Sage shrugged her shoulders again and ran her fingers over a snag in the blanket that Brandon had never noticed. “Well, I’m on the list.”
“Everyone’s on the list.” Brandon waved his hand casually, hoping that it was a leading-man, reassuring gesture. If he had made up the list, it would have had only a few people on it: Tinsley—because really, who else would be wicked enough to start a fire—and Easy Walsh, just because Brandon wouldn’t mind seeing him get expelled. Even if he had started to think Easy wasn’t such a bad guy after all, he couldn’t help recalling the image of Easy and Callie running, barely clothed, from the barn. He doubted they’d do anything intentionally, but they were the only people who were in the barn for sure. And he really didn’t love the idea that his ex-girlfriend was doing the deed with Easy Walsh, in a barn of all places. Gross. He was totally over Callie, but a girl like that deserved one-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets for her first time—if the rumors about what they were doing in there were actually true, and not just a bale of hay.
“You’re not worried?” Sage asked incredulously, her small mouth dropping open so that Brandon could see one neat silver filling in a molar. She rocked back and forth, smoothing a strand of her fine blond hair off her forehead. Brandon briefly wondered whether she’d want to hook up in a barn—she seemed more the white lace, canopy bed type. Much more Brandon’s style.
“Great dress,” Brandon blurted, realizing he’d been staring at Sage’s slender legs. Great dress! It sounded pretty innocuous, and who wouldn’t want to hear that they were wearing a great dress? But he sounded totally gay.
“Bought it at a thrift store,” she admitted, running a finger lightly over the hem.
“Wow.” Brandon lowered his voice and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Scandal,” he noted. Girls had this weird thing about vintage being so much cooler than new. He didn’t get it. Vintage clothes just meant that someone had already sweated in them.
“You couldn’t even imagine.” Sage looked up at him through her long eyelashes, feigning embarrassment. “It’s actually from this totally random church yard sale in Great Barrington.”
Brandon laughed. He remembered vaguely that Sage’s family were some sort of ceramics barons in western Massachusetts, but now he had the endearing image of her pawing through racks of old-lady clothes in some old stone church basement, searching for Chanel dresses. It was very un-Waverly, and totally cute.
“Don’t tell anyone, okay?” Her voice was sugared with irony and she leaned forward conspiratorially. Brandon had to restrain himself for sneaking a peek down the front of her dress.
“Got any other secrets?” He ran his fingers through his gold-brown hair, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
“My second toe is longer than my big toe,” Sage answered immediately, kicking up her feet playfully and sucking her cheeks in.
“They say that’s the mark of genius. Lemme see.” Brandon reached forward, pretending to grab for Sage’s black suede Moschino Cheap & Chic wedges, but she giggled and quickly folded her legs beneath her. The bed bounced violently, the up and down motion and accompanying squeaking noise scandalizing them both for a moment, before they started to laugh.
“You can’t just grab a girl’s feet,” she told him coquettishly, her face a little flushed. “You have to earn it.”
Brandon turned to face her, smiling. “And how do—” He was cut off by Heath’s sudden appearance in the doorway, with his wannabe prospective close on his heels.
“Oh, sorry.” Heath’s chest was heaving and his gray, faded Waverly T-shirt clung to his chest like cling wrap. It looked like someone had started braiding his hair but then quit mid-effort, and little braids stuck up all over his head like weeds in a garden. “Dude, Sam’s gonna chill out with you for a bit.”
“But I wanna go with you,” Sam protested. Sam had on a Waverly T-shirt as well, but it was starchy and looked like it had been purchased just this morning from one of the little stores that sold all things Waverly in downtown Rhinecliff. Brandon glanced at Sage, who giggled at the sight of Heath and Sam and scooted off the bed, tugging down the hem of her fitted dress.
“Dude, you almost got me killed back there. Just stay here.” Heath turned to Brandon. “I gotta get some things ready for the party tonight and can’t have him in the way. Make sure he stays here.” Heath disappeared down the hall and Sam ran off after him. It seemed that Heath had displaced even the PSP at the top of Sam’s list of priorities.
