Before she knew it, the whole long, tortured saga poured out of her. She and Alan were the only people in the whole of Maxwell, and their little couch felt like a safe little oasis from the drama of her life. She told Alan everything, going all the way back to when she and Easy had started making out in the rare books room in the library at that party at the beginning of sophomore year, even though Callie had been dating Brandon at the time. She went over every single excruciating detail of her relationship with both boys—well, not every detail—and she didn’t spin the story to make herself look any better.
As she talked, she played with the edges of her open, cream-colored Joie cardigan and the belt loops of her brown Theory slim-legged cargo pants. It was as if she couldn’t sit still. And when she was finished telling Alan all of her secrets, she felt much better. It was like finally getting her legs waxed and her eyebrows shaped after letting it all go for far too long—she felt smooth and clean.
“Whoa,” Alan said after a few moments. “That’s some intense shit.”
“I know,” Callie said, and suddenly she was giggling again. “But it’s my life.”
Alan laughed. “I guess you’re stuck with it, then.”
“I guess.” She let her head fall back against the couch. “What would you do?”
Alan shifted his position on the couch with a thoughtful frown. He stuck his long legs out in front of him and shoved his hands into the pockets of his Diesel jeans. “I would go back in time and choose one of them,” he said, after a moment or two of intense consideration. “With no overlap.”
Callie sighed and closed her eyes. If only time travel were an option. Unfortunately, Alan’s brownies weren’t that powerful.
“But I get that you can’t exactly do that,” he continued. “It’s like the three of you are caught in a vicious circle. Like it’s an undertow, and none of you can get your heads above water.”
Callie tugged harder at her belt loops. She pictured Easy and Brandon caught in the pull of the ocean off some deserted beach, tossing and turning in the waves, and she could save only one of them. She looked at Alan. “That’s exactly what it feels like.”
Alan shrugged. “So you break the cycle,” he said matter-of-factly.
Callie frowned. “How do I do that?”
“You break up with both of them,” Alan said, stroking his beard. “The way you should have years ago. Then you wait and see who fights the hardest for you.”
“They’re not going to fight each other, Alan,” Callie said, rolling her eyes.
“They would if this was a Bruce Lee movie,” Alan replied immediately. He shook his head, as if to clear it of images of martial-arts masters. “But that’s not what I mean. You watch and see who fights for you. In, you know, a nonviolent way. Whoever that is, well, that’s the one you’re meant to be with.”
Callie stared at his goofy stoner grin and his kind brown eyes. She thought about how helpless she felt when Easy was around. He was like a fire she could never quite put out. And she thought about how good Brandon was to her, how understanding and sweet, never angry or demanding. And she thought about how little she wanted to hurt either one of them yet again.
Alan might possibly be the most brilliant person she’d ever encountered.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. It was all clear to her. Finally. “Thank you, Alan!” she cried, and gave him an impulsive hug.
“You got it,” he said, grinning.
Callie flopped back against the couch and couldn’t help smiling. Because for the first time since she’d walked into the foyer at the dean’s house and seen Easy Walsh standing there surrounded by broken glass, she had a plan.
* * *
OwlNet
Instant Message Inbox
* * *
BrettMesserschmidt: If you’re still in for Operation: Isla Takedown, I have a major breakthrough to report…
TinsleyCarmichael: I am so in. That overdressed liar offends me with every breath she takes.
BrettMesserschmidt: I can get us into her house. Yes, the dean’s house, site of all our pain. Tomorrow?
TinsleyCarmichael: Let’s get this party started.
12
A LITTLE HEALTHY COMPETITION IS GOOD FOR A
WAVERLY OWL.
“It’s all in the knees,” Julian said with mock-seriousness, demonstrating his three-legged technique by dropping into a squat every other step, throwing his arms out as if he were surfing, and pretending not to notice the spectacle he was making of himself in the middle of the Field House.
