He was definitely crazy, Brett was sure. Or just swept away by the power of his fantasy life. He'd probably rushed home from the Women of Waverly meeting and bragged to all the guys that he'd gotten it on with an entire group of h.o.r.n.y girls while the rest of them were busy playing Xbox or something. Without glancing back at Heath, she dropped her phone into her red-leather Kate Spade hobo bag, letting him know she was above further response.

After the bell rang, Heath managed to corner Brett right outside the door. "Hey, I'm serious." He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her aside. "It really looked like you-" "Look, I have no idea what you're talking about." Brett pushed him back against the wall and out of the stream of students elated to be done with cla.s.ses for the morning. No one was paying attention to them, but Brett was still annoyed, though she tried not to look it. "People can hear you, you idiot." Heath slung his arm across Brett's shoulder and opened his mouth to say something, but Brett cut him off, glancing around them and leaning in to speak closely to his ear. "I am not a . . . a lesbian." "I'm not saying you are." Heath shrugged. "I don't pretend to understand the mystery that is female s.e.xuality." The collar of his banana-colored Lacoste polo was half up and half down. "All I'm saying is that you should try kissing K"-Brett silenced him with a look-"her again and see how it feels." Brett coolly flicked his arm off her shoulder.

Heath followed close behind her as Brett clacked down the marble hallway in her stacked Via Spiga heels. She could smell his aftershave as he leaned over her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "If you won't try that, you could always just go talk with Ms. Emory." He chuckled as he shuffled and squeaked his sneakers against the floor. Ms. Emory, the history teacher, was a known lady lover. "Maybe she has some words of wisdom." Brett's irritation boiled up inside her, but she quickly remembered where she was once she felt a dozen eyes on her. There was no way she was going to continue a discussion of her s.e.xuality-with Heath Ferro, of all people-in front of the entire school. Brett turned and poked her very red index finger into Heath's chest, almost flirtatiously. She caught his lazy green eyes with her own sharp ones and held his stare. She leaned in toward him, and his eyes moved to her lips, as if expecting them to kiss him.

"Don't. Mention. It. Again." Brett spoke slowly, enunciating each word, and Heath was left looking kind of mesmerized. There, she thought, triumphantly, wondering if she were somehow channeling Tinsley. She abruptly spun away from Heath and strode through the heavy front door and out into the bright autumn afternoon.

She tried to collect her thoughts but it felt like they were scattered all over the place-kind of like she'd been feeling all day. What she needed right now was to head to the library, pick up some Dorothy Parker-who was not a lesbian-and think about something other than herself for a while. A quote from her favorite author immediately came to mind, somewhat fore-bodingly: "It's not the tragedies that kill us, it's the messes." She just hoped her life was not turning into one of the messes.

BennyCunningham: I think Brett might be into Heath.

AlisonQuentin: Um . . . and pigs fly.

BennyCunningham: No, I'm serious! They were totally whispering to each other in the hallway today, and standing awfully close.

AlisonQuentin: Maybe Heath just had something really interesting to say?

BennyCunningham: Puhleeze. When was the last time that happened?

AlisonQuentin: Ha. It must be love then!

EasyWalsh: Where are you right now?

CallieVernon: Now? I'm crossing the quad on my way to practice. Why?

EasyWalsh: Stay right where you are, I'll be there in 2 minutes.

CallieVernon: What? Why?

CallieVernon: EZ!

14.

A WAVERLY OWL IS NEVER LATE FOR PRACTICE WITHOUT A GOOD FREAKING REASON.

After Easy's cryptic text, Callie dropped her phone into the pocket of her gray hooded Va.s.sar sweatshirt and paused in the middle of the quad, wondering if she should even bother listening to him. It was chilly out, and the birds flying overhead in their wobbly V formation looked like they were already headed south. Smart birds. Callie was cold, but then she was always cold these days-it was the only drawback to getting skinnier. Not that she felt skinny in her thick fleecy sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.

Callie glanced around at all the bundled-up students, hurrying off to cla.s.ses and dorms and sports cla.s.ses, and felt suddenly aware that everyone around her was in motion while she was standing still. She immediately started doing her field hockey warm-up stretches, like it wasn't at all weird to be doing them in the middle of the quad instead of out on the field. f.u.c.k. Why was Easy always doing this to her? And why was she always letting him? d.a.m.n him.

