The only person she wanted to talk to right now was her completely MIA roommate. She needed to thank her not just for saving her from expulsion—but for saving her from making a huge mistake. The masks were off, and the truth was out: Callie Vernon wasn't evil. She was … a friend.
26
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT IT IS ALWAYS BEST TO BE HONEST IN A RELATIONSHIP.
Brett closed the backgammon board with a loud snap. “How does it feel to be crushed in three straight games?”
Jeremiah grinned and pushed up the sleeves of his dark green henley. “You know I let you win.” Her iPod was playing softly in the background, and the sound of Bob Dylan filtered through the air.
“Not true!” Brett narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to slap Jeremiah lightly on his chest. “You just suck,” she teased. She pressed her lips together and thought of how Jeremiah had told her he loved the cherry flavor of her Balmshell lip gloss.
The two of them had spent the lazy Sunday afternoon together, studying on a couch in a deserted corner of Maxwell Hall. Jeremiah made Brett read out loud to him from her Le Rouge et le Noir because he “loved the way her lips moved when she spoke French.” Then they'd driven to the next town over to go to Chili's, Brett's favorite guilty pleasure chain restaurant. They'd spent the last few hours of visitation time in Brett's room, playing backgammon. It was laid-back and relaxed, and pretty much perfect. Maintenance had fixed the flooded pipes early that morning, and tonight Brett would get to sleep in her bed alone.
Best of all, it was only a matter of time before she got to go to sleep with Jeremiah. They already had plans for Friday night: Jeremiah didn't have a game, so they were going to take the train to New York, where he'd booked a suite at the posh Soho Grand. After all they'd been through, he wanted their first time to be perfect. The only thing keeping Brett from tearing off Jeremiah's clothes was the fact that her first time meant so much to him.
Jeremiah gently tucked a strand of Brett's red hair behind her ear, and she felt her knees tremble. She was ready to throw the Soho Grand out the window and just do it right there. But just as Jeremiah's lips were about to touch hers for another lingering kiss, the door to her room pushed open.
“Brett, can I borrow—” Kara stood in the doorway, her brown hair still damp from a shower. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She stepped backward as soon as she saw Brett and Jeremiah lying face-to-face on Brett's fuchsia comforter. “Never mind.”
“No, don't be silly.” Brett leaned up on an elbow, trying not to watch Jeremiah's face for a reaction. “Come in, really. What did you want to borrow?”
Kara pushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear and slowly stepped into the room, smiling shyly at Jeremiah. “That cropped jacket of yours? The one that looks like …”
“I’m going to a peace rally?” Brett swung her feet to the floor and headed to her closet.
“That's exactly what I was going to say.” Kara's jaw dropped and she giggled. “How'd you know which one I meant? You must have like eighty cropped jackets.”
Brett pawed through her closet for a moment before finding the vintage Ben Sherman army jacket Kara was talking about. She'd found it in a thrift shop in the East Village over the summer and had, in a fit of boredom, sewn various fake army patches and peace signs on. It turned out great, but was more bohemian than Brett dared to go. She handed the jacket to Kara. “I can see what you're going for with that outfit. It'll look great on you.”
As Kara modeled the jacket in Brett's full-length mirror, Brett glanced back at Jeremiah. See? We're girls and friends and not girlfriends, and we talk about clothes together. How much more innocent could things be? But Jeremiah's face was turned to the backgammon board.
Brett shot Kara a helpless look. Excellent mind reader that she was, Kara spoke up as she stepped back toward the door. “So … uh … what are you two up to tonight?”
Brett glanced at Jeremiah, and the wary look on his face revealed that his suspicions hadn't totally been erased. Waltzing around campus hand in hand today, it had felt like nothing had ever come between them. Jeremiah hadn't brought Kara up once.
But the moment she walked into the room, it was like last night all over again.
“I’ve got to get going,” Jeremiah said suddenly. “I’ve got a trig test tomorrow and I haven't even looked at the book.”
Brett gave him her best “Don't go” look, but he was too busy watching Kara chew her nails to see it.