“You realize that everyone is staring at you, right?” Jenny asked, trying to stifle a giggle. Students were packed into the bleachers that ringed the interior of the Field House, waving maroon Waverly banners and wearing Waverly sweatshirts in support of the race, like it was a varsity event.
“They’re trying to figure out my secret.” Julian held Jenny’s gaze as he dropped into a particularly low squat. Jenny couldn’t help it anymore and burst out laughing. She was pretty sure it wasn’t thanks to Heath Ferro’s wicked concoction. That had already taken out two sophomore girls, at least four freshmen, and one unwise senior soccer player who’d reportedly chugged four entire pint glasses of the stuff in Richards before staggering his way up to the Field House. He’d puked all over a goalpost and was now sleeping it off beneath the bleachers.
Julian stopped his squat walk, and the two of them headed for the makeshift winner’s circle near the starting line. A race was still in progress, with the usual level of mayhem and silliness. Alison Quentin and Parker DuBois were hobbling down the racecourse, teetering and tottering like a seesaw. Verena Arvenal and her senior partner couldn’t walk more than two steps without falling over—which made him angrier and angrier while Verena only laughed. Only Jenny and Julian had managed to keep their cool. They’d won their preliminary heat by following the strategy they’d plotted out the night before at the movie screening. No one had expected them to make it this far.
Jenny waved excitedly at Brett and Isaac as they walked over, having also just won their heat. That meant they got to stand with Jenny and Julian in the winner’s staging area, waiting for the final match that would determine the overall winners of the big race.
“Welcome to the finals!” Jenny called out as Brett and Isaac approached the winner’s circle together. Brett looked tense, her shoulders rigid and far too close to her ears. Next to her, Isaac was walking in that easy way of his, his maroon hoodie zipped up over a button-down shirt, with the tails hanging over his dark-washed jeans.
And then he grinned, his smile lighting up his whole face as his gaze met Jenny’s. A familiar rush of warmth rolled through her as his green eyes held hers for a long, delicious moment. There was nothing weird or distant about that grin. Had she been giving her imagination a workout lately? Had she made the whole thing up? Jenny smiled at him and stuck her hands in the pockets of her Lucky cords.
“You looked okay out there, Dresden,” Julian said carefully, as if discussing an NFL game with a member of the opposing team. He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “But we’re about to enter the finals. Looking good isn’t going to win you anything here in the big leagues.”
“Whatever,” Isaac retorted in the same tone. He moved from Brett’s side and put his arm around Jenny’s shoulders. He smiled down at her, and the look in his eyes was affectionately teasing. “Jenny barely comes up to your knee!”
“Low blow!” Jenny cried.
“No pun intended,” Brett said dryly.
Jenny laughed, and caught Isaac’s eye. She was glad she hadn’t called him the night before to ask what was going on. Clearly, nothing was. Her brother, Dan, always told her that guys were simple and direct. If he said he was busy, it’s because he was busy. Maybe one day she would start listening to him. Maybe.
“All right, Owls!” cried Miss Friedman, the phys ed teacher known for her sadistic insistence on four hundred sit-ups at the first hint of any infraction of Waverly policy. S
he climbed up onto one of the lowest bleacher seats, sending a few wide-eyed freshmen scrambling out of her way. She was tall and thin, with one of those short, blunt haircuts that reminded Jenny of geometry exercises. “It’s time for the final race! All qualifying teams, please line up and tie yourself to your partner.”
Isaac squeezed Jenny’s shoulder before he stepped away, relinquishing her to Julian. Jenny was sure it was the look he gave her as he walked toward Brett that made her stomach feel fluttery—and not the way Julian moved close to her side and pressed his leg against hers. She looked down at him, taking in his wavy hair and the faint smell of soap and sweat. She flexed her leg against the rope, checking to see how tight it was.
“Trust me,” Julian said, looking up at her, his golden brown eyes warm. “I’m good at this stuff.”
For some reason, Jenny felt her breath catch. Maybe it was the weird sensation of being this close to Julian again. Maybe it was just some kind of physical déjà vu.