She fumed as she bent over in a V to stretch out her hamstrings, feeling the blood rush to her head. She walked her hands in toward her feet on the gra.s.s, and through her open legs saw Easy striding across the quad toward her. Even upside down, he looked completely gorgeous, and she could tell from the way his messenger bag thumped against his hip that he was rushing-to get to her. Callie quickly stood back up, her blood coursing through her veins. She shook out her mane of strawberry blond hair, which probably had gra.s.s or bugs or other nasties in it now from hanging upside down. Ew.

"What is it?" She asked brusquely as he approached, trying to sound irritated. She felt a little dizzy-which, she told herself, was from being upside down, not from the sudden appearance of Easy Walsh. He'd changed into a charcoal gray Michael Kors wool sweater, which was very adorably unlike him.

"I wanted to know if you'll be my model." His dark blue eyes examined her face in that way he had of seeming to take everything in at once, reading it all. His piercing gaze never missed a thing-he probably noticed the tiniest bits of gra.s.s in her hair, or how dry her skin was. And yet he was asking her to be his model? Even after the way she told him off this morning? "For art cla.s.s," he clarified. "We have a project." Callie smiled at the irony. Was this opposite day? For months-for practically a year, ever since they'd started dating-she had fantasized about her artsy boyfriend asking her to come out to the woods so that he could draw her. He could have built a sculpture of her out of clothes hangers and soup cans and she would have been thrilled. The Edie Sedgwick to his Warhol. The Beatrice to his Dante.

But he'd never asked her. Until now. Until now, when they couldn't possibly be a couple again. Not after all they'd been through, not after what she'd promised Jenny. She'd told Easy they were over and she'd meant it. Hadn't she?

"What would you need me to do?" she asked slowly, kicking the toe of her black Adidas cleats into the thick green gra.s.s of the quad.

Easy shook his head vehemently. "Nothing. Just pose for me." A smile broke out across his face. "Just be yourself." Callie giggled. Be herself. Right. As long as she wasn't wearing sweatpants. "Are you sure you want . . . me?" Easy didn't even pause to consider her question. "Yes." His gaze never left her face for a second.

She sighed. She couldn't stay angry at Easy forever. They were going to have to become friends at some point . . . and maybe that point was now. He needed someone to paint or draw for his cla.s.s, and she could help him out, the way a friend would. And it wasn't like he was someone else's boyfriend, either-he and Jenny were through. So it would be completely platonic. "All right," she said with a tentative nod, keeping her voice even. So why were her palms sweating?

Easy sucked in his breath. "Awesome." He glanced up at her through his long dark eyelashes. "Do you have a lot of stuff to do tonight?" "Stuff?" Callie repeated, amused.

"Yeah." He grinned. "You know, Latin. Calc. Stuff." Callie was unable to keep a small smile from spreading across her face. Of course, homework, cla.s.ses-the reasons they were even here at Waverly-fell under Easy's category of "stuff." "If you're asking if I have time tonight, then sure, whatever." Of course she had piles of homework, but suddenly the thought of sneaking away with Easy for a few hours felt like a breath of fresh air. "It's not like Ovid's going to mind if I break our date tonight." "Wanna meet in the woods during dinner?" Easy pushed the sleeves of his sweater-probably the most expensive thing he owned-up to his elbows, stretching out the delicate cuffs.

"'Kay." She paused. "Snack bar afterward?" she added quietly. Dining services had a system where if you had to miss dinner-because of an away game, or a late practice, or what ever-you could use your dinner points at the Maxwell snack bar any time in the evening. Last year, she and Easy would always meet at the stables after practice and fool around for hours, until the dining hall was closed, and then, starving, head over to the snack bar and eat French fries and hummus wraps.

"I'll even buy you a strawberry milkshake," Easy promised, his eyes twinkling.

"Deal." She nodded her head definitively. Milkshakes were her favorite.

"So you'll meet me at my spot in the woods? It's-" Callie cut him off. "I know where it is, Easy." Right by where the boys had gone hunting for mushrooms. She and Tinsley had walked out that way one day, and as soon as Callie had seen the little enclosed field with all the wildflowers and the funky rocks, she had known that that was Easy's secret spot. She'd thumbed through his sketchbooks sometimes, looking at his weird but beautiful drawings of trees and leaves and cigarette b.u.t.ts-he managed to make everything look beautiful.

