Brett scanned the party, hoping to find Kara’s familiar head of brown hair. She really wanted to apologize for her moody fit earlier today, but she couldn’t make Kara out in the mass of bodies gathered around the flickering light of the bonfire. Verena Arneval was getting into the now-or-never spirit with a sophomore on the tennis team. The two seemed to be dancing to music only they could hear, grinding precariously close to the fire. A little way off, Benny was sitting cross-legged on the grassy knoll with Lon Baruzza. He was a scholarship student and rumored to be great in bed. Lon massaged Benny’s back, presumably giving her a preview of his moves. Brett spotted Jenny’s familiar head of curls and was about to head in her direction, but stopped herself when she realized she was deep in conversation with Easy, of all people. What was that about? Brett didn’t see Heath anywhere, which was a bit strange—but then, he’d probably drunk too much and was already passed out in the woods.
Brett felt a strong hand on her bare arm and whirled around. Was Ryan Reynolds manhandling her again? Instead, a defenseless Jeremiah put up his hands in surrender.
“Whoa, whoa!” he said, stepping backward. Wearing his black James Perse polo over his favorite red thermal shirt and his old faded green J.Crew cargo pants, he looked startlingly familiar. He’d trimmed his red hair since the last time she’d seen him, at the disastrous Dumbarton party two weeks ago. It was much less shaggy than she was used to, although he’d let a little stubble grow on his cheeks and chin, which made his angular, square jaw look even more defined. “I’m innocent, I swear.” Despite being from an old-money family in Newton, a suburb of Boston, Jeremiah spoke with a Boston accent, and the word came out sway-ah. When they were dating, his townie accent had always bothered Brett, but now it just sounded cute.
“Jeremiah!” Brett stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on both stubbly cheeks. He smelled woodsy and clean. It was good to see him. “What are you doing here?” Even though St. Lucius people regularly turned out for Waverly parties, it was a Tuesday night, and she knew Jeremiah had a big game this weekend—he was the football team’s star lineman—so she had thought it unlikely that he’d make it out for this. If she’d known he’d be here, she would have made sure to reply to his e-mail—she felt bad now that she’d ignored it, too overwhelmed by the fire and the Kara situation to figure out what to say.
Jeremiah blushed. She smiled when she remembered how easily she could make him blush. “I heard about the hearing or whatever tomorrow and, well, in case it was your last night . . .” He peered down at her, his hands still lingering on her waist after their hug. “I wanted to make sure to say goodbye.”
“You’re so sweet.” Brett looked up into his blue-green eyes and felt a weird sensation in her stomach. It must have been the Jungle Juice kicking in. She raised her plastic cup to her lips, still smiling at Jeremiah. She felt so . . . liberated. The whole scene of total irreverence—the fact that everyone was making fun of the fire situation, even embracing how insane it all was—felt a heck of a lot better than whispering about it behind each others’ backs and making accusations. She hadn’t put on her goony T-shirt yet—she was wearing a pretty sheer black peasant shirt, borrowed from Jenny, and she didn’t want to cover it up—but when she spotted Alison Quentin wearing her eight-sizes-too-big US shirt, she decided it actually looked pretty cute. So why not get into the spirit of the thing? She handed her cup to Jeremiah. “Hold this?”
“Anything for you, B.” He grinned, exposing his row of adorably crooked bottom teeth, and took the cup from her. His huge, strong hands dwarfed the red plastic cup. Brett pulled her shirt on over her head, stumbling a little. The vodka in her drink had already messed with her balance.
Jeremiah took a swig of Brett’s drink and then made a disgusted face, spitting it out on the ground.
“Hey!” she chastised, swatting his arm. “I was going to drink that!”
“Just thought I’d give it a try.” He laughed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “How you drink that stuff I’ll never understand.” Jeremiah was a notorious beer-drinker and always teased Brett about her love of cocktails and mixed drinks. She suddenly remembered how during their first week back at school, he’d invited her on a trip to wine country with his family—his dad was opening up a new restaurant and was headed to Sonoma on a tasting tour over Thanksgiving. At the time, she’d been totally unenthusiastic. She was entranced by the sophisticated Eric Dalton and had imagined Jeremiah chugging the wine instead of sipping it at all the vineyards. God, she’d been so unfair to him. She hoped he’d forgiven her, or that if he hadn’t, he would soon.