“I’ve actually got to run, too,” Kara said hurriedly, slipping on Brett's jacket and shooting her an apologetic look. “I’m meeting—”
Heath Ferro appeared in the doorway, out of breath. “Here you are,” he said to Kara. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“What's the matter?” she asked, a look of concern floating across her face. “I thought I was meeting you at Maxwell at five for open mic night?”
“Nothing.” Heath leaned forward and kissed Kara's cheek. “I just … you know … was thinking about you now.”
Brett blinked her eyes. Heath? Was that really him? She caught an incredulous look from Jeremiah that seemed to be saying the same thing—Heath Ferro? Going to an open mic poetry reading?—and the two of them shared an intimate, stifled-laugh moment.
“What's up, bro?” Heath nodded to Jeremiah. He draped an arm around Kara's curvy waist. “We missed you at the Men of Waverly meeting.”
“Yeah, sorry I couldn't make it.” Jeremiah swung his feet to the floor and held out his hand for Heath to high-five. Brett found their display of male affection completely disconcerting. She knew they were friends … but how close were they? She could tell Heath was totally in love with Kara, and that their relationship had softened him, but Brett did not trust him to keep his big mouth shut. Her stomach lurched nervously.
“No worries, dude,” Heath nodded. “Make the next meeting, though. It's happening.”
“What exactly do you guys do?” Kara asked skeptically, hooking her thumbs into the pockets of Brett's jacket. She looked ready to go to a concert in a crowded bar in Brooklyn. “Talk about your feelings?”
Heath answered slowly. “We're kind of … into charity and things like that.” He must have realized how ridiculous the answer sounded and laughed at himself. “All right, so basically we drank some forties and talked about hot girls.”
“Sounds like a great time,” Kara said dryly, buttoning up her jacket. She didn't look at Heath.
“You ready to go, sweetheart?” Heath touched Kara's back tenderly, and she moved almost imperceptibly away from him.
“Definitely. Sorry to interrupt.” Kara waved her fingers at Brett and smiled weakly, her mind clearly elsewhere.
“Don't wait up, kids—if you know what I mean,” Heath called out as he and Kara disappeared down the hall, the sound of their voices fading until the dorm was quiet again.
Brett flopped back down on her bed, relieved to be alone again with Jeremiah. “Those crazy kids.”
Jeremiah lay on his side next to Brett, putting his hand on her stomach and nuzzling her neck. “Seems like our man Heath has been bitten by the love bug,” he said. He pretended to bite Brett's neck, and she shivered at the light feel of his teeth against her skin.
“Did you see them at the Halloween party?” Brett asked, her heart thumping as Jeremiah's hands ran along the top of her loose-fitting Citizens jeans. “They were practically glued to each other.”
“I’m sorry I overreacted before, about, you know, everything.” Jeremiah leaned up on an elbow to pull back and look her in the eyes. “I shouldn't have let stupid rumors get to me. I’m sorry.”
“It doesn't matter,” Brett said, casting her glance aside. She knew now would be the time to come totally clean, but the look of complete relief on Jeremiah's face—who knew Heath Ferro could be good for something?—talked her out of it. There was nothing to tell, she decided, and even if there was, what was the point of talking about the past? Jeremiah didn't need a play-by-play of every single thing she'
d done since they'd broken up. Some things were hers alone.
She pressed her lips against his, and he draped his muscular arms around her, the scent of his skin filling her nose as she inhaled.
She just had to make it till Friday.
27
A WAVERLY OWL FACES NEW CHALLENGES WITH DETERMINATION AND ENERGY.
Callie's stomach rumbled so loudly she was certain they could hear it back at Waverly. Two days ago, she never would've guessed that she'd actually be eager to scarf down a plateful of gray-brown pork chops and runny applesauce, but her hands shook as she held her tray and waited in line for dinner on Sunday night. She braced herself against the metal runners of the serving station as she set her tray down to slide it like everyone else, exhaustion from the day's labors gripping her body like the flu.