And now he was going to draw her. Callie felt a little chill and heard the tweet of a whistle in the distance. "s.h.i.t," she muttered. "I've got to run. I'll see you later." She grabbed her lacrosse stick and dashed off toward the fields, knowing that Smail was going to make her do an extra lap around the field for being late.

But it was kind of worth it.

15.

A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THE BEST SURPRISES AREN'T ALL THAT SURPRISING.

Once the yellow taxi pulled away and left Brandon standing alone in front of St. Lucius's moss-covered front gate, he realized he'd gotten so carried away with his grand romantic gesture that he'd overlooked the most important part of the plan-he didn't know where to find Elizabeth. He took a few steps toward what looked like dorms, aware that the students milling about were definitely staring at him.

St. Lucius was like bizarro-Waverly-the same red brick, ivy, and brilliant oak trees surrounding the enormous quad, and yet not one familiar face. He'd bought a bunch of orchids in downtown Rhinecliff-roses were too conventional, daisies too boring-and now he suddenly felt a little self-conscious. Students were definitely gawking at him as he held the enormous cone of fuchsia and white flowers away from his chest so as not to crush them. He felt like Forrest Gump with his box of chocolates. Well, whatever. Had they never seen a guy bring a girl flowers before?

Two girls in short jean skirts and matching purple regulation St. Lucius blazers approached Brandon on the cobblestone path. Judging from the worn-out look of their blazers, they had to be uppercla.s.smen. "Excuse me . . ." Brandon accosted them, trying to look as inoffensive as possible. "Do you happen to know which one is Elizabeth Jacobs's dorm?" The girls, both thin, lanky blondes, exchanged glances. The one with a navy velvet headband spoke first in a nasal, Long Island accent. "Are those for her?" she asked, glancing at the flowers.

"Did her goldfish die or something?" the other asked, her unseasonably tan forehead wrinkling in confusion.

Brandon was taken aback. Did they not have manners here? "Uh, yeah, actually. They are." He raised his eyebrows pointedly, trying to remind the girls of his question. "But, um, no. I think her, uh, goldfish is fine." "That's really sweet." Velvet headband suppressed a giggle. "She's in my dorm. Emerson." She pointed toward a white stone building next to a thatch of birch trees with sunflower yellow leaves. "Room 101-right inside, to the left." "Thank you." Brandon headed that way, relieved that things were working out. Over his shoulder he heard the second girl trill out, "Good luck!" Brandon made his way down the path, still sort of weirded out by being in a place that looked like Waverly and smelled like Waverly but wasn't. He paused briefly at the front door of the building to read the quote, presumably from Emerson, inscribed above the doorway: DO NOT GO WHERE THE PATH MAY LEAD, GO INSTEAD WHERE THERE IS NO PATH AND LEAVE.

A TRAIL. "He couldn't help smiling as he opened the heavy green door. That quote reminded him of Elizabeth, and the way she seemed to do whatever the h.e.l.l she wanted.

In front of room 101, he paused to collect himself, swiping one hand through his hair nervously. Then, just as he was about to knock, he heard the sounds of laughter coming from inside-two people's laughter. One sounded like Elizabeth, but the other was definitely a guy. What was going on? Panic shot through his veins, his get-the-h.e.l.l-out-of-here instincts going into effect. He looked down stupidly at the orchids.

But then he thought, What the h.e.l.l? He'd just spent forty dollars on flowers, and twenty dollars on a cab over here. What was he going to do, turn around and walk right out? Have the same cab driver come pick him up, along with his sad bouquet of flowers? Would Walsh do that? He didn't think so. Have the b.a.l.l.s to knock, Buchanan, he told himself with a brisk nod. And so he raised his hand and knocked on the dark oak door, right under the Greenpeace b.u.mper sticker.

The door opened quickly, and Elizabeth, looking like she was in the middle of a laugh, answered, wearing a pair of low-rise jeans that hung loosely at her hips and a slightly cropped gray T-shirt that revealed the tiny diamond stud in her belly b.u.t.ton. Before Brandon had time to properly admire it, Elizabeth's face changed from surprise to delight, and she threw her arms around his neck, almost crushing the flowers.

