slung over her desk chair.
“I can’t sleep.” Callie tugged her navy blue Ralph Lauren cable-knit sweater from the closet and threw it on over her pink camisole. She pulled on a pair of thick wool socks and grabbed her red Marc by Marc Jacobs duck boots. “I’ve got to get some air.”
Jenny sat up. “But Pardee… she’ll hear you leave.”
“I’ll be quiet.” Callie grabbed a black fleece she never wore from the back of her closet—she might as well try to blend in with the night. “Look, I just have to walk around a little. Clear my head.”
“You’re going to look for Easy, aren’t you?” Jenny asked softly, pulling her quilt up around her.
Callie blinked. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t going for a walk to clear her head. She’d been waiting for the sound of rocks at her window, the sign that Easy was waiting for her below. If he’d wanted to see her, he would have known where to find her. But maybe he was too proud to. “I guess. Wish me luck.” Callie zipped the fleece up to her chin. She had to talk to him. The thought of Easy was like an itch in her brain, and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else until she saw him. She was hoping that somehow, wherever he was, Easy wasn’t able to sleep, either.
“Bring your cell,” Jenny said, her brown eyes sympathetic. “You can text me when you need to get back in.” Callie flashed her a grateful grin before slipping out the door.
She slunk down the quiet hallways, holding her breath as she passed Pardee’s door. She silently made it out the front of Dumbarton and slid her socked feet into her boots out on the porch. The night was dark and crisp, and Callie’s breath froze the second it left her mouth. Her feet crunched down the salted pathways. A billion stars were visible in the inky black sky. She knew exactly where she was going.
By the time the dark red stables at the edge of campus came into view, Callie’s hands were nearly frozen. She’d forgotten her gloves. The smell of horses hit her forcefully, sending all her memories of Easy rushing back. She hadn’t been back here since he’d been expelled because it would have been too painful. It felt like just yesterday that they’d been lying in the clean hay, kissing. He had to be here.
Callie glanced around for Groundskeeper Ben’s telltale flashlight, but the only movement she saw was a fat owl swooping down from the bare branches of an oak tree. She shivered and stepped toward the stable door, pushing it open with her shoulder.
A couple of horses shuffled and whinnied; then there was silence. The stables were pitch black except for the beam of moonlight streaming through the small window over the tack room. The building was empty save for the horses.
Tears of frustration filled Callie’s eyes. She didn’t know why she’d been so certain that Easy would be here. It was stupid, but she always felt like she had some kind of Easy-radar. She could tell the moment he entered the dining hall or when he stepped out of a crowded party for a cigarette. It made her feel like they’d had some sort of mystical connection.
Apparently, any connection had been severed the moment she dumped him.
Callie wandered down the aisle in the center of the stables, not ready to head back to her room. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light and she stepped on a piece of what she hoped was mud. She looked up in surprise w
hen she noticed she was in front of Credo’s stall. Easy’s horse had remained at Waverly even after his expulsion because of some complication with bringing her back to Kentucky. Credo’s huge brown eyes were watching Callie closely, and she reached out a bare hand to touch the horse’s soft forehead.
“What are you doing here?”
Callie shrieked. Standing in the shadows of Credo’s stall was Easy Walsh.
“It’s okay,” Easy said in a calming voice to Credo, running his hand gently along the horse’s back. Easy shot her a look. “Don’t you know not to scream in front of a horse?”
“Sorry,” Callie apologized, smoothing down her hair nervously. Her own heart was beating out of control. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I thought maybe it was Ben.” Easy shrugged as he stepped forward and leaned his elbows on top of the wooden gate to Credo’s stall. He was still wearing the ugly military school coat he’d had on at the party, but it somehow made him look even more rugged and sexy. In the moonlight, his tanned skin glowed and his blue eyes gleamed bright. Callie wished he weren’t on the other side of the wooden door. “I didn’t want to get kicked out—again.”