“Better tie that tight,” Brett said, snapping Jenny out of her trance. She made a face at Jenny. “She’s so little, you might step right over her without noticing it.”
“Ha-ha,” Jenny replied, rolling her eyes.
Brett caught her eye and mouthed the word kidding. Jenny smiled back, having taken no offense. This was a competition—and competitions meant some trash-talking. She’d been known to do her share of it from time to time on the hockey field or with her family. It was a time-honored Humphrey family tradition. She smiled to herself, thinking of how even Rufus abandoned his usual principles of love and peace to talk trash during a competitive Scrabble game.
“Jenny and I have a foolproof system,” Julian continued, grinning at Jenny as he straightened. He wrapped his arm around Jenny’s back, assuming the competitive three-legged stance. Jenny slid her arm around his waist, trying not to notice how taut his back muscles were. Next to them, Brett and Isaac linked up, but a bit more gingerly. “You underestimate us at your peril.”
“Still not scared,” Isaac tossed back at him with a grin. “Brett and I don’t need a system, because neither one of us is freakishly too tall or too short.”
“We’re like a well-oiled, same-sized machine,” Brett added.
“Whatever,” Julian said dismissively. “I have the best partner ever!”
“I know you do,” Isaac agreed, and the look he gave Jenny then made her cheeks heat up.
“Hey!” Brett said, pretending to be annoyed at Isaac. She elbowed him in the side, hard enough to make him wince. “You have a pretty amazing partner yourself. And I’ll remind you that you’re tied to me. If I trip, we both go down.”
“He doesn’t mean it,” Jenny told her, laughing. “You know he has to say it—total boyfriend law.”
Brett looked over at her and frowned. Jenny felt a flash of panic—was it too soon to call Isaac her boyfriend? But then the starting whistle blew, and there was no time to think.
The race was on!
She and Julian fell back into their rhythm, which essentially consisted of Jenny clinging to his one leg while he made a medium-size stride, then anchoring them while he made a huge, long stride with the full reach of his other leg. Jenny felt a little bit like a monkey clinging to the side of a tree—though Julian was a very good-looking, very athletic tree.
“Your head is not in the game,” Julian chided her when they were about halfway down the racecourse. He had to shout over the din of the Field House, which echoed with screams and cheers and silly songs from the watching Owls.
“Of course it is!” Jenny giggled. “Go, J-squared!”
“Totally lame,” Julian replied, but he was laughing, too.
Two of the couples near them crashed to the ground, having swayed too close together and getting overbalanced. It was Jenny’s job to navigate Julian’s long stride around such obstacles, like a coxswain in a crew race.
“Go left! Go left!” she cried, acting like the pivot as Julian moved around the senior couple’s tangled limbs. His long legs ate up the ground beneath them, leaving Isaac and Brett far behind.
Step, pivot. Step, pivot. The kids in the stands cheered and screamed. The Waverly band was blaring out a marching song. Jenny looked up at Julian, and his lips curved into a smile. His arm tightened around her back, and she dug her fingers into his side. And then they crossed the finish line!
“We rule!” Julian shouted in triumph. Jenny looked around wildly to see two couples in thrashing piles on the ground. Isaac and Brett, each wearing fierce scowls of concentration, were just approaching the finish line. She whipped her head around and realized that no one was ahead of them. They’d won!
“Your Three-Legged Race champions, ladies and gentlemen!” Miss Friedman cried into her bullhorn. “Jenny Humphrey and Julian McCafferty!”
Jenny whooped for joy and hugged Julian around his lean waist. She felt a little buzz shiver through her limbs and laughed up at him. He grinned down at her. Jenny leaned back to wave at all the Owls in the stands who were stamping their feet and cheering. She was as proud as if she’d climbed Everest. And all she’d had to do was hang on!
Julian untied their legs and was still grinning down at her when Isaac and Brett crossed the finish line behind them.
“Your legs are way too long, man,” Isaac said, glaring at Julian in mock anger. “They should be outlawed, like steroids.”