"Brandon!" she cried just before giving him a huge, wet, hot French kiss. Well, that was more like it. When she finally pulled away, Brandon felt a little dizzy. Why had he waited so long to come and see her?

And then he noticed the guy sitting on her bed.

Elizabeth tugged Brandon into her room, which turned out to be a surprisingly s.p.a.cious single. "Come on in!" she said gleefully, her loose blond hair just grazing her shoulders. "It's so good to see you." She seemed to remember the other guy. "Oh. This is Morgan. We were just studying." Elizabeth gave Morgan a raised eyebrow, and he quickly stood up. He was wearing a flannel T-shirt and a pair of corduroys with holes in the knees, and no shoes. Or socks. But he nodded politely at Brandon and didn't seem too upset about getting chased out.

"Later," he said, directed at both of them, before disappearing out the door. Where the h.e.l.l were his shoes? Brandon wondered, staring at the royal blue s.h.a.g rug. And where were the, uh, books? What exactly were they "studying"?

But before he could give the topic any more thought, Elizabeth was right at his side. "These are gorgeous," she cooed, closing her eyes and sniffing the orchids. "They look like poetry." Brandon felt himself blushing. "Glad you like them. Roses seemed a little too conventional." He watched as she took the flowers out of their wrapping and delicately placed them in a half-full Nalgene water bottle sitting on her computer desk. Well, that was one way to do it.

"You know me already, don't you?" She gave him a knowing look before setting the bottle down on her surprisingly neat desk. She quickly returned to Brandon's arms and pressed her soft lips to his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured throatily.

Brandon closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Uh, I like your room." His eyes raced around the high-ceilinged s.p.a.ce. Everything about it seemed s.e.xy and Elizabeth-like, from the sleek iMac on her desk to the disorganized stack of Post-it-filled poetry books on her nightstand to the navy-and-turquoise tapestry thumbtacked to the wall. On the bulletin board were photos of Elizabeth all over the world, backpacking through Europe, on safari in Africa, even one on the Great Wall of China. And he couldn't help but notice lots of pictures of her partying with friends-who happened to be mostly male. She sure seemed to have a lot of guy friends.

Elizabeth placed her palms against Brandon's chest, and with a devious smile on her pretty face, pushed him down onto the soft cottony comforter on the bed. "It was totally sweet of you to come all the way over here." She lay down next to him and started stroking his chest. "I've been thinking about you all week," she purred. Her dirty blond hair was pulled back with tiny blue plastic barrettes, the kind that little girls usually wear, and her wide-set brown eyes sparkled with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Oh, yeah?" Brandon couldn't help feeling that, well, maybe that other guy-what was his name? Morgan? What kind of girly name was that, anyway?-was no big deal. After all, Eliz-abeth had kissed Brandon right in front of him, so she clearly wasn't worried about his feelings. And now, as Elizabeth was nibbling on Brandon's ear, she clearly wasn't thinking about Morgan. So why should he? Right? Riiiight.

TinsleyCarmichael: Hey s.e.xy. Whatcha doin'?

JulianMcCafferty: Headed to squash practice. You?

TinsleyCarmichael: I'm being deviant and skipping tennis. Heading back to my empty room in Dumbarton now. . . . Hint, hint.

JulianMcCafferty: Do you still have my lighter?

TinsleyCarmichael: Uh, what?

JulianMcCafferty: Never mind.

TinsleyCarmichael: Just come over, okay? I'll make you forget about your lighter. And hurry. I've been thinking about you all day. . . .

JulianMcCafferty: I'll be there in thirty seconds.

17.

A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS THAT THE BEST WAY TO GET OVER SOMEONE IS TO OBSESS OVER SOMEONE ELSE.