Callie laughed awkwardly. The sound echoed through the lofty stables. She inched closer to the gate. “How did you get here, Easy?” And why, she wanted to ask but couldn’t. Credo couldn’t be the only thing that had brought him back.
Easy yawned as he ran a hand over his short dark hair. “I bribed the car service that was supposed to take me back to military school. They let me off at the bus station instead.”
Callie felt his eyes boring into her. She knew he’d seen her at the party. He must have noticed Brandon holding her hand. Did he care? She bit her chapped lip. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, even though your parents are probably flipping out.”
That brought a crooked grin to Easy’s face, and Callie felt her knees weaken. “They were sending me back to school early, so I should have another day or two before they notice I’m gone.”
“But what are you going to do?” Callie asked urgently. She leaned forward on the gate, her hand accidentally brushing against Easy’s knuckles. She jumped back quickly. “I mean, you can’t hide out in the stables forever.” Of course he couldn’t. But the thought of Easy leaving again… it was a thought she didn’t even want to entertain.
“I don’t have to.” Easy stepped away from the gate and grabbed a horse brush hanging at the side of the stall. He started to brush down Credo, who tossed her head in approval. “Dresden told me since I kind of saved Isla, he was going to go ahead and reinstate me. He’ll make it official tomorrow.” He said the words casually, as if the dean revoking expulsion was something that happened every day.
“What?” Callie’s jaw dropped almost to her feet. Easy was back… for good? “Oh my God. Easy, that’s incredible.” She felt faint. What would it mean to have Easy back? Would everything be like it was before? Just hearing him say the name Isla felt like angry pricks all over her skin. She hoped he wouldn’t feel grateful to the dean’s daughter for inadvertently helping him back into Waverly.
Easy took a deep breath and pushed the gate open. He stepped out into the aisle, hay crunching beneath his sneakers. He gave her a long look that made her forget about whatever the hell she’d stepped in tonight. “You look good,” he said gruffly.
“You, too.” Callie felt a lump in her throat. She took a step toward him, and reached her hand up to run across his head. Her body shook a little when she touched him. “Even with short hair.”
Easy stared down at her. Callie felt her eyes lock on to his and that familiar gravitational pull take over. Easy’s blue eyes, up close, looked confused. But he wasn’t exactly pushing her away. Their lips inched closer and closer together until finally, after what felt like eternity, they met. Callie closed her eyes and pressed her body against Easy’s. Every inch of her felt alive. She felt his hands clutch her tangled hair, pulling her even closer. Their mouths moved frantically against each other. It had been so long since they kissed—really kissed—that Callie felt a familiar stirring in the pit of her stomach.
“Wait. No.” Easy backed up abruptly.
“What?” Callie tried to catch her breath. She touched Easy’s arm but he shook her hand off gently. “What’s wrong?”
He smiled sadly as he rubbed his chin with his hand. “Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Buchanan?”
Callie stood up straighter. She reached for her hair, trying to smooth out the parts Easy had ruffled. “What about Brandon?” she asked petulantly.
“I saw you guys holding hands.” Easy leaned back against Credo’s stall, and his horse poked her head over and nuzzled his shoulder. Easy turned and made a soft cooing noise into the animal’s ear. Callie stared at the horse jealously. She wanted Easy to be whispering in her ear.
Callie took a deep breath. She drew a half circle in the dusty floor with the toe of her boot. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”
Easy stroked the horse’s velvety nose with his hand. “Besides, I seem to remember you telling me you couldn’t be with me anymore. That it was over. On top of the Empire State Building, remember?”
Callie felt as if she’d been punched in the lungs. Yes, she had said that. But things had been so different then. It was after she hadn’t seen Easy in weeks, or even talked to him. Not a single e-mail or text. She barely knew he was alive. And she’d lost the promise ring he’d given her. She just hadn’t been herself.
