“Eric just IMd me,” Brett blurted, her voice full of disbelief. Her normally pale face was a ghostly white. “He … he doesn’t think we should see each other anymore.”
“What?” Callie grew cold. Shit. This sounded like Tinsley’s doing. Had she really made a move on Mr. Dalton? Already? “Did he say why?”
“He said it wasn’t ‘smart.’” Brett shook her head slightly. “But two days ago he didn’t care if it was smart or not when we were practically naked in his bed.”
“Did something change that made him realize how much trouble he could get in?” Callie asked dubiously. “Maybe he bumped into Marymount and freaked?”
“Maybe.” Brett bit her lip and looked like she was about to cry. “But I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about Marymount.”
Callie wondered if Brett had any suspicions that this had something to do with Tinsley returning, but of course Callie wasn’t about to say anything. God, why was everything a fucking secret this year? “Well, it was just an IM, right? How much could he say?”
Brett stared at Callie blankly. “But I felt … so close to him. We almost did … it.” At this, Brett’s knees seemed to collapse under her and she fell dramatically onto her bed. “And then I just told him that I wanted to finally do it for real. And he just wrote back, saying it was over. It makes me feel so … sick and … stupid. Like I was some silly kid and he lost his patience with me.”
“So fuck him. He’s a jerk anyway,” Callie gushed vehemently. Of course she desperately wanted to cheer Brett up, but she also felt a tiny bit relieved not to be the only dumped girl in Dumbarton 303.
“Who’s a jerk?” Tinsley demanded, standing in the open door with her BlackBerry sticking out of the kangaroo pocket of her cutoff sweatshirt.
No one answered right away, and just as it was about to become awkward, Callie lamely filled in with, “Nicholson, my mom’s publicist.” If Brett and Tinsley didn’t settle their issues soon, she was going to flip out. “Fuck him, telling me I’m too skinny.”
Tinsley smiled indulgently. She’d go ahead and pretend she believed that’s what they were talking about if Brett found it so impossible to speak when she was in the room. Fine. Tinsley was tired of giving Brett space for her moods—she could go right ahead and kiss her ass. “You are awfully thin, Cal. Your clothes have been looking kind of baggy.” Which was true.
Callie rolled her eyes and shot Brett a thanks-for-nothing glare when Tinsley was hanging up her towel, but Brett was lying on her bed with her taxi-yellow Kate Spade rubber rain loafers still on, a single yellow leaf stuck to the bottom of one, staring straight at the ceiling, clearly in her own depressed world. Callie wondered what could distract her and immediately thought of Café Society.
“Where’s the fourth Musketeer?” Tinsley pointed at Jenny’s cot.
Brett glanced up disinterestedly. “She’s in Sage and Emily’s room. They have a French test tomorrow.”
Tinsley rolled her eyes and flicked on the black Harmon Kardon stereo that took up one of the window seats. Radiohead came blaring out of the surround-sound speakers, and Tinsley tweaked the volume a little before flopping down on her stomach next to Callie. Her short PJ Salvage pink polka-dot boxer shorts showed off her long, toned legs. “We have some important business to discuss, girlies. We need to come up with some guidelines for Café Society.”
“Rules?” Brett asked, sitting up so that she could check out Tinsley’s wrist again, but it was now bare. Convenient. Or was she just paranoid? Brett went to her dresser and pulled from the top drawer her favorite thing to sleep in—one of Jeremiah’s oldest J.Crew button-downs that was as soft as a tissue and so faded you could barely see its blue stripes. She’d slept in it for so long that it would have been weird to return it to him after she broke up with him.
“More like objectives,” Tinsley said, rolling onto her back and crossing her ankles. “Or goals, if you will.”
Suddenly Brett felt like she was at a slumber party with her best friends back in sixth grade. She grabbed her bottle of Kiehl’s Crème de Corps and perched on the end of Tinsley’s bed. Her bare legs were shaved smooth in anticipation of an evening with Eric. So she’d wasted her time, but it was still nice to have freshly shaven legs.
“Number one. No boyfriends,” Brett said, forcing a smile for Callie and Tinsley.