"So, um, Justin Timberlake or John Mayer?" Jenny asked a little shyly as she and Callie trundled home from field hockey practice in the early evening light, a cool breeze tousling their sweat-dampened ponytails and sending brightly colored leaves scuttling their way. Jenny's legs were pleasantly exhausted from the exercise-Smail had run them hard today in preparation for their game this weekend against St. Lucius, whose field hockey team was Waverly's league rival. After about ten minutes of warm-up drills, Jenny and most of the girls had shed their Adidas track pants and sweatshirts, despite its feeling about twenty degrees out. It felt good now, as Jenny's heart rate was returning to normal and the chilly breeze cooled her still-hot skin. Brett had been a no-show at practice, and for some reason it didn't feel at all awkward when Jenny and Callie headed back to the dorm together alone. She felt like they'd really been getting to know each other this past week, and not just because of the silly questions Jenny was asking her now. (c.o.ke or Pepsi: "Diet Pepsi." Cats or dogs? "Cats, but only black ones." Kirsten Dunst or Scarlett Johannson: "Kirsten, but with Scarlett's voice.") "So?" Jenny prompted. "Justin Timberlake or John Mayer?" she repeated.

Callie, still wearing her gra.s.s-stained sweatpants, her sweatshirt tied loosely around her thin waist, twirled her Brine field hockey stick in one hand and snorted with laughter. "Are we talking music, or, like, who I'd rather make out with?" Jenny tilted her orange Nalgene bottle and let the last drops of water trickle into her mouth. "Make out with. Definitely," she clarified.

"No contest." Callie swatted at a pebble with her stick, sending it ricocheting through the gra.s.s. "Justin Timberlake looks like he'd know exactly how to kiss me. Mmm." Two months ago, Jenny would have been mortified by the idea of walking across a campus full of boys-cute, well-dressed, smart boys-and perfect, preppy, pretty girls, in a gra.s.s-stained T-shirt and gym shorts. But now she couldn't have cared less. It didn't matter. This was the boarding school way of life-wholesome, healthy, natural, and sometimes sweat-filled. She loved it.

"Really?" Jenny's stomach rumbled, reminding her that she was starving. "I'd definitely go for John Mayer. I guess I like . . ." She awkwardly trailed off, realizing she had just been about to say that dark, sensitive, artsy type. I.e., that Easy Walsh type. Not like she couldn't mention Easy, exactly-they'd talked about him plenty of times by now-but more like she didn't want to ruin the mood by bringing him in. Jenny bent down to tie her shoelace, pretending that was the reason she'd forgotten to complete her sentence.

Callie nodded absently as she climbed the front steps of the dorm. "Hey, I'm going to go in, okay? I've got to jump in the shower before heading to the, uh, library." "Sure." Jenny responded equally absently, noticing someone moving behind one of the emerald green, carved topiaries that lined the wall of Dumbarton. It was Julian. Hanging out around the girls' dorm again. Jenny waved goodbye to Callie and headed toward the bushes. Despite all her thoughts about being sweaty as a wholesome, natural part of boarding school life, she quickly pulled the elastic from her hair and shook her head, letting her dark curls fall around her shoulders-that was a little better at least.

Julian was standing there with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the ivy-covered wall, looking a little fl.u.s.tered. He was wearing a pale green T-shirt that said, in retro yellow letters, IT'S NOT WHAT YOU'RE THINKING, and an unzipped royal blue track jacket with white stripes down the sleeves.

"Hark!" Jenny said, holding her field hockey stick out like a sword, the tip pointed directly at the lettering on Julian's chest. They'd just finished Hamlet in Miss Rose's cla.s.s, and she was still in a Shakespearean state of mind. "Who goes there?" He raised his eyebrows and did a Humphrey Bogart kind of voice. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

"Hey, I live here." Jenny grinned and retracted her hockey stick. She glanced around her but no one was approaching. First she'd been talking to Julian in a broom closet, now behind a bush. It was kind of fun-where would he pop up next? And why was he here again? "What's your excuse? Are you looking for your-what was it? Your lighter-again?" "Funny girl." He shrugged his shoulders, and a ray of setting sunlight burst through the elegantly sculpted bush he was standing behind, lighting up his features from behind. "But, no. I was just, you know, pa.s.sing by." The dramatic lighting made the shapes of his face stand out even more than they normally did, and Jenny noticed for the first time how strong the planes of his cheekbones were, how deep-set his dark eyes were, how crooked his nose was. It was the kind of face that would look great in marble, she thought. It took her a moment to realize it was her turn to speak again-so much for her brilliant Shakespearean repartee. "So, uh, what am I thinking?" she asked, hoping her face was a cute rosy-cheeked red, and not an are-you-having-a-heart-attack red.