She smiled as the dining hall attendant set a plate heaped with unappetizing food on her tray. It didn't matter—it looked delicious to her, and Callie felt the happiest she'd been all weekend. The therapy session yesterday had actually been kind of fun. Afterward, she and some of the other girls had huddled in a corner and thought of ways to get back at Natasha for being such a slave driver—if only they could get their hands on some industrial-strength hair remover to pour into her shampoo, they'd have an excellent prank on their hands.
Callie grabbed a carton of skim milk and turned to find a seat in the crowded dining hall. Fake Brett, whose name turned out to be Meri, short for Meredith, nodded in Callie's direction. She scooted over to make room on the hard wooden bench.
“Thanks,” Callie uttered, her voice barely a whisper. Her tray clanked against the table as she folded herself between Meri and a woman whom Callie had seen splitting wood with one strike of the ax. Her name was either Julia or Julie.
“Can you believe this slop?” Meri asked. She stabbed a piece of pork chop and held it in the air as exhibit A. “I guess they haven't heard of vegetarianism in Maine.” She dropped it back on her plate and woefully stabbed a withered pea with her fork.
“The applesauce is bland, too,” Julie/Julia added. “Tastes like baking soda.”
Callie laughed. “Ew.” The laugh felt good filtering up through her tired body. All during afternoon activities, Callie had been focused on what she needed to do to excise Easy from her life. It couldn't be that hard—all she had to do was block out all the good memories she had of him and focus on the bad ones. It was actually much easier to do when she was wearing someone else's clothes. She felt like a completely different person wearing the drab Whispering Pines clothes—about as unprincess-like as you could get.
She chewed a large piece of pork chop and washed it down with milk, the salty meat setting her taste buds abuzz. She felt as if she'd just discovered them for the first time. Her dinner companions, poking at their food and making fun of Natasha, all seemed more normal than they had yesterday, when they were all awash in their favorite colors, talking about their addictions. Now she could practically imagine they were sitting at a table in the Waverly dining hall, dissecting a day of classes or some annoying senior's poor choice of outfit.
“So, are you ready for your solo?” Talia asked the table under her breath.
Everyone stopped chewing at once.
“What solo?” Callie asked. Her voice boomed through the sudden silence.
“I heard one woman went into the woods and never came back.” Julie/Julia widened her eyes, subtly lined with forbidden eyeliner. How had she managed that? Maybe if Callie hadn't been so quick to pass out that first night, she could have stashed some of her Clinique mascara under her mattress. “They never found her.”
“I overheard Natasha talking about someone losing a toe to frostbite,” Meri said, looking askance to make sure Natasha wasn't within earshot. Luckily, she was happily scarfing down two pork chops at a table across the room.
“Wait, what in hell are you talking about?” Callie laid her fork down across her plateful of uneaten food.
“You're not supposed to talk about it,” Julia/Julie warned.
Meri nodded, fingering the empty earring holes along the top of her left ear. Callie suddenly felt nervous again. “If they catch you talking about it, they make it worse. I found this.” Meri glanced again at Natasha and then double-checked the dining hall attendants before producing a folded piece of paper from inside her bra.
“What is it?” Callie asked, involuntarily lowering her voice to a whisper.
Meri unfolded the piece of paper. Someone had scrawled a crude map of the grounds, adding a compass in a different-colored ink. A giant X marked a spot northwest of the outer perimeter. “I found it under one of the legs of my cot,” Meri said.
“What is it?” Julia/Julie asked. “A treasure map?”
“I think whoever left this was trying to instruct us—or warn us,” Meri said secretively, pushing it toward Callie. “I just wanted to share it with you in case it comes in handy while you're out there.”
“Out where?” Callie whispered. And why was Meri pushing the map toward her?
“It's a test. They force you out into the woods at night without food or water or warm clothing and see if you can make it.” Meri refolded the note. “You use it, Callie. Then give it back to me or Julia when you're done.”
“You're going tomorrow night,” Julia—thank God someone had finally said her name—explained to Callie. “I work in Amanda's office in the afternoons, and I saw the schedule.”