Tinsley noted Brett’s sudden enthusiasm. “Exactly. It is very critical for our growth as young women not to be hampered by whiny, self-involved boyfriends who are just trying to cramp our style.”
“Two,” Callie chimed in, her face glowing with interest. “Alcohol should always be involved.”
“Three.” Tinsley parted her hair in the middle and smoothed down each half so that she looked like a hippie. “Society members are encouraged to hook up with random, pre-approved gorgeous guys in a non-boyfriend, purely-for-fun sort of way.”
“What?” Brett suddenly wondered if this whole project was just another way for Tinsley to reassert her dominance over everyone. “I thought this was just talking about hooking up.”
“What fun would that be?” Tinsley demanded. “But I’m definitely not talking about group sex or anything. Not yet, at least.” She flashed her wicked smile, the one that made you wonder if she was serious about anything at all or if life was just one giant game to her.
Maybe that’s why Tinsley never gets her heart broken, Brett thought. That, and a face that would put Helen of Troy to shame.
“So who are these gorgeous guys?” Callie asked, rubbing Dr. Hauschka chapstick on her lips and handing it to Brett.
“Whoever we want them to be.” Tinsley spread her hands out as if to indicate that these gorgeous guys were right there in front of them, just waiting to be chosen.
“Parker DuBois,” Callie suggested. “He’s sexy.” Callie liked to think of herself as a good matchmaker, having put together and dismantled many of Waverly’s notorious couplings due to behind-the-scenes manipulations. And while she was certain Parker and Brett would get along beautifully—they were both arty and moody—Parker was so hot, Callie wouldn’t mind getting her lips on him either.
“What about Charlie Soong?” Brett offered. Charlie was a junior from Taiwan who could often be seen with a guitar and was supposedly a Taiwanese pop star, though he didn’t talk about it. The girls had Googled him once last year and discovered that there were hundreds of Web sites run by rabid teenage fans in Taiwan sharing gossip, photos, sightings, and wondering what his life was like at the private boarding school he attended in the States. It was very surreal. “He’s got those great soccer legs, even if he sings a cappella.”
“He’s a possibility,” Tinsley mused, wondering what a Taiwanese pop star would be like to kiss. Maybe they did it differently there. She stood up and walked over to the antique oak mirror to examine her eyebrows for errant hairs. One of Tinsley goals for herself—one she never would have shared with her adviser—was to make out with someone from every single country on earth. Or at least the ones she could get to without a parachute or a dogsled. And what about that really tall guy she’d seen coming out of the woods with Brandon and the other boys? Whatever his name was, he wouldn’t be a freshman forever. He could go on the list.
“You know who has to be first? The pizza guy,” Callie said eagerly, still thinking about his warm brown eyes and tousled dark hair. He’d always smell like fresh pizza, which would be even better than having to eat it. “Toss me my South of the Highway?” Callie asked Tinsley, who was standing close enough to Callie’s dresser to grab her nail polish.
“Angelo,” Tinsley said, handing the pale pink polish over. “Yes.” The other girls stared at her, wondering how she knew his name. “I asked,” she said simply. “Thought it might come in handy.”
“Sounds like we’re going to have a pizza party, then,” Brett said, not wanting to sound like she was too immature for this sort of thing, though she was having doubts. How weird was it to hook up with someone you hardly even knew? She
watched as Callie expertly reapplied the polish to the bitten-down nails on her left hand.
“Guess we’d better decide who we’d like to invite into Café Society since it shouldn’t just be us,” Tinsley observed.
“Jenny, of course,” Brett replied, taking the polish from Callie when it was time to do her right-hand fingers. Since they’d skipped practice and then dinner, Brett hadn’t seen Jenny since that morning, and she suddenly felt guilty for leaving her new friend out. Especially since she’d been the one to basically tell Jenny to avoid Callie and the room for a little while. Brett wondered if she was okay.
Tinsley rolled her eyes toward Callie and wrinkled her perfect nose. “But she’s a sophomore.”