Julian smiled at her but looked kind of confused, like he'd lost the trail of conversation. "Uh, what?" He leaned forward.

"Your shirt." Jenny pointed toward it and raised her eyebrows. "You've probably been getting that all day." Julian glanced down at his chest as understanding washed over his face. "Actually, I had my Sea World T-shirt on today." He tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders, which made him look kind of like a little kid. "I just changed." The dimple near his lips deepened.

A giggle burst from Jenny's lips. Something about Julian was just so friendly and open-it was nice to flirt with him. It took her mind off other tall, handsome boys. "I know this is going to sound totally crazy, but would you be at all interested in being a model for my art cla.s.s project?" She really hoped he wouldn't think she was flirting with him-because she wasn't. Not really. "I think you'd make a great subject." He looked completely taken aback and glanced around him. Yikes! She hoped he wasn't going to take it the wrong way. "Uh, right now? Behind the bushes?" "No!" Jenny pushed an unruly lock of hair behind her ear. She couldn't believe she was standing here talking to a totally cute guy when she was in desperate need of a shower. At least he probably couldn't smell her from where he was hiding. "I didn't mean right now. Maybe tomorrow?" "I don't know if I've ever been a piece of art before." His fingers played with a branch of the bush he was stuck next to. "Sounds kinda cool." "Sweet." Jenny tapped her hockey stick against the brick wall. "I'll e-mail you about a time." She smiled coyly. "That is, if I don't see you in the broom closet before then." She walked inside to the sound of his laughter. As she climbed the stairs to room 303, she realized that there would definitely be other cute boys on campus to distract her from Easy. Maybe Callie could find someone to distract her from the unforgettable Easy Walsh, too. Everything was finally working out just the way it was supposed to.

TinsleyCarmichael: It's been more than thirty seconds.

TinsleyCarmichael: Are you still coming over?

TinsleyCarmichael: Julian?

18.

A WAVERLY OWL KNOWS HOW TO APPRECIATE MOTHER NATURE-ESPECIALLY WITH ANOTHER OWL.

What am I doing? What am I doing? Callie paused at the edge of the path to the boathouse, right at the spot where Easy had instructed her to turn off, the sky just beginning to glow orange. Her stomach rumbled a little, reminding her that she was skipping dinner. But she was too nervous and keyed up to eat anything anyway. After practice, she'd raced to shower off the sweat and grime their long practice had left her covered in, then dressed carefully. She had no idea what const.i.tuted appropriate clothing for a modeling session in the woods with her ex-boyfriend, and after deliberating for about twenty minutes she'd had to force herself to just get dressed already. Easy had asked to paint her, after all, and so he must want her to show up looking like herself. If that meant wearing expensive, slightly inappropriate clothing, so be it.

And so here she was, in her tight-fitting black Theory trousers, high-heeled pointy-toed boots, and black Vince scoop-neck sweater with a neckline just high enough not to be inappropriate. Her still-damp hair was curling slightly at the ends and making her feel even colder. She zipped her red quilted down vest up to her chin, the rabbit-fur lining making her nose twitch, and stepped off the path, the heels of her boots sinking slightly into the mossy undergrowth. She reminded herself of her resolution with Jenny and how she'd just lied to her, saying she was in a rush to get to the library. She was not going to let this thing with Easy go beyond a friendship. In fact, for that reason, she'd purposely not shaved her legs in the shower-leg stubble always made her feel so uns.e.xy, and she felt like she might need to harness that uns.e.xy feeling when spending time alone with Easy in the woods.

She made her way through the woods, stepping carefully over branches and enjoying the way the dry leaves crumpled beneath her feet. Callie inhaled the fresh, leafy air and wished she were a more outdoorsy person-it might be kind of fun, as long as it didn't mean she had to wear ugly hiking boots or wear that awful all-natural deodorant c.r.a.p. She came up to the small clearing that she'd guessed was Easy's secret spot, and sure enough, there he was, crouched down in front of a bunch of tubes of paint scattered on the gra.s.s. She just stood there for a moment, staring at him, taking in the scene. He looked so natural out here, and even from how far away she was, she could read in his movements a relaxed happiness that she only really got to see when he was around Credo.