“I know. But I don’t think it is.” She took a deep breath and stared across the aisle at Easy. Her stomach was doing somersaults. “Do you?”
Easy sighed heavily, and turned away from her. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
26
A WAVERLY OWL ALWAYS GIVES HER BOYFRIEND A CHANCE TO EXPLAIN BEFORE SHE FLIPS OUT.
Brett sat in the reading area on the first floor of Sawyer Library on Sunday morning, her back to the enormous plate glass windows that looked out over the quad. Mrs. Birdsall, the icy old librarian, had gone upstairs, probably to try and catch some kids making out in the stacks, and Brett took the opportunity to pull a Nature Valley bar from her bag and take a quick bite. Food was strictly prohibited in the library, as was making out.
Brett sighed heavily and chewed on her crumbly granola bar. Normally on Sunday, the library was packed with frantic Waverly Owls cramming for Monday-morning tests or rushing to finish papers. But during Jan Plan, the library was nearly deserted, except for a table of freshman nerds in the corner, huddled over what looked like architectural blueprints for a space station.
The party had been a disaster. First, her fight with Sebastian, which she was trying really hard not to think about. Then, she’d gotten the e-mail from the dean citing her for being at the party. She blamed Sebastian for the fact that she’d been so distracted she’d left without her scarf. Another thing to be annoyed at him about. She’d had to slink into Stansfield Hall this morning, along with half a dozen other guilty-faced Owls, to claim it from the makeshift lost and found that the dean had—deviously—set up right outside his office door.
Chrissy was taking a trip to some giant fabric store outside Albany, but Brett had begged off at the last minute. She couldn’t deal with Sebastian’s exes anymore. Maybe they could do the rest of the project separately.
“You’re Brett Messerschmidt, right?” Brett looked up from her giant book of boring mid-nineteenth-century French art to see a slender Asian girl in slim-fitting dark jeans tucked into a pair of high black boots. Her silky black hair hung down almost to her butt. She was vaguely familiar, but Brett couldn’t think of her name.
“Yeeess?” Brett raised an eyebrow, not sure where this was going.
The girl stepped back and took Brett in from head to toe. Brett felt like she was at a casting call from the way the girl was evaluating everything from her flowered Juicy Couture waffle shirt to her baggy, ultra-comfortable J. Crew boyfriend jeans. Ironic, now that she wasn�
�t sure she even had a boyfriend. Brett defensively touched her hand to her cheek to cover the tiny pimple that had appeared yesterday. “You’re junior class prefect, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Brett replied, tapping her Salvatore Ferragamo ankle boot impatiently against the table leg. She was prefect for now—who knew what the new dean would have to say to her tomorrow morning? “Is there something I can help you with?”
The girl shrugged. Her skin was annoyingly perfect. “No, you’re just not what we expected.”
“We?” Brett glanced around her, determined she must be the subject of some stupid Jan Plan version of Punk’d.
“Oh, sorry. I’m Sylvia Ng. I used to go out with Sebastian.” Sylvia pulled a copy of The New Yorker from her Louis Vuitton tote bag and returned it to the wall of periodicals, which, Brett knew, weren’t supposed to be circulated. “I was just talking to Leila Rodriguez, and we realized that, even though we don’t really think you’re Sebastian’s type or anything, we think it’s cute that he’s so, you know. Into you.”
Brett shook her head, trying to clear her brain. “How do you know that?”
Sylvia exaggeratedly rolled her eyes. “The other day he told, like, every girl he’d ever hooked up with that he had a girlfriend now. At least, like, me and Leila, and Leigh, and…”
Brett felt like she had a nasty-tasting pill lodged in her throat. The call log in Sebastian’s phone. He’d been calling all those girls—to tell them he was off the market? Why had he done that? Her stomach dropped as she realized the answer. Because of her. Because she’d flipped out on him after the Tricia Rieken appearance. He’d gone out of his way to make sure it didn’t happen again. For her sake.
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