Sage stepped toward the door, slowly, her wispy blond hair falling down over her shoulders. “I should . . . uh . . . probably go anyway?”
“Oh, okay.” He nodded, not sure if he should try to stop her. He was grateful Heath and Sam had disappeared for at least a few seconds so he could say goodbye without them nosing around. “But I’ll see you at the party later, right?”
She glanced over her shoulder and flashed him a flirty smile. “Right.”
The door closed and Brandon lay back down on his plaid comforter, running his bare feet over the soft throw blanket Sage had been sitting on. It was still warm. If he was lucky, Sage would get into the now-or-never spirit of the party tonight. And so would he.
SageFrancis: Brandon is making my job way too easy.
AlisonQuentin: Seriously? I told you so.
SageFrancis: A girl can hope. . . .
AlisonQuentin: Let’s just hope we’re all still here tomorrow to enjoy our boys.
SageFrancis: Wow, you just stomped all over my good mood.
AlisonQuentin: Only kidding! Don’t worry, Brandon will cheer you up tonight.
17
A WISE OWL KNOWS FLIRTING IS EVEN MORE FUN WHEN OTHER OWLS ARE WATCHING.
“Pineapple, peanut butter, and pistachios,” Julian answered, making a face for Chloe’s benefit, but Jenny couldn’t help giggling along. “Okay, my turn. Lemme think of a hard one.” He scrunched his face up in concentration. “How about M? And you can’t say ‘meat.’”
“Time me,” Chloe said, up to the challenge of naming three gross pizza toppings that started with the letter M. Julian looked at his bare wrist and said, “Go.”
“Marshmallows . . .” Chloe’s voice trailed off as she struggled to come up with another answer. Jenny watched Julian’s delight in stumping Chloe. She was glad Julian had suggested getting pizza at Ritoli’s, far from the madding crowd of whispering Owls. It was nice to get the smell of freshly polished hardwood floors out of their noses and replace it with the yummy smell of pizza.
Ritoli’s was a family-run business that had been in downtown Rhinecliff for years. It probably got half of its business from the late-night delivery orders from Waverly boys—and the other half from the in-person visits of Waverly girls. It was a favorite with female Owls because there were always cute Italian pizza boys working, all olive-skinned and toned and ready to take orders. Not that Jenny was interested in that today—she was much more interested in the tall, shaggy-haired boy sitting across from her.
“Macadamia nuts!” Chloe shouted out suddenly, alarming the couple at the booth next to them. “Yes, that’s a good one!” she said excitedly.
“I wouldn’t take time to stop and brag,” Julian warned, pointing at his phantom watch. “It’s almost been half an hour.”
“No, it hasn’t!” Chloe appealed to Jenny, anxiously clinking the bottom of her fork against the red-and-white-checked tablecloth.
Jenny shrugged her shoulders, clamping her hand over her red plastic watch. She was wearing her favorite black Jill Stuart puff-sleeved T-shirt and her paint-splattered pencil-leg Antik Denim jeans, and she felt pretty, confident, and relaxed. Or maybe it was Julian who made her feel that way.
“You guys are cheating,” Chloe admonished, though she was quickly distracted by the appearance of their waiter, who set a steaming pan of gooey cheese-and-mushroom pizza down in front of them. Luckily, it was a waiter Jenny had never seen before. She was relieved that Angelo, the pizza boy Tinsley had forced to play spin-the
-bottle at the last Café Society meeting—a phony cool-girl exclusive society Tinsley had attempted to form that died before it even got off the ground—was nowhere to be seen.
Julian arched one eyebrow at Jenny, like a villain in the Masterpiece Theatre Saturday afternoon movies her father sometimes watched on PBS. The whole outing made Jenny feel like she was in one of those romantic comedies where the single mom tests her potential suitor by bringing her annoying child out on a date. Julian was clearly enjoying his role of entertaining Chloe—maybe too much. Chloe was totally flirting with him.
Not that Jenny blamed her. Wearing a thin yellow plaid Abercrombie & Fitch button-down over a red T-shirt with a picture of Snoopy lying on a globe, the words save our planet curved under it, Julian looked totally irresistible.