“Yeah, but she’s cool,” Brett argued defensively. There was just something about Jenny—this sort of warmth—that made Brett miss her when she wasn’t around.
“Is she?” Tinsley pretended to examine the white tips of her French-manicured fingernails. “I mean, I haven’t really talked to her. What do you think, Cal?”
“Do you think there’s something going on between her and Easy?” Callie asked hesitantly.
“We’d know about it, wouldn’t we?” Brett responded logically, though she didn’t really sound convinced. “I mean, she lives with us. Anyway, it would be cruel to leave her out of Café Society.”
Callie shrugged. It was hard to know if Jenny was a serious threat. “What about Benny? She needs to be in on this too.”
“And Celine, and Alison. And Emily?” Brett said.
“Ugh. Emily is so milquetoast. Let’s leave her out.” Tinsley made a face. “We should probably let Sage Francis in, even though she can be a bitch. She’s kind of fun.”
“What about Verena Arneval?” asked Callie. Verena was a senior from Buenos Aires whose mother was the producer of a beloved Argentine soap opera. She had a sexy accent and a super-short pixie haircut and always wore dresses and heels, like an old-fashioned film star. “She’s cool,” said Callie.
The three of them looked up at the sound of voices in the hallway. “See you in class,” Jenny called as she opened the door to Dumbarton 303. She almost jumped when she saw her three roommates staring at her.
“Oh! Hey, guys …” Jenny glanced at Brett. “What’s going on?” She stood in the doorway for a moment, worried she’d walked in on something private. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her Citizens of Humanity wool cardigan. “Am I interrupting something? ’Cause I can go brush my teeth or …”
“No, come on in,” Brett said, patting the bed next to her. “You’re definitely included in this.” Brett shot a glance at Tinsley, and the two of them held each other’s gaze for a long, awkward moment. Jenny pretended not to notice and sank down on Brett’s bed.
“Yes,” Tinsley began after a long pause. “We’re starting up our own secret society. And we wanted to extend the invitation to you.” She flashed Jenny a generous smile, and Jenny’s heart thumped. Tinsley wanted to include her? Jenny had to suppress an urge to jump up and hug everyone in the room—she was in! Of course, she knew that wouldn’t be the coolest thing to do, so she managed to restrain herself, though she couldn’t resist rubbing her hands together in excitement.
“A secret society?” she asked giddily. “That sounds like so much fun.”
“That’s the idea.” Tinsley tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulders and leaned back against the pillows on her bed. Like Cleopatra, Jenny thought. “But we did want to talk about something with you first.”
Jenny’s stomach dropped. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. She should have known there would be a hitch, like Tinsley wanted her to be the society’s janitor or something.
Callie hopped up abruptly and headed to her dresser. She picked up her boar bristle brush and started to brush her hair, but Jenny could tell she was watching her in the mirror.
“We all know how dangerous rumors can be,” Tinsley continued. “How they can end up hurting everyone involved. And I just feel—and I’m sure you agree—that we should probably clear the air about one rumor in particular.” Tinsley paused for dramatic effect and smiled at Brett and Jenny. “Jenny, I know that Callie asked you to flirt with Easy so that she wouldn’t get busted for having him in this room. And it was very nice of you to oblige and help keep Callie out of trouble.” Tinsley glanced at Callie. “But the thing is, it’s all over now—no one got in trouble. Yet I’m still sort of hearing things about you and Easy.” Tinsley pursed her lips and stared directly at Jenny. “Is there anything we should know?”
Jenny’s jaw almost dropped. Anything they should know? Like, how badly Jenny wanted to kiss Easy? To run her hands through his hair? That she was—eek!—going to go riding with him on Sunday? “Uh, no … I mean, Easy’s cool. I like him.” And before she could stop herself, the words kept tumbling out of her mouth. “I mean, as a friend. You know, we’re in art class together. But that’s it.”
Tinsley nodded but didn’t say anything. Callie continued to brush her hair and watch Jenny in the mirror. Jenny couldn’t bear to look at Brett, who knew about her crush on Easy but wasn’t saying anything.