“Nothing makes me happier than a sore loser,” Julian replied, grinning.
“This sore loser needs a drink,” Brett declared, fanning her face. The boys took off to grab waters from the nearby school-sanctioned refreshment table, and Jenny watched them go, her eyes lingering on Isaac’s cute little swagger of a walk. She pulled out a tube of Urban Decay lip gloss in her favorite color, Quiver, and applied it to her lips, rubbing them together.
“You’re lucky we’re friends,” she told Brett, sliding the tube back into her pocket. “Or I might have to be a little jealous that you got to spend all that time essentially hugging Isaac in front of the entire school. You’ll be happy to know I trust you both.”
She expected Brett to laugh, but instead she frowned. Jenny bit her lower lip and studied her friend’s face.
“What’s the matter?” she asked when Brett didn’t say anything. But Brett didn’t meet her eyes. She shook her head, her bright red bob sliding forward like a curtain to hide her face.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You’re, like, scowling at your shoes,” Jenny pointed out. She didn’t want to push Brett or anything, but she had a weird feeling that whatever Brett was frowning about had to do with her.
“I don’t mean to be,” Brett said. She looked at Jenny then, her green eyes serious. “I just think you shouldn’t get ahead of yourself.” She nodded over toward Isaac, who was already on his way back, Julian right behind him. Isaac’s head barely cleared Julian’s shoulders. “You know? Maybe you should just… see where it goes.”
Jenny opened and closed her mouth, like a goldfish. What was that supposed to mean? Was Brett… warning her?
But she lost her chance to ask, because Brett put on a smile for the boys, and Jenny had to gulp down her panic and confusion and do the same.
* * *
OwlNet
Instant Message Inbox
* * *
BrettMesserschmidt: Emergency! I think I left my chem textbook in your kitchen yesterday before the race!
IsaacDresden: NP—I can get it to you later this afternoon. I’m about to walk into history class, but I can swing back home afterward.
BrettMesserschmidt: Shit. I have chem in fifteen minutes and our teacher is a hardass about not having the textbook…
IsaacDresden: No worries. We keep a spare key under the mat outside the kitchen door. Just use the code: 1-0-1-9-0-7-2-9
BrettMesserschmidt: You’re awesome. Thank you!!
13
A WAVERLY OWL ALWAYS BEGINS A RESEARCH
PROJECT USING PRIMARY SOURCES.
“Check you ou
t,” Tinsley said admiringly when Brett threw open the Dresdens’ back door with a little dramatic flourish. She kicked the key under the welcome mat with her black Coach riding boots. “You’re like a spy.”
“I always wanted to be a spy,” Brett said with a giggle as she stepped into the dean’s house and paused, listening for any sounds. She opened her oversize gray Stella McCartney coat as she strained to hear something from the depths of the house. She knew that Dean Dresden was attending a function in New York City that day, and Mrs. Dresden was usually off-campus during the day, but you could never be too careful while breaking and entering. If you have the key, does it count as a felony? Brett wondered as Tinsley closed the door behind them.
The Dresdens’ house was silent, save for the faintest hiss from the radiators and the usual noises of an old house settling around them. There were no sounds of any people who might wander into the kitchen and discover Brett and Tinsley. Any slight bit of guilt that Brett might have felt—and it was the barest sliver, growing smaller every time she recalled the sight of Isla and Sebastian flirting in this very kitchen—was completely washed away when she thought about Isaac’s secret girlfriend and how she’d had no choice but to keep quiet about her around Jenny yesterday.
She straightened her shoulders and moved farther into the house. Why should she feel guilty? Obviously, the Dresdens had some genetic flaw that made them all liars and cheaters and who knew what else. Brett felt, as a member of the Disciplinary Committee and an active part of the Waverly community, that it was her duty to expose the evil siblings for who and what they really were. She owed it to Waverly.
And if it made Sebastian think twice about hanging on Isla’s every simpering word, well… that was just a happy bonus.
Classic Page 7