“Let’s get you a beer.” Impulsively, she grabbed his hand and headed toward the woods, where the kegs were usually kept at Crater parties. His fingers were like old friends she hadn’t seen in forever.
“Are you nervous?” Jeremiah asked as they walked. Branches crackled beneath their feet, and the woods smelled piney and romantic. The noise receded as they drew away from the crowd. “About tomorrow, I mean. Jesus, the whole thing is so wack.”
Brett was glad that it was dark so Jeremiah couldn’t see her blushing. When he’d asked if she was nervous, she’d automatically thought about the last time he asked her that question—on the night they had planned to lose their virginity to each other.
But before she could answer they both stopped short, suddenly aware of a rustling in the grass. Brett squinted, expecting an owl to flap up from the ground, but was drawn instead to two figures in the tall grass just ahead. She put a finger to her lips and Jeremiah nodded, an embarrassed smile spreading across his face.
“Whoops,” he mouthed.
Brett’s eyes adjusted to the moonlight. She could just make out the faces of the two figures sitting cross-legged in the grass, heads bent together, whispering intimately. She froze, staring. What was Heath doing sitting in the woods alone with a girl, just talking? His Mini Me, Sam, would have been disappointed. She was about to turn away when the moonlight caught the girl’s face. It was Kara.
Brett kept on staring as Heath took his hand, placed it under Kara’s chin, and lifted it up toward his face. Then he kissed her, their lips moving softly against each other. Brett stood frozen in astonishment.
“Yo, where’s the keg?”
She whipped her head around to see Benny standing behind her, giggling, Lon Baruzza’s arms wrapped around her tiny waist. Benny shook her empty cup at Brett for emphasis. But then she spotted Heath and Kara, and her eyes widened. “Oh shit,” she said, looking at Brett in confusion. Brett wished she’d keep her voice down—Heath and Kara hadn’t noticed they were there, and she didn’t want them to. “Why’s your girlfriend kissing Heath?!” Benny exclaimed loudly.
Jeremiah dropped Brett’s hand. He turned to her, his blue-green eyes filled with confusion and hurt. “Girlfriend? So what I heard is really true?”
Brett stood there, completely mute, wishing the bonfire would burn the woods down. She’d rather run for her life from another fire than defend herself—from what? What had she done? Obviously she didn’t have a girlfriend if her supposed girlfriend was currently in a liplock with Heath Ferro. She grasped her cup tightly in her hand and stumbled back toward the bonfire. “I think I need another drink.”
21
A CONSIDERATE OWL APPRECIATES YOUNG LOVE.
Brandon could feel Sage’s breath on his face, they were that close. He held the edge of his plastic cup between his teeth, his hands ceremonially out of the way as he tilted the cup toward the night sky and took a sip of Jungle Juice. Sage giggled as a river of the alcohol ran down his cheek, and he smiled as much as he could without dropping the cup.
“Okay,” he mumbled through his teeth. “Now you.”
Sage leaned in and bit down on the plastic cup. Brandon had never noticed how blue her eyes were—like the sky at the Cape on one of those endless July afternoons—or how perfectly smooth her skin was.
“Got it?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Got it,” she answered b
ack, her eyes wide and framed with a smudgy dark blue liner. Maybe that’s why they were so bright.
Brandon pulled back. “No cheating now.” He grinned wickedly as she tilted the cup back. He watched her neck as she swallowed a huge gulp of the orangish concoction. She let out a high-pitched squeal and jolted forward. Some of the Jungle Juice spilled back out of her mouth and into the cup.
“Oh, that’s just gross,” he teased her. He was pleasantly buzzed by this time and couldn’t help taking a peek at Sage’s chest, hugged tightly in her orange US shirt.
“Lemme try.” Sam appeared suddenly in front of them.
“Let’s see some ID.” Brandon crossed his arms in front of his chest. It was fun acting all tough in front of the prospectives. He could get used to it.