“Go, go, go!” Julian spurred Chloe on, while trying to fluster her, too. Jenny remembered how her older brother, Dan, would use the same strategy to psych her out during family games of Boggle and Scrabble—and it always worked. Julian had mentioned two younger sisters, so of course he was an expert at torturing them. “Five seconds and I win. Five, four . . .”
“Okay, I got one. Stop counting.”
“Three and a half, three . . .” Julian dug a piece of deep-dish mushroom pizza out of the pan and scooped it onto a plate. He handed it to Jenny with a grin.
“I’m not going to tell you until you stop counting.” Chloe crossed her tiny arms, pouting. She gave Julian a half smile of thanks when he dished her out a piece, too.
“Two and a half . . .”
Jenny took a bite of steaming pizza, hoping the gooey cheese wouldn’t stick to her face. Having served both girls, Julian shoveled two slices onto his plate.
“Two and a quarter . . .” Julian tapped his finger to his bare wrist to signal that time was up.
“Maraschino cherries!” Chloe blurted out, looking pleased with herself. Jenny was surprised by how much attitude the girl seemed to muster when she wasn’t around Benny and Sage and those girls. She could probably do pretty well for herself at Waverly. Wearing a black Banana Republic cashmere cardigan, she was even starting to look more like a Waverly girl and less like she’d exploded from an L.L.Bean catalog.
Julian made a buzzing sound. “Sorry, but thanks for playing,” he said in a TV show announcer’s voice. “It’s Marciano cherries, not maraschino.”
“What? That’s not true. I need a judge’s ruling on that,” Chloe countered, appealing again to Jenny. Her normally pale face was flushed.
Jenny was a little afraid they’d wound Chloe up beyond control, so she took the middle road. “I honestly don’t know.” She shrugged.
Chloe threw her hands up, exasperated. She looked around wildly and Jenny worried for a moment that she was going to ask the couple they’d disrupted earlier. But instead Chloe flagged down the nearest waiter, who happened to be Angelo, much to Jenny’s embarrassment.
“What do you call those little cherries that taste like candy?” Chloe inquired. Angelo focused on Jenny, as if he were trying to remember her name, or place her face, and Jenny slouched in the booth a little, giving him a polite smile before turning her face away to look at the menu board over the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” Angelo said, twirling his empty serving tray on his index finger, “but we don’t have them.”
The argument spilled out onto the street after the bill was paid. “Marciano is Rocky’s last name, dummy,” Chloe mocked Julian, who was walking backward in front of her.
He began dancing around Chloe with his fists in the air. “Adrienne!” he called out, mimicking Stallone’s famous cry, the people on the streets of Rhinecliff stopping to stare. Jenny giggled, and Julian quickly turned on her, touching his fist lightly against her arm. He held it there for a second longer than necessary.
“Not the Rocky in the movie, the real-life one,” Chloe chastised, rolling her eyes as if Julian were truly ridiculous. “Oh cool,” she said, distracted by the stained glass lamp that rotated in the window of the Knick-Knack Shack, Rhinecliff’s local junk store. Waverly kids liked to shop at the Knick-Knack Shack for ironic dorm furniture, like coasters made from old ’45s. It shared an entrance with Next-to-New, the thrift store that everyone at Waverly called Not So New. Jenny spotted a pair of cool ’80s white leather slouch ankle boots. “I’m gonna go check it out—I’ll be right back,” Chloe announced, marching into the store before they could stop her.
Jenny turned to Julian, glad to have a momentary break from Chloe. “Pizza was a good idea. Thanks for dragging me off campus.” She shielded her eyes from the harsh afternoon sun, wondering what she’d done with her scratched-up aviator sunglasses. “I think I was going a little stir-crazy.”
“My pleasure.” Julian took a gallant bow, his open Abercrombie shirt fluttering out to the sides. Even doubled over, he was taller than she was. “Only the best for my best girl.”
Jenny giggled. “I thought maybe you wanted to go off campus because you were hiding me from your other girlfriend.”
Julian straightened, his shaggy brown-blond hair flopping around his head. The blood had rushed to his head and his face was a bit flushed. “Yeah, she gets pretty jealous. I have to keep a low profile,” he teased, leaning against the store window.