“Amanda's office?” Callie asked, mentally salivating at the thought of an Internet connection. “Where is it?”
“Right off the lobby. When you first come in.” Julia leaned back in her chair, looking way more relaxed than Callie was feeling.
“When am I going?” Meri asked, a touch of panic in her voice.
Julia shook her head. “I only saw tomorrow,” she said, her eyes darting around the dining hall, which was starting to empty, campers heading off to their beds to rest their weary heads. Callie would have given anything to curl up on a fat sofa with her cashmere Ralph Lauren throw and a bag of burned popcorn, dozing off while watching some TV. It was Sunday night, and she was sure the girls in Dumbarton were doing exactly that right now, in their pajamas, fighting over the remote. Callie felt an intense wave of longing.
“But it started snowing when we were finishing up afternoon activities,” she protested. “What if it snows from now until then? They wouldn't make me go then, right?”
Julia looked at her warningly as if to say, Don't count on it. “By the way, your mother called today to check on you.”
Callie narrowed her eyes. “She called here?”
“She and Natasha have been talking every day,” Julia answered, nodding. She pushed the puddle of applesauce around her plate with her fork and glanced up at Callie slyly. “Did you really use a check from your mom to pay off your drug dealer?”
Callie's eye's bulged. Her drug dealer? And then it came to her. She'd told her mother she'd needed that giant check to the Miller Farm Foundation to help a friend out of a jam. But that was exactly what people said when they needed money to pay off their drug dealers! It was always for a friend. Her eyes scanned the room, noticing for the first time all the anxious looks on the other women's faces, their nervous tics. She thought back to the therapy session with Natasha, and to Meri's shoplifting addiction. Ohmigod. Was she in rehab?
“Lights out in fifteen minutes,” Natasha bellowed, and the rest of the campers hurried to finish their dinners and get back to their rooms before darkness descended.
“Here, take this, too,” Meri said, pushing a rabbit's foot on a diamond-encrusted key chain across the table.
“What's this for?” Callie asked, gathering up her tray.
Meri hesitated. “For luck.”
“Yeah, good luck,” Julia said as she stood up from the table.
Callie stared at the rabbit's foot. She wanted to ask Meri if she had stolen it, but that seemed beside the point. Waverly seemed so far away, like maybe it had never happened.
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She snatched up the lucky charm and slipped it into the pocket of her overalls, praying she wouldn't really need it.
From:[email protected]
To:[email protected]; [email protected];[email protected]; [email protected];[email protected]; [email protected]
Date: Monday, November 4, 11:15 A.M.
Subject: Hells yeah!
Attention all BoW members,
Let's give ourselves a big pat on the back for our successful first meeting. Pat, pat! Nice job, everyone, of putting on a successful sober act for Marymount.
Next meeting TBA. Someone else take responsibility for the refreshments, por favor.
Because I’d like our group to provide a warm, safe setting for talking about our problems, I suggest that in honor of Brandon, everyone pretty-please bring their favorite baby blanket to the next meeting. (And if anyone else slept with theirs until they were eleven too, let Brandon know so he doesn't feel so awkward, k?) Bow-wow-wow!
Yours confidentially,
H.F.
From:[email protected]
To:[email protected]
Date: Monday, November 4, 2:19 P.M.
Subject: Last Warning
Sebastian,
This is my final warning before I’m going to have to tell Mrs. Horniman that you've been unwilling to cooperate. I don't know why you've been avoiding me—I’ve just been trying to help, but if you have a problem with me, maybe you should talk to Mrs. Horniman yourself and see if she can set you up with a tutor you can deal with.
Otherwise, let me know when would be a good time to meet this week.
B.M.
From:[email protected]
To:[email protected]
Date: Monday, November 4, 3:30 P.M.
Subject: SOS!!!!!
T.
Ohmigod, you have to help me. I snuck into the main office here and only have a sec. Mom sent me to militant rehab camp in Maine–Whispering Pines or something. They think I’m a druggie! They're going to send me out into the woods in a snowstorm tonight—I could totally die. Save me!!!
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