“No, really. C’mon.” Sam reached for the cup, but Sage whisked it out of his reach, holding it up over her head so that a strip of bare skin appeared between her jeans and her T-shirt. Sam picked at the DM decal on the front of his T-shirt. “This shirt itches,” he said to no one in particular.
“Take it off,” Brandon suggested.
“I can’t. Not yet,” Sam said seriously.
“Why not?” Sage asked curiously. She shook her head, her long corn silk hair shivering in long waves.
“Because it hasn’t happened yet,” Sam said plainly, as if the answer were obvious. He scanned the crowd and ran a hand over his artfully gelled hair, the gesture looking particularly Heath-like. “Have you seen Heath? He was supposed to hook me up tonight. He promised.”
Brandon glanced around at the party, having sort of forgotten where he was. He’d been sitting by the fire with Sage, talking about movies. She had pretty terrible taste, but at least she knew it, and let him tease her about her love for Coyote Ugly and Legally Blonde. “They’re girl power movies,” she’d explained. Sage was astonishingly unpretentious and easy to talk to. Her bottom front teeth were slightly crooked, which only seemed to make the rest of her face seem perfect. “Haven’t seen him,” Brandon shrugged, dragging his eyes back to Sam. “He’s probably passed out in the bushes.”
Sam looked alarmed, as if Brandon had told him his parents had just died in a car crash. “No way, dude.” He looked at Sage lustily and turned to Brandon, lowering his voice a little. “Can you hook me up?” He cocked his head toward Sage, who pressed her hands over her pale pink lips to stifle a laugh.
“Sorry, man,” Brandon said, hoping that would be the end of it. Sam seemed to gravitate toward him whenever Heath wasn’t around, and Brandon was getting sick of it. He knew he’d have to make a halfhearted attempt to look for Heath if he wanted more alone time with Sage.
“Stay right here,” Brandon instructed Sam, “and we’ll send him over. Don’t move.”
“Okay, but hurry,” Sam said, plopping down on a log bench nearby. He glanced at his oversize plastic watch.
“We will,” Brandon said solemnly. He reached for Sage’s hand, which was warm to his touch, and pulled her away, steering her through the crowd of drunken revelers. He didn’t mind looking for Heath, but he wanted to be alone with Sage while he did it.
“Poor kid,” Sage observed. It was exciting to have her warm hand in his, though Brandon wondered if he should drop it soon.
“He’s better off,” Brandon assured her. “Heath’s been filling his head with crap about how he got laid when he was a prospective.” Normally he never would’ve said “got laid” in front of a girl, especially not one he was trying to charm, but the words escaped before he could stop them.
“Gross,” Sage responded. Brandon didn’t know if she was turned off by Heath, or by his language. But she didn’t drop his hand, so he took that as a good sign.
“And I have to room with him,” Brandon joked.
“Just as long as his bad habits don’t rub off on you,” Sage said, glancing sideways at him.
They ducked into one of the tents and Brandon looked around, hoping to spot Heath’s familiar head of dirty-blond hair. But there were only Erik Olssen and Tricia Rieken, that Swedish guy and the girl who’d had a boob job, their faces pressed together and their clothes disheveled. They turned to glare at Brandon and Sage.
“Sorry.” Brandon grabbed Sage’s hand and led her back outside the tent as they stifled their giggles. But they began to laugh even harder when they saw what was going on ten yards away.
Apparently, Sam hadn’t waited for them to get back. He was on his knees at Chloe’s feet, staring up at her with a clump of wildflowers and weeds, clearly just pulled from the ground somewhere, in his outstretched hands. “But you’re so beautiful!” Sam slurred up at her. “I just want to cuddle.”
“Ohmigod, that is totally Heath’s work,” Sage giggled. “But it’s also kind of cute, in a demented sort of way.”
“C’mon,” Brandon whispered, electrified by the way Sage’s small fingers seemed to fit so perfectly in his. They turned back toward the roaring party. Sage squeezed his hand and a delirium he hadn’t felt in forever spread through him, leaping and darting like the dying bonfire.
22
A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT SOMETIMES THE TRUTH HURTS.