Jenny felt herself start to panic, and she wasn’t exactly thinking straight. This moment, with the four of them hanging out in their dorm room, getting ready for bed, was the sort of scenario she had dreamed about—she had to be in their secret society. This was her chance to be one of them. How could she let it slip through her fingers?
“Come on,” Jenny said reasonably. “Easy could never be interested in me like that, anyway. Not after you, Callie.” Jenny almost choked on the words, they were so hard to say. But she wasn’t making it up—she sort of believed it as she was saying it. “You’re like a movie star. I’m just … me.”
Callie’s nose twitched as she looked at her own reflection. Jenny could picture her thinking it over, maybe even imagining how silly Easy would look with her, short-little-I’m-just-me Jenny Humphrey. Jenny bit her lip.
Callie spun around abruptly and gave Tinsley a sly grin. “She’s right. Easy is a little tall for her.” The two of them shared the same satisfied look on their faces, and Jenny suddenly felt a hundred times worse than she had before she’d opened her big fat mouth.
“Good.” Tinsley clapped. “That’s settled, then. Welcome to Café Society, Jenny. I know we’re going to end up great friends.”
Jenny bit her lip even harder. Somehow she wasn’t so sure.
To: [email protected],
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected];
[email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Friday, September 13, 10:05 a.m.
Subject: Café Society
My dearest, loveliest, ever-sumptuous friends,
You are all officially invited on a new adventure called Café Society, a secret dub for only the most interesting and charming Waverly Owls. We are young and sexy creatures. Our society mantra is: Dress it. Act it. Be it. Flaunt it.
First unofficial meeting takes place tomorrow. 7 p.m. sharp. Ritoli’s.
Please note: Proper attire required. Boyfriends are grounds for immediate expulsion. Bring your favorite libations (incognito) and your sense of mischief.
Yours in love and misbehavior,
T
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: Friday, September 13, 5:55 p.m.
Subject: THANK YOU!
Dear Dad,
I am running to dinner right now, but get this: I’m emailing you FROM MY NEW PHONE. How awesome is that??? Thank you sooooo much. I promise to write more over the weekend.
Love you,
Jenny
P.S. Tell Vanessa I say thank you too!
P.P.S. I always liked thos
e rainbow suspenders. No, seriously!
Eric Dalton: Got your email. Interesting field trip idea.
TinsleyCarmichael: I thought you might be into it.
Eric Dalton: Yes, very …
14
WITH PROPER GROOMING, EVEN COMIC BOOK GEEKS CAN BE SEXY OWLS.
Tinsley stepped into the Waverly dining hall ten minutes before the Friday night dinner hour officially ended, fully aware that people had been waiting for her to appear. The dining hall was an exquisite building with cavernous cathedral ceilings and brightly colored stained glass windows, enormous oak tables, and heavy padded oak chairs that many of the smaller, waiflike girls had difficulty pulling out. The entrance was at the exact opposite side of the hall as the food service area, so once you entered, you still had to cross the room in front of hundreds of watching eyes to pick up your tray and start piling on chicken cordon bleu or whatever dreck was being served that evening. Tinsley didn’t give it a second thought, whereas most people who walked into the dining hall alone were acutely aware of the long, tortuous journey they had to make before they could hide themselves behind the enormous plastic cereal containers.
She took in the scene, her eyes scanning the tables expertly for the faces of her friends. She spotted Benny and Brett and the boys at one of their usual long tables near the fireplace. She gave them a nod, being careful not to look at Brett, and continued toward the food line.
She picked up one of the beige plastic trays and noticed Heath Ferro waiting to be dished a plate of steaming eggplant parmesan. The sight of his tight butt in his brown Lacoste vintage track pants with the gold stripes down the side made Tinsley smile. She stepped up close behind him and said in a throaty voice, directly into his ear, before he could turn around, “Guess who—otherwise you get a shortie.”
Heath chuckled as he reached for the plate from the dining hall worker and set it down on his tray. “You’re not going to fool me with that voice, Tinsley. I hear it in my dreams. If you want to pull down my pants, you just have to ask.”
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