“Which was why you hid in broom closets and behind bushes around my dorm to talk to me?” Jenny cocked her head flirtatiously, her dark curls bouncing. She wasn’t sure what it was about Julian, but he made her feel giddy and reckless and yet still safe.
“You see right through me.” He nodded, a smile curling his handsome lips. He leaned forward and then took a peek into the Knick-Knack Shop. Jenny hoped he was making sure Chloe wasn’t around so he could kiss her.
She looked up at Julian, unable to wipe the grin from her face. She couldn’t believe it—Julian had liked her all along, and had even arranged to meet her. Nothing could feel better than this. He was so cute, so funny, so sweet . . . which, Jenny realized, were all qualities that had drawn her to Easy.
But unlike Easy, she knew Julian would never lie to her.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday, October 15, 6:09 P.M.
Subject: How’s it going?
Hey Chloe,
Hope you had a good day. Just thought I’d see if you wanted to get ready together for the party tonight. . . .
Tinsley
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday, October 15, 6:11 P.M.
Subject: RE: How’s it going?
Ohmigod Tinsley, I’d totally love to. Can’t wait!
XOXOXOX
Chloe
P.S. What are you wearing? Think I could borrow something?
18
A WAVERLY OWL DOES NOT BAD-MOUTH HIS GIRLFRIEND TO HER EX.
“Do you really just read books all day long? You never play video games?” Sam threw Heath’s PSP on the bed and looked at Brandon expectantly.
“Yes,” Brandon said tersely, hoping Sam would leave him alone. He was ready to put down his copy of Great Expectations—which he was more than ready to put down anyway—and take a squash racket to Sam’s already-battered nose.
“If you don’t have any more games, can we at least go see some girls?”
Brandon was still seething at Heath for dumping Sam on him. And still reeling from the fact that Sage Francis had appeared in his doorway, a vision of loveliness in her Jackie O dress and smooth, pin-straight blond hair, and proceeded to flirt with him. Sage Francis. And all he’d had to do was send her a few text messages. Who knew girls could be so simple? Definitely not Heath, who’d filled his protégé’s head with all kinds of crazy ideas.
“Okay, let’s go somewhere.” Brandon stood up and pulled his black Hugo Boss hooded sweater on over his plain white American Apparel T-shirt. He grabbed his worn leather Prada wallet and slid it into the pocket of his charcoal trousers.
Brandon walked out the door, shaking his head. Where was he going to take this tool? As he marched down the hallway, he passed Easy Walsh’s half-open door. Of course—Easy and Alan St. Girard were up most nights playing Xbox for hours after lights-out, the volume on mute while occasional groans or cheers emitted from their room as they killed aliens or kick-boxed street thugs or whatever brainless task was required in those games. Brandon knocked on the door, taking a deep breath and trying not to think about the rumors that Callie and Easy had actually slept together.
There was a pause, and then a sleepy voice called out, “Yeah?”
“You got Wii?” Sam asked, pushing Brandon aside and poking his head in the door to scout the dorm room for its gaming system.
Easy was on his back on his bed, in a pair of torn jeans and a ratty-looking green sweater, his American history textbook facedown on his chest. “What?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows. Then he shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got an Xbox . . . but it’s broken right now.” Sam’s face lit up and fell immediately.
“He’s looking for some new games,” Brandon said apologetically.
“I have to go into town to get some charcoal pencils,” Easy said, rubbing his sleepy-looking blue eyes with his hand. “You guys can tag along if you want.” Sam seemed unimpressed, until Easy added, “There’s an arcade.”
“Cool,” Sam squealed like the true thirteen-year-old boy he was, his mini-Heath persona momentarily forgotten.
They strolled to Rhinecliff side by side, Easy on one side of Sam and Brandon on the other, a wide gap between each. Brandon remained silent as Easy and Sam discussed the merits and drawbacks of Xbox versus PlayStation versus Wii. The smell of rain hung in the air and Brandon wished he hadn’t worn his good John Varvatos suede loafers.
Lucky Page 10