Jenny searched the growing crowd, the Jungle Juice tickling her brain. The party was beginning to look like a raging fire itself: a shifting mass of red- and yellow-clad bodies, the occasional orange US shirt visible, with the flames from the bonfire flickering all over the scene. She couldn’t wait to see Julian and was feeling better than she had all week. Easy had apologized. A kiss from Julian would complete her night.
Then she spotted him, heading in the direction of a group of squash guys. His longish hair was freshly washed and tucked behind his ears. He wore a baby-blue Adidas track jacket with yellow stripes over his US shirt, something Heath probably would not have approved of. Not that Heath was anywhere to be seen.
She waved to him and he smiled and started toward her, his long legs taking him quickly to her side. He stepped on a cinder that leaped from the bonfire, smothering it into the grass until it was reduced to smoke. “That’s all we need, right?”
“Right.” Jenny smiled. She waited as he dipped himself a cup of Jungle Juice and joined her on the edge of the crater.
“Maybe we should go, um, check out the woods?” Julian asked. The flames of the fire lit up his face, and his cute once-broken nose stood out from the shadows. Jenny wished she could lean forward and kiss it. The woods? Did he want to hook up with her right away?
“Could we hang here for a bit first?” Not that she wasn’t excited by the idea, but she’d been looking forward to hanging out for a while and being all coupley in front of everyone. She sat down on one of the logs. It was hard to talk to Julian when they were both standing up, since he was a million feet taller than she was. It made her neck hurt.
“Yeah, of course.” Julian sat down next to her on the log, but then he looked behind him in both directions, as if to make sure they weren’t being watched. “Actually, I don’t really feel like Jungle Juice. I heard there was beer in one of the tents. Help me look?” He stood up again abruptly, and Jenny couldn’t help but wonder why he was so jumpy all of a sudden.
“Sure, no problem,” Jenny got up, too, and they started walking. “Chloe’s totally in love with you, by the way,” she couldn’t resist pointing out. After they’d left Julian at the steps of his dorm, he was all Chloe had been able to talk about.
“Yeah?” Julian looked genuinely surprised, and Jenny loved that he had no idea how charming he was. “Too bad I like my girls a little older.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, although Jenny thought she detected a trace of nervousness in his voice.
Benny ran by at full speed, screaming in delight as Lon Baruzza chased after her. They knocked over a castle of empty plastic cups constructed by two freshmen who sat dangerously close to the fire. One of the plastic cups fell into the fire and started smoldering, polluting the immediate vicinity with the rancid smell of burning plastic.
Julian led the way and they searche
d several tents, interrupting couples in various states of undress before they found the last four cans of Budweiser in an empty tent with different-size lava lamps in it.
“There must be kegs somewhere,” Julian noted, pulling the sleeves of his track jacket down over his hands to handle the ice-cold beers, which had been sitting in a small cooler.
Jenny nodded. Waverly’s male population couldn’t all be drinking Jungle Juice. She had a feeling Heath had prepared the concoction not out of love for super-sweet mixed drinks, but because it got girls drunk quickly. “Too bad I’m new and you’re a freshman. We don’t know the insider keg secrets yet,” she said with a smile. She kind of liked that they were both newbies at Waverly. Everybody else here seemed to have such tangled pasts and dark histories. But being with Julian felt like a fresh start.
“Too true. But no worries, these’ll do.” Julian smiled, the dimple to the left of his mouth appearing for a moment. He slipped a can from the plastic ring and offered one to Jenny, but she shook her head, and they sat down on the hard ground. There was a noise outside the tent and Julian nearly jumped, looking over his shoulder.
“You’re nervous about tomorrow, aren’t you?” Jenny asked, her forehead wrinkling in concern. She was glad she’d figured out the source of his unease. For all his talk of having a cute girlfriend for an alibi, he had to be totally freaked out about the dean’s meeting tomorrow. After all, he had no way of proving he had lost his lighter.
“Yeah,” Julian nodded. His eyes were distant, and the lights from all the lava lamps cast sinister-looking shadows on their faces.
“So . . .” Jenny picked up the plastic web that had held the beer cans and thrust her tiny wrist through one of the circles, wearing it like a bracelet. “What are you going to say when they ask about your lighter?”
He took a long swig of his beer and then set it down on the ground in front of him. He shrugged. “I’m going to tell them the truth